discovering my story

Word Goal: 4500Word Count: 4432

Discovering My StoryJeff Gissing

First Presbyterian Church of BethlehemFebruary 2, 2015

“I confess, without shame, that I am sick and tired of fighting — its glory is all moonshine; even success the most brilliant is over dead and mangled bodies, with

the anguish and lamentations of distant families, appealing to me for sons, husbands, and fathers … it is only those who have never heard a shot, never heard

the shriek and groans of the wounded and lacerated … that cry aloud for more blood, more vengeance, more desolation.”

Gen. William T. Sherman, United States Army

Introduction

I’m grateful for the invitation to spend part of this morning with you—

thank you. As I considered what I should share with you, I initially thought

about some topic related to theology or discipleship or something more

outwardly “churchy” than the topic that I have chosen. In the end, however, I

was inwardly moved to invite you into part of my family’s story and how we

discovered the part that my paternal grandfather played in the Second World

War.

I said a moment ago that my topic didn’t seem all that “churchy,” and

perhaps that’s true. It is, however, deeply connected to the ways that God

has been working in my family over the generations. We all have a story,

don’t we? And when we stop to reflect upon it, one of the major actors in that

story is God himself. It’s not always easy to pick out the ways in which God is

at work, but periodically we might receive “hints” or “hunches” that

something bigger, deeper, and wider is going on beyond the details of our

personal stories and those of our families.

I haven’t written or spoken much about what I’ll share this morning.

So, I’m grateful for the chance to commit some thoughts to writing and to

share those words with you. I am a writer by nature and I’m fond of saying

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that I don’t know what I think about a matter until I’ve written about it.

You’ve helped me to process this story once again and in a deeper way by

preparing to share it with you—many thanks. I’m indebted to my father

whose research forms the basis of a significant part of this talk.

Beginnings

Though its beginnings predate my birth, the story became mine when I

was born into it. I was born 39 years ago in a drab military hospital on the

island of Cyprus, a stone’s through from Israel and the rest of the Middle

East. At the time, my father was a Warrant Officer in the British army and

serving as Transport Control Warrant Officer (Royal Corps of Transport) for

one of the two sovereign base areas on Cyprus which are home to a regular

rotation of British Army and Royal Air Force units who rotate through the

theatre of operations. It’s also home to a significant intelligence community

since its proximity to the rest of the Middle East makes it an effective place to

“listen in on other peoples’ conversations.”

They’d lived on Cyprus for a couple of years before I was born—

enjoying the climate and the relative luxury of living on a British base in the

1970s as well as strong Christian fellowship through a group of evangelical

Christians affiliated with a para-church ministry called Soldiers and Airmen’s

Scripture Readers Association (SASRA). Interestingly, SASRA came into being

(1818) when illiteracy was common among troops who had little to no access

to the Bible and couldn’t read it even if they got a copy. Its purpose was to

evangelize the troops and provide for Christian fellowship (koinonia, to use a

term that has a grand history here at FPCB) and to supplement the ministry

of the regimental or squadron chaplains.

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My father (an Englishman) and my mother (an American) had met

while he was visiting a sister who had married an American serviceman and

moved to New Jersey. After their first meeting, they corresponded for a year

or two and then married in1972 moving to Cyprus for their first posting.

While they were there they experienced the culmination of the growing

tensions in the Mediterranean when, in July 1974, Turkish forces invaded and

captured 3% of the island before a ceasefire was declared. The Greek military

junta collapsed and was replaced by a democratic government. In August

1974 further Turkish invasion resulted in the capture of 40% of the island.

The ceasefire line from August 1974 became the United Nations Buffer Zone

in Cyprus and is commonly referred to as the Green Line.

The segregation of the island resulted in the expelling of nearly 25% of

the Cypriot population—mostly of Greek origin—who feared for their life

under the Turkish rule. My father was highly involved with both the military

and humanitarian efforts since he was one of the team responsibly for

transportation in and around the eastern part of the island, the section

closest to the point of the Turkish invasion and closest to the line of

demarcation. They both recall hearing shells landing very close to—but never

on—British soil and also welcoming Cypriot civilian refugees into their home.

At the time they had been hoping to become pregnant and were feeling

frustrated that, as yet, God had not answered their prayer. God’s providence

—his loving tender care of his people—was at work since with the invasion

there was virtually no access to any kind of formula or baby food.

My family was fortunate to live in several wonderful parts of the world.

