1st Battalion Seaforth Highlanders in Malaya
By Donald William Martin 1929 1998

The following recollections were sent to us by Douglas Martin
whose late father served with the  Battalion  in Malaya

In 1946, after the war was over, conscription was still in force and at that time all my pals in the village, who were slightly older than I was, were long called up and gone away to do their 18 months National Service, as it was called.  I became very impatient for my turn to come and eventually I decided I would wait no longer and enlisted in the Regular Army for a term of 5 years.  My parents were horrified; their view was, why go until you have to.  However, my mind was made up, but by being only 17 ½ I still needed my parent's permission to join up, so, I pleaded with my father to let me go.  He finally relented saying," well if that’s what you really want I won’t stop you".

So it was that I went off to the Recruiting Office in Inverness, and I can remember being in that office, which had three departments – Army, Navy and Air Force - and walking along a corridor, totally undecided at this stage as to what service I should join.  What caused the indecision was that I thought that as my father had been in the navy, I should follow in his footsteps in an effort to please him.  But, I finally decided in the Recruiting Office, that it would be the Army for me.

I was interviewed by the Recruiting Officer who gave me a list of regiments I could choose from but at that stage I did not care much which regiment I went into, as long as I got into the Army, and it was a Highland Regiment. My choice was the 'Black Watch', which I chose simply because I liked the sound of the name.  It gave me the impression of a very tough Regiment, and so it was I joined the 'Black Watch'.

I returned home, after passing all the necessary tests and medical, to await my call to the colours.  I did not have long to wait. A month later, on the 7th of December 1946, I received instructions to report to the Junior Leaders Training Regiment at Penfield Camp, at Elgin, Morayshire.

At Elgin Railway Station I met up with a group of lads, who were obviously heading for the same place as I was, and we got talking while we awaited the transport that was to take us to the Camp.  The group, that I attached myself to, came from all over Britain, from as far apart as Surrey in the south to Sutherland in the north.  A complete mix of types, personalities and accents, all very strange to each other, but drawn together in apprehension of what we were about to face.  Of course, all of us were acting as if we weren’t bothered, but later on, as we went through our training, most of us confessed to being nervous upon our entry into the Army.

When the transport arrived we were taken straight to the Camp and as we got off the trucks, there were choruses of, "You’ll be sorry", from groups of recruits half way through their training who were waiting our arrival.  They considered themselves to be 'old sweats', being three months into their 6-month's training.

After six months rigorous training at Pinefield, we passed put as fully fledged infantry soldiers, (P.B.I, short for 'Poor Bloody Infantry') and in the next few years I was to find out at first hand what that phrase really meant. Before leaving Pinefield, we were all given our postings; all the Highland Regiment soldiers were destined for Redford Barracks, Edinburgh, and the rest scattered all over Britain to their various Regimental barracks.  We said our goodbyes, wishing each other luck for whatever the future held for us.

Our arrival at Redford was a physical and military shock for us young soldiers.  After the hutted camp at Pinefield, Redford was a very impressive sight, with its large two story barrack blocks, a massive parade square and what seemed to be thousands of soldiers milling about the area, some on the parade square, others on bayonet and weapon training, or physical training.  The whole place was alive with the serious business of soldiering and from the Pentland Hills behind the barracks came the constant sound of automatic weapons and rifle fire from the squads of soldiers on field training out in the hills.  We were under no illusions that this was how real soldiering began.

I little knew then that 30 years on I would be living in a house no more than 400 yards from the barracks where my stint as a soldier began.  It was the classic 'full circle'. After a month at Redford, upon returning from Edinburgh Castle, rumours began to circulate that a 'draft' was to be formed for overseas service for some of us.  The rumours were vague and speculation was rife as to where the eventual destination would be.  The speculation ranged from wild guesses to half informed knowledge, and it ranged from Germany, the Middle East or the Far East, the later being the one which was finally to prove to be correct.

I was still in the 'Black Watch' but, while the draft was being formed, I was then officially transferred to the Seaforth Highlanders.  I was not displeased as this was really my county regiment. As in the old days, all its soldiers were recruited form the Ross and Cromarty area, which included most of the Western Isles and included the Isle of Lewis, my birthplace.  So circumstances and fate dictated that I should serve in the Regiment.

And so it was that early in 1948 we were all sorted out for various destinations and I was included in a group of about 100 men who had been selected to join the 1st Battalion, Seaforth Highlanders, in Singapore, Malaya.  The early months of 1948 were a whirl of kit issue, jungle greens, medical and inoculations against diseases in this country.  Some of these injections had a devastating effect, laying one low for at least a couple of days afterwards.  However, in April 1948, we were ready and eager to go.  Finally the word came; we were to leave Edinburgh for Southampton.

The train journey south was long and boring and we were glad to arrive at Southampton where we saw for the first time the troopship, HMS Dilmai, which was to be our home for the next 28 days on our journey to Singapore.  Tied up at dockside she was an impressive site, painted brilliant white, with a broad blue stripe painted on the hull half way between the waterline and the superstructure. Once abroad we were allocated to our troop decks and messing and sleeping quarters.  My first reaction was that we were going to be very crowded.  There were about 70 of us in the mess where we were to eat and sleep.  There were 8 oblong tables, large, white, wooden affairs that seated 12 men.  At each table all of us took it in turn to be the mess orderly.  This duty started at 6 am when food had to be collected from the main galley, brought back to the mess and then served to the waiting soldiers.  The food was good, much better than we had been used to in the barracks, and nothing went to waste. As the voyage progressed, those of us who were not seasick enjoyed gigantic meals, at the expense of those who were too ill to eat.