My sister was born while we lived in Berlin, in the German Democratic

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Republic—something that young adults now learn about only from books. My

father was responsible for running the British military train that ran from

West Germany (the Federal Republic of Germany) through the East and into

the British sector of Berlin. I don’t recall any of this personally since I was a

toddler at the time. And, to be honest, it seems like an age ago that there

was a divided Germany and a divide Berlin with desperate Germans trying all

manner of things to get across the wall.

My father tells of his experience of running the train. It would halt at

the border of East and West and a formal inspection of documents would

happen, the doors would be chained closed and the windows secured so that

no one and nothing could enter or leave the cars until it was safely in Berlin.

After gaining his commission as an officer in the British army, we

moved back to the United Kingdom. Several years later my father and I

began to explore my grandfather’s history of involvement in what we call

World War 2.

My Father

There are a number of people whom I greatly admire—writers,

theologians, thinkers—but none more than my father who will turn 77 in

September. Born in 1938, just a year before the war began, he is part of a

generation of Britons who experienced the war as young children and the

austerity of the post-war years as a young adult. I recall him telling me that

he ate his first banana as a teenager, which is something that few current

teenagers could fathom.

My father joined the army at 19 since, he figured, he was required to

perform National Service and those who voluntarily joined the army were

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paid at a higher rate than those who were forced into its ranks. His army

career was marked by steady progression through the ranks and he retired in

1987 as a Major having risen from the rank of private.

He served in some remarkable places and through some remarkable

years: West and East Germany, Aden (now Yemen), Dubai, and the United

Kingdom, which itself was dealing with domestic terrorism in the form of the

Irish troubles and the activities of the Irish Republican Army. In fact, as a

child I recall our car being inspected for bombs as we entered or left the

base.

He was deployed to the Gulf region as the British army responded to

the insurgency in Aden, a part of South Arabia. Aden—and the port of the

same name--might also be familiar to you since the USS Cole was attacked by

a suicide bomber in 2000.

Partly inspired by Nasser's pan Arab nationalism, the Radfan campaign

began in December 1963 with the throwing of a grenade at a gathering of

British officials at Aden Airport.

A state of emergency was then declared in the British Crown colony of

Aden and its hinterland, the Aden Protectorate. The emergency escalated in

1967 and hastened the end of British rule in the territory, which had begun in

1839. On 30 November 1967, British forces withdrew and the independent

People's Republic of South Yemen was proclaimed.

My father’s role was training Yemeni soldiers—part of the federal

regular army—and he was also involved in the eventual draw down of the

colony when the men and equipment in Aden were transported to Sharjah in

Dubai the nearest British base.

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I grew up close to the army and to soldiering. I knew my father to be a

soldier and that his father has been a soldier, but neither of us knew more

than that he had served in the army and died in World War 2.

Why?

War is a horrible thing and anyone who says otherwise mustn’t be at

all familiar with its reality for those who experience it. Of course, horrors are

—from time to time—a part of life. And the horror of a world war was played

out not peculiarly in my family. One of the horrors of the war is that the

horrific becomes mundane, routine, and a regular part of people’s lives. And

the pure horror of it, understandably, leads people to do abnormal things in

order to cope in its midst and to refuse to discuss it after the fact. As a result,

my father grew up knowing little to nothing of his own father’s sacrifice

largely a result of the trauma—and economic hardship—it placed on his

family.

It’s one thing when less than one percent (the figure is 0.5%) of the

population serve in the military—as today—verses the 12% of the population

who serve during world war. As casualties, in World War 1 2% of the British

population were killed and in World War 2 close to 1% of the population was

killed in action (0.94%), by comparison US casualties were 0.3% of

population. The Axis countries suffered greater casualties with approximately

12% of the German population dying and 25% of the population of Belarus, a

Republic and part of the Soviet Union that was overrun by the Germans and

had a collaborationist military as well as a Soviet-loyal military.

The sheer scale of these numbers are proof enough of the trauma

inflicted on the families of servicemen—both those who lived and those who

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died—in the worthy cause of world freedom. A third of the fathers living of my

Dad’s childhood street did not return home, including my grandfather.

As a young man, my father would visit the war memorial in the city he

grew up in and wonder why his father’s name wasn’t inscribed on it. This was

alternately a cause for concern or for shame. Had his father done something

to cause his name to omitted from the memorials? Had he deserted? Had he

done some other evil act? Why the omission. These thoughts were more

frequent as a younger man, and as the years wore on my Dad thought of it

less often but wondered still.

Around my senior year of high school—1993-1994—I asked my Dad

about my grandfather. For some reason, it caused him to decide to actively

seek out answers for his decades-long wondering. Two years later, as a

sophomore in college, I studied abroad in London and went to the National

Record Office just outside of London in the hope of discovering something

about my grandfather and the unit he served in. This was the first of many

hours spent by me and then by my father to piece together what happened.

The histories of some regiments and divisions are well known. History

swallows others. In this case, a swift defeat despite a tenacious fight and the

subsequent destruction of all unit records and then the consignment of those

troops who capitulated to POW camps caused official accounts to be murky at

best, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

My roots lay in Suffolk, a county in the east of England in a region

sometimes known by its ancient name, “East Anglia.” This was the home of

the pre-Norman angles of “Anglo-Saxon” fame. My great great grandfather

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was a gamekeeper who took care of the pheasants on a Suffolk estate so that

they could be hunted by people such as the Viscount of Grantham.

My great grandfather, a man by the name of Joseph Gissing, had left

the estate to fight in the Great War. He returned from France a broken man—

physically and mentally abusive and given to an over-excess of drink. A

bricklayer by trade he travelled around the county to worksites. His behavior

eventually forced my great grandmother to take her two sons and leave him,

moving to the city of Ipswich (also in Suffolk) to escape his abuse. They lived

in urban poverty with my great grandmother working as a charlady, a house-

cleaner.

In 1939, Hitler invaded Poland having already annexed the Czech

Sudetenland and war was declared. Less than a year after the war began, my

grandfather (Harold Gissing) and his brother (Charlie) were called up. Harold

by now was married and the father of two sons. He reported for duty with his

brother (their serial numbers are one digit different) a day before my father’s

second birthday.

They were drafted into the Royal Artillery, and posted to the 48th Light

Anti-Aircraft Regiment based at Wolverstone Hall, which approximately half

way between Ipswich and Shotley in the county of Suffolk, England.

After basic training, 48 Regiment was assigned to provide anti-aircraft

defense of the port of Harwich against the regular raids of the German

Luftwaffe.

When it comes to deployment, war is like a game of chess—units are

moved from place to place to keep ahead of the enemy’s next move. As the

war progressed, there was increasing need for Royal Artillery troops to

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provide defense for Royal Air Force (RAF) bases in the east theatre of

operations. Several of the units located near 48 Regiment were sent to Malta,

which made the regiment the primary airfield defense unit for the eastern

part of Great Britain during the Battle of Britain.

After almost a year of home front fighting, the regiment was withdrawn

from active service and sent for extensive training for a period of three weeks in

the country around Yeovil in Somerset.

On arrival they were greeted by a day of continuously down pouring rain. But

after that first and highly uncomfortable day, the weather became perfect. The first

few days of training was limited to testing the drivers and dispatch riders, who at this

eleventh hour, were posted to the Regiment to bring it up to full mobile strength.

Amazingly, many were found to be quite untrained and some unable to drive at all;

no one had had any training in mobile operations. They just had to make it work,

failure was not an option. Those with training worked tirelessly to impart their

knowledge to the untrained whom, with equal enthusiasm, set themselves to learning

as quickly as they possibly could.

On September 12th 1941, whilst still at Yeovil, orders were received to cease

training, and to return all vehicles and stores to their respective centers and be ready

to move to Southend-on-Sea in Essex on September 15th 1941.

On September 15th 1941 the Regiment boarded trains at Yeovil and after a

comparatively comfortable train journey arrived at South End in the afternoon.

Empty houses 1in various roads at South End had been requisitioned for

billets, and by 6.30 p.m. every man had been allotted his quarters and was on his

way to a vast hall for the hot meal which awaited them.

At some point Top Secret orders regarding embarkation had been received

from the War Office. The Regiment was destined for Malaya and was expected to 1 I believe that the empty houses were available because the previous occupants had been the subject of a mandatory evacuation and moved to safer areas. Southend-on-Sea is located at the mouth of the Thames estuary where considerable oil and fuel depots were situation. These precious reserves plus London itself were major targets for enemy aircraft.

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serve garrison duty defending a fortified position, possibly Singapore. They had to be

ready to embark by October 14th 1941. This Top Secret information was shared with

only the privileged few.

However troops before proceeding overseas, must be equipped with uniforms

appropriate to that country. For each country in the Middle East and the Far East the

scale and the type of clothing varies, therefore it was not too long before all ranks

had a shrewd idea of their intended destination.

The motto of military transportation is “hurry up and wait.” It took about a

month for the regiment to get kitted out and to get to Scotland, where they would

board a troop ship and steam to their final destination.

Almost immediately after the train had stopped in Glasgow the word flashed

along – “It’s the Athlone Castle”.

The knowing ones rubbed their hands together with satisfaction. The ‘Athlone

Castle’ was a luxury liner and, most importantly, was built for the tropics.

Their ecstasy was short lived however, because no sooner had they begun to

embark a rumor flew round that the ‘Athlone Castle’ had developed engine trouble,

and because 48th LAA Regiment RA were priority troops, they would have to transship

to the ‘Duchess of Atholl’ which at that time was lying further down the river Clyde.

Even though most of the stores and equipment had already been loaded to the

‘Athlone Castle’ it had to be unloaded and placed back on the quayside. Hurry up and

wait.

The ‘Duchess of Atholl’ was a much smaller vessel. The troops found

themselves grossly overcrowded with hammocks below decks slung side by side with

not an inch between them and other men lying in bunks on the deck beneath them. It

was not until the afternoon of the following day that all of their stores and baggage

were loaded and the vessel cast off her moorings and the tugs maneuvered her into

the river Clyde.2 2 I made only one journey by troopship and that was between Harwich and the Hook of Holland, a journey lasting only a few hours. I can assure you that this is not an experience that I would choose to repeat.

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Harold and Charlie awoke on the December 7th 1941 to a day of alternate

bright sunshine and thick snow squalls, with a bitter wind blowing. Many more ships

had arrived and the convoy3 appeared to be forming up. A destroyer or two slipped in

and out of the shipping or circled about its periphery.

The whole of that Sunday afternoon was spent allocating men to their lifeboat

stations, and in practicing rapid assembly at boat stations from the mess decks

below. From this point onwards, all ranks were instructed that they would have to

carry their lifebelts wherever they went, and for the next four nights they must sleep

fully clothed. It was announced that in future water for washing would only be

available for one hour in the morning and one hour in the evening. Hot water would

only be available once a week.

Late on that Sunday came news that would change everything--evening it was

learned that war had broken out in the Pacific. Japan was at war with Great Britain

and the USA. Harold and Charlie realized that their intended service in Malaya would

no longer be mere ‘Garrison Duty.’ It became obvious that fighting lay ahead.

A different kind of fight would occupy them during their weeks at sea: the

fight against boredom, seasickness, and despair.

Owing to the crowded conditions on the ship it was impossible for all the men

to eat at the same time, and in each of the two messes there were three services for

each meal. All ranks had to be washed and shaved4 and their kits rolled up with their

hammocks packed away by 9.00 a.m. From 9.00 a.m. until ‘dismiss’ was sounded on

the bugle, which was about 11.00 a.m. they were all required to stay on deck

regardless of weather.5

The ‘Duchess of Atholl’ as flagship of the convoy, took up station at the head

of the third line. Although the wind had mercifully dropped, a long running swell

Spending a couple of months in similar conditions does not bear thinking about.3 The convoy number was WS 144 Remember they were already required to be fully dressed.5 Do you recall what the weather was like at that time? It alternated between bright sunshine and thick snow squalls, with a bitter wind. Not ideal conditions to be on the open deck of a ship.

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made the ship pitch considerably and the true meaning of her nickname ‘The

Dancing Duchess’ soon became apparent.

The next day, December 10th 1941 the ship pitched heavily, and victims

became numerous. At the midday meal there was some 180 empty places at each

meal served in the men’s messes. By early afternoon the great majority were to be

seen in every state and position of absolute misery. It was at this point in the voyage

that the overcrowding caused the most acute discomfort due to the constant need to

get to the latrines. Later sleeping on deck became possible and a slightly better

routine was evolved.

In the early hours of December 12th 1941 a series of crashes throughout the

ship announced the collapse of temporary bunks, steel uniform cases and all

moveable objects were being tossed all over the place. The troops, due to lack of

sleep, rose wearily. They faced what was to be the worst day of the voyage. At

breakfast a particularly vicious roll of the ship caused five tables, with ninety men to

collapse completely; mess tins, food, knives and forks flew in all directions and from

the resulting chaos three men broke their ankles and another received a very badly

cut hand.

Sailing farther south, the weather eventually changed. December 20 th 1941

was a swelteringly hot day. All hot water was turned off in an effort to cool the ship,

but this had little effect and the lack of ventilation in a ship built for the North Atlantic

made it felt. A change in convoy formation took place by the ships forming into four

lines of ships, line astern. On December 21st 1941 a further change was made as the

lines of ships closed to form one long single line. At 7.00 a.m. a headland loomed up

out of the mist and a cutter with pilots was seen approaching. Harold and Charlie

had reached Freetown (Sierra Leone).

The convoy remained in Freetown until the afternoon of Christmas day. No

shore leave was authorized. Natives in their ‘bum boats’6 were selling oranges and

6 Small native sail boats operated by local tradesmen selling their merchandise.

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bananas. The purchase of these fruits was forbidden.7 Native divers provided great

amusement by diving for coins thrown by soldiers’ enjoying a breath of fresh air on

the upper decks of the ship.

On January 4th 1942 the portion of the convoy which was to call at Capetown

took up station to port while the ships going to Durban, which included the ‘Duchess

of Atholl’, formed up to starboard. That evening the Capetown group dropped astern

and the next morning those on the ‘Duchess’ saw the South African coastline with

Table Mountain clearly visible. Durban was their destination and as hot and cold

water was now available all day Harold and Charlie spent time washing their personal

clothes in preparation for a spell of shore leave. After a month of being cramped and

crowded on a troopship, shore leave was to be a welcomed respite and pleasure.

The convoy arrived off Durban at 6.30 a.m. on January 8th 1942 and the ships

entered the harbor one by one with the ‘Duchess of Atholl’ berthing at 9.00 a.m.

Shore leave was granted immediately and Charlie and Harold filed ashore as soon as

they had been issued with their passes and some South African currency. Officers

were allowed ashore at 11.30 a.m. and the other ranks being allowed ashore at 2.00

p.m. in the meantime everybody crowded on deck to see the sights. It is alleged that

the ship developed a remarkable list as all ranks rushed to the ships rails to see the

first women that they had seen for over a month.

The next three days were spent in Durban and once again residents did their

utmost to give the troops a happy time. Complete strangers took groups of men

home and gave them an enjoyable respite in a family atmosphere. Others took men

to the cinema, to restaurants or canteens and every car owner seemed determined

on giving rides round Durban to as many soldiers as possible. This was particularly

noticeable on the Saturday and Sunday when, as it seemed, all the cars in Durban

lined up at a previously advertised rendezvous, and thousands of men were taken for

drives to the Valley of the Thousand Hills, to the Umgeni River and to other attractive 7 It is evident that the officers did not want their soldiers getting sick from eating fruits which they were not accustomed to. I did not sample the taste of a banana until I was approximately 13 years of age.

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spots in the neighborhood. Others were taken to see the Snake Farm, and the

monkeys along the Burman Avenue.

All good things must come to an end, and end they did. On Monday January

11th 1942 it was learned that the convoy would probably sail the following day. Sail it

did, and at 2.30 p.m. the s.s. Dunera steamed slowly out of harbor while every

railway engine and all the ships whistled a succession of victory ‘V’s’ in final

salutation. There was a fine drizzle and very bad visibility as the convoy put to sea.

On January 31st (1942) it was officially announced that the destination of the

regiment had been changed, and that instead of going to Singapore it would

disembark in the Dutch East Indies. On February 3rd (1942) the convoy sighted land

for the first time since leaving Durban and entered the Sunda Straights, passing

Krakatau in the early hours of the morning. Later in the afternoon Tanjung Priok port

loomed up out of the haze and the Dunera made its way slowly through a torturous

channel to berth alongside the quay at 4.00 p.m. just two calendar months, to the

day, since the regiment had entrained at Southend.

At 6.00 p.m. the regiment disembarked and moved in a convoy of vehicles to

Batavia, some 12 miles away, and there to the 11th & 12th Battalion (Dutch East Indies

Army) barracks at Meester Cornelis on the far side of town. It was a long arduous

business, for the guides were few and many of the vehicles did not have headlights.

Shortly after midnight the men were all in quarters, of a sort, and too tired to await

the hot soup that was sent up from one of the large hotels. Most men turned in to

sleep and await daylight for a general sorting out to take place.

The long voyage was over. The outlook since the regiment left England was

completely and perhaps disastrously changed. What lay ahead? What indeed?

On the morning of February 4th 1942 it was realized that two major problems

had to be faced. The first one being that there was no proper supply system

operating. There was no food immediately available for the thousands of British

troops now pouring into the town. Although all ranks appreciated the difficulties of

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the situation, those with knowledge of the problems, which were bound to arise, were

amazed by the ridiculous actions of Group Headquarters (GHQ) in removing to

Bandung, the very officers whose presence in Batavia was, at that particular time,

considered absolutely essential.

The second problem was one peculiar to 48th LAA Regiment RA. On leaving

England the regiment was informed that its guns, ammunition and transport would

be shipped direct to Singapore and would be handed over to the regiment upon its

arrival. As the regiment was now in Batavia, Java, the question arose ‘where are our

guns, ammunition and transport?’

Originally it was hoped that the British troops would be able to draw rations through

the Dutch army which was based in Batavia. It was discovered however, that the

Dutch army was mainly composed of local native troops whose wartime ration scale

consisted chiefly of rice. This was quite unsuitable for British troop rations. A

compromise was reached and it was eventually decided that rations would be

provided to the British troops by local hotels. The British troops had to make the best

arrangements that they could with the hotels. Regrettably, as the hotels had been

given no advance warning of this major commitment, their immediate stocks were

totally inadequate. Because of this totally unacceptable situation, the only food the

British troops received that morning was a cup of coffee and a sandwich that was

provided from a mobile canteen operated by the Dutch Women’s Volunteer

organization. During the evening sandwiches were provided by the Nederlanden

Hotel.8

On February 10th 1942, 95th Battery and 49th Battery withdrew from the gun

sites they were occupying at Meester Cornelis and Tanjung Priok and completed their

preparation for the move to Sumatra. Between them they had managed to collect

8 Obviously not a healthy diet for those deployed in a ‘theater of war’ and who may well be engaged in a long ferocious battle in the very near future.

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twenty Bofors, which was just four short of their establishment. Spare parts and tools

were non-existent and the amount of ammunition they had was considered

‘inadequate’. Transport was made almost up to scale with the exception of 3 ton

trucks. 3 ton trucks had to be used for towing the guns as no towers had arrived. The

shortage of transport did cause great difficulty. First of all, as there was no ‘base

depot’ there was no means of dumping surplus baggage and clothing which normally

would not be carried around. Secondly, the batteries were required to carry 28 days

of rations and as much additional ammunition and fuel as they could lay their hands

upon. Traditionally, rations, ammunition, fuel and lubricants, would be supplied by

the Royal Army Service Corps (RASC) from a well established base depot. But now

these two batteries were required to move, short of vehicles, with no supporting

supply columns, and themselves loaded with more rations, ammunition and fuel than

had been anticipated. The result was gross overloading of vehicles, a situation which

inevitably brings serious trouble.

February 13th 1942, marked the beginning of a rapid and bewildering

succession of troop movements. First, two troops of 95th Battery embarked at Batavia

and set out for Sumatra. Second, the following morning at 8:00 a.m. 49 th Battery and

the remainder of 95th Battery entrained at Taneh Abang and followed them. Many

other movements also took place during this time.

During the afternoon of Saturday February 14th 1942, a few hours after the

departure of 49th Battery the Dutch air raid report centre announced that 120

Japanese aircraft were over Palembang. It was not known until the following morning

that these aircraft carried and escorted parachutists who attacked the aerodrome at

Palembang known as P1.

On February 16th 1942 two big items of news were announced. First,

Singapore had fallen. The second that the parachute attack on Palembang on the 14 th

had been followed up the next day by a big landing of Japanese troops and that

Palambang had been captured. As the two aerodromes at Palambang (P1 & P2) were

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the only aerodromes in operational use by the RAF, it was evident that 95th and 49th

Batteries had been sent to Sumatra too late.

On February 17th 1942 it was learned that 95th and 49th Batteries had re-

embarked at Oosthaven and had already began to arrive at Merak docks. They had

brought their guns back, but owing to the lack of ships they had to leave all of their

transport in Sumatra. At midnight on the 17th the regimental 2 IC set out for Merak

docks with a convoy of twenty 3 ton trucks to convey the guns and equipment of the

batteries back to Batavia.

This was the position when the Regiment set about reorganizing itself after

the shambolic Sumatra affair. On February 19th 1942 orders were received that 49th

Battery was to be deployed at Kalijati airfield, some 80 miles from Batavia. They had

to be in position by first light on February 21st 1942. On February 20th 1942 they

were able to report that all guns were deployed and ready for action at 4.45 p.m. This

was considered a very creditable performance taking into account the weariness of

the men, the strange vehicles and the 80 mile drive, and the disorganization which

the battery had suffered forty-eight hours previously.

On February 21st 1942 at about 10.30 a.m. the enemy carried out a low level

attack on Kalijati airfield. Fifteen twin-engine medium bombers, escorted by fighters,

bombed the airfield with anti-personnel bombs. As the name implies, anti-personnel

bombs are designed to cause personal injury or death as opposed to destroying

buildings or the runway. The Japanese wanted to inflict minimum structural damage

so that they could utilize the airfield in their quest to invade Australia. In sequence

with the bombing, machine gunning of the airfield and gun sites took place from the

low level of 200 feet. All of the guns of 49 th Battery engaged the enemy, seven hits

were claimed. Two aircraft were shot down and two more were believed to have been

damaged and eventually crashed. A bomb burst five yards from one gun killing Lance

Bombardier Gafney and Gunner Brown. Five other soldiers were wounded9. General

9 Charlie was one of those wounded and evacuated to a hospital nearby.

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Van Oyen the Dutch Air Force and Anti Aircraft commander, congratulated the

Battery on their splendid shooting on their first defense of Kalijati airfield.

February 21st 1942 is noteworthy, because from this day forward, the lives of

Harold and Charlie were irreversibly changed. Charlie’s evacuation from Kalijati

airfield means that their once ‘single’ story, now becomes ‘two’ very different

stories. Despite its importance, Charlie’s account will have to be resumed later.10

February 24th 1942 was one of great enemy activity, in the course of which

the whole of 48th LAA Regiment were in action. The battle opened when 22 enemy

aircraft (Junkers 88) attacked the airfield at 10.00 a.m. coming in at 2,500 feet diving

to 300 feet in a heavy bomb, anti-personnel and machine gun attack. Nine guns of

49th Battery were in action and three aircraft were shot down, with a further hit

claimed, but not confirmed. Thankfully no casualties were reported.

On February 25th 1942, Kalijati was again attacked. The first attack was by 16

twin engine aircraft which came in and delivered a high level bombing attack, in the

course of which one man was wounded. Later in the day, around midday, 15 enemy

bombers and 15 fighters were seen approaching the airfield. Before reaching it

however, they broke formation and delivered a number of low-level individual

bombing and machine gun attacks. Nine guns went into action and shot down two

planes for certain, one of which was in flames. Five other hits were claimed. In the

second attack, three men were wounded.

The inadequate and insufficient supply of rations and fuel continued to be a

source of extreme concern for 49th Battery, in fact, the supply of these vital

commodities depended totally on ‘local purchase’ from civilian sources. Regrettably

most of the buying had to be done in Soerbang which was some distance away from

the airfield. The ammunition situation was absolutely ridiculous in that the ammo

dump was located many miles east of Bandung involving a two day round trip

10 His story resumes on page 13

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expedition. Clearly the supply system did not keep pace with the recent

deployments.

On February 28th 1942 it was reported that there had been a Japanese landing

at Cirebon on the West coast, the previous day. This was 56th Regiment, 48th Division

of the Imperial Japanese Army (IJA) and was the first reported landing of enemy

troops on Java. Following this was a warning that an enemy convoy of 37 transport

vessels was now somewhere off the North coast. Although the RAF had been

bombing this convoy and would continue doing so all night, their efforts did nothing

to slow the progress of the convoy and a landing was considered to be imminent.

As a precaution the Java Air Command (JAC) was already preparing for the evacuation

and the demolition of Kalijati stuctures and fuel dumps. Unfortunately, events

developed quicker than JAC had foreseen and much quicker than could be monitored

and accurately controlled from the JHQ located at Bandung.

The convoy actually reached the coast in the early hours of March 1st 1942. At 4.40

a.m. 230 Infantry Brigade landed at Eretan Wetan. The Dutch officer on duty in the

Command Post (CP) in the village of Kalijati, received a phone call from the Chief of

the village at Eretan Wetan, informing him that Japanese tanks were landing straight

opposite his house. As a result of this call, all duty officers of the RAF; AA Regiments;

Dutch air force and Dutch army were informed.

The Japanese invasion force headed South towards Subang during which they

met some Dutch resistance. But on being re-enforced by another Japanese

detachment at 8.15 a.m. they overcame the Dutch troops and pressed on Westward

to their main objective of Kalijati airfield.

Unfortunately, at Kalijati, due to heavy tropical rains, all civilian phone lines

were out of commission and there was no military radio communications

operational11 Because of this ridiculous situation it was impossible for Group Captain

11 In any battle situation good secure communications are vital. Having to rely upon public phone facilities is totally unacceptable.

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G F Whistondale RAF (operational commander of the British units and also Station

Commander) and Lieutenant Colonel J J Zomer (Commander of the Dutch air force) to

seek orders or instructions from superior headquarters. There were disagreements

between commanders, Whistondale wanted to wait for instructions, Zomer did not.

He felt ‘self initiative’ was appropriate at this time. He therefore decided to

commence the demolitions that his personnel were responsible for.

It was not until 7.00 a.m. that communications were re-established with

Bandung and Whistondale and Zomer received instructions from their respective

HQs. Both the British and Dutch air forces at JHQ, determined that Kalijati was not in

direct danger.12 The Dutch were ordered to send a reconnaissance party to probe the

Japanese situation at Eretan Wetan and a battalion was to be sent to counter attack

the Japanese at their landing site at Cirebon. Zomer was not at all happy with these

decisions, as he was aware that the unit earmarked for reconnaissance had only four

armored cars and they would be no match for the Japanese tanks plus the fact that

they were 75 km away from the beach head. The battalion ordered to counter attack

was 100 km away and had to travel along narrow country roads to Tomo and then

another 100 km to the Japanese landing site at Cirebon.

Whistondale and Zomer continued their disagreements and squabbles, which

did not help the situation one iota. Thankfully, at some point, Whistondale placed

ground defense under the command of the British Light Anti-Aircraft Regiment13, who

were to prepare for possible evacuation. The ground defense force was, at best, an

ad hoc assemblage. It consisted of RAF ground and maintenance crews and Gunners

from 12th Battery, 6th HAA Regiment RA who had lost their guns in South-Sumatra. In

all about 270 personnel. They were reasonably well armed, but mostly untrained in

and unprepared for ground defense. The remaining 40mm guns from here on,

adopted an anti-tank role, a role in which they had little or no training.12 This proved to be a gross miscalculation, probably due to lack of any accurate and timely intelligence. 13 This would be 49th LAA Battery, 48th LAA Regt RA.

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The resistance from this mixed bag of defenders, took the Japanese attackers

by surprise, and without doubt assisted greatly in the escape of many allied troops

from the airfield. This magnificent achievement was recognized by the Japanese, who

later reported to senior British offices that the “British soldiers and airmen had fought

very gallantly indeed”

Although a few guns of 49th LAA Battery were hurriedly evacuated, most of the

Gunners remained at their post allowing for the effective withdrawal of their

comrades14. One gun was ambushed but managed to extricate itself. During the

evacuation Gunners Simpson, Couchman and O’Sullivan were killed. Sergeant White

was wounded and taken prisoner. These were casualties which were reported by eye

witnesses. Those who did escape later admitted that events at this point in time

became so confused, that it is almost impossible to obtain a clear picture of what

really happened.

At the pre-arranged rendezvous point, when the roll was called, it was

discovered that seventy personnel of 49th Battery were missing in action. Later a

number of stragglers arrived, although this was encouraging, fifty15 soldiers remained

missing.

Those who remained behind at Kalijati, did not survive. Had there been

survivors, then the situation following the capture of the airfield would have been

made clear. There are mixed viewpoints as to what really happened to those who

remained. Some believe that the Japanese did not take prisoners, in other words,

they did not allow them to surrender. Some believe that they did take prisoners, but

they were corralled and executed. Some believe that although the number of

casualties is high, they believe they were killed in action. A research paper written by

a Dutch professor states:16

14 Harold was one of those who remained behind. I am of the opinion that this would have been mandatory rather than voluntary. 15 The list of those who were originally reported missing is included in this narrative.16 The battle for Kalijati from a joint operations perspective by P C Boer. His document was a special study on behalf of the Dutch Military Academy. This is the equivalent to ‘Sandhurst’ (UK) or ‘West Point’ (USA). The document I have contains only extracts

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A large number of British ground troops were taken prisoner. A number of these

soldiers were later executed by the Japanese at Kalijati. On 2nd March, many

soldiers from the British Army and the RAF who managed to get away arrived at

Bandoeng. However, from around 350 men from the British Army and 30 men of

the RAF (roughly 270 men ground defense and 110 men AA who were at Kalijati,

110 Army and all the 30 RAF that were deployed as ground defense remained

missing in action. It later turned out that at least 40 men were executed or

murdered by the Japanese.

from Boer’s extensive paper. It was translated by my Dutch research contact Jos Mulders.

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