After each meal, everything had to be cleaned up, dishes washed, tables scrubbed white, the whole mess deck scrubbed out, and hammocks folded up and stored away.  Yes, hammocks were order of the day, and some of the first attempts of the soldiers to climb into them at night were a source of much hilarity.  Life could be funny abroad a troopship. The Captain’s inspection of the troop decks took place at 10 am each morning and any deck that was found wanting in tidiness or cleanliness, faced a further inspection later in the day, after a further scrubbing out, etc.  On one occasion, at our particular mess table, the Captain discovered some grease marks on the white scrubbed surface. For this misdemeanour our table was inspected after every meal by the 1st Officer for the next five days.  We did not appreciate it at the time but when so many men are in such a confined space, hygiene, in every respect was very important, especially as we were nearing the tropics.

The voyage although long and not very comfortable, was enjoyable, passing through places one had only read about in school geography books.  The notorious Bay of Biscay, where we encountered our first storm, was a frightening experience. Even although the ship was large, the fury of the gale-whipped sea threw her about as if she were a tug. Following that ordeal, we passed through the Straits of Gibraltar into the Mediterranean and on to Malta, where we stopped for a time to take on water, etc. and   we were allowed ashore for a few hours to stretch our legs.

Then on to Port Said, where we dropped anchor for several hours, waiting out turn to go through the Suez Canal.  Ships go through the Canal in convoys at a very slow speed, so as to minimise damage to the banks, due to the wash set in motion by the vessels as they pass through.  The Canal works on a one-way system.  Ships queuing up at Port Said and Port Suez, at each end of the canal.  Going through the Canal was an awe-inspiring experience. From the ship, port and starboard, looking out on vast expanses of sandy desert, and miles and miles of nothingness, except for occasional small villages dotted along its banks.   When passing these villages, one could hear the inhabitants chanting their prayers in the evening and I remember at the time the similarity of their chants to the unaccompanied singing of Gaelic-speaking congregations of the churches at home in Lewis.

From Port Suez into the Red Sea and on towards Aden, the barren rocks, and never was a place more aptly described.  My first impression was of a place almost burnt out of existence by the merciless heat of the sun.  I cannot recall what the temperature was, but it was painful to touch the metal of the ship superstructure, so intense was the heat.  So, it was with some sense of relief to all of us that we sailed out of Aden into the coolness of the Indian Ocean and towards Colombo, Ceylon.

During our passage through the Indian Ocean, we ran into a tropical storm, and if the Bay of Biscay was frightening, this was a hundredfold worse.  Mountainous waves, howling winds, thunder and a fearsome display of all types of tropical lightning.  During this storm I estimated that ¾ of 1,500 troops onboard were terribly seasick and as many as could find empty toilets spent all their time there and for those that couldn’t, just lay down in any vacant space they could find and were continually sick.  The whole ship reeked of sickness and it was a most unpleasant time.

Eventually the storm abated, and normal routine returned to the ship.  The remainder of the voyage to Colombo, I can remember, was very pleasant.  It was here I caught my first sight of flying fish.  By going up as near as one could to the bow of the ship, we stood and watched shoals upon shoals leaping out of the water close to the ship's bow.  The flying fish flight is very short, but very spectacular, a truly amazing sight.  Also there were the schools of dolphins, who seemed to delight in racing ahead of the ship, close to the bow wave and with the sea being a beautiful clear blue green colour, they could be seen even at a considerable depth. This part of the voyage was a delight and absolute pleasure.

As we came near to the coast of Malaya and land was in sight, we could see the incredible difference between the Far East and the Middle East.  The former, a mass of green vegetation, trees of extreme height and a warm, dampish climate, not unpleasant in a way, but perhaps slightly clammy, and humid when the sun was going down.  In stark contrast, the Middle East with its intense dry heat and miles of arid landscape without a vestige of vegetation except for the odd oasis with its scattering of palm trees. Little did we realise, as we approached Malaya, that this was the destination of a Regular soldier's overseas tour of duty in the 1950’s and was to be our 'Green Hell' for the next 3 years. Later on, as I got older, I felt that I had lost out on a good part of life, the late teens and early twenty’s, but I had volunteered and on reflection I now see that had I not been in the Army, I would have missed out on seeing so many parts of the world and the many experiences, good and bad in a life that otherwise would have been very ordinary.  So all in all – no regrets.

My company was stationed in a small village, Kuala Krau, in Pahang.  The village consisted of no more than a tiny railway station amid a cluster of attap houses and a village shop.  Indeed, a typical remote Malayan village. The company was billeted in the railway station and for those of us who could not be accommodated in the station buildings, a few wooden huts, were billeted under canvas close to the station. During our stay there, we were subjected to terrorist attacks although none of these were serious. They, the terrorists, would come in the night, shooting off weapons, shouting Communist slogans and scattering leaflets with Communist propaganda inside the barbed wire perimeter defences. The gist of the message on the leaflets usually was, "Go home British solider, this is not your fight".  No one was injured as a result of these attacks and we soon realised that they were planned with the intention of sapping morale and to make us all jumpy and trigger-happy.  In some ways they succeeded in their intention as we had many 'Stand tos' during the night as a result of jumpy sentries firing at real or imaginary targets.  Nerves were very much on edge.

The incident, after described, involved our armoured train, which was our only means of transport to our Battalion H.Q. at Mentakab, about 20 miles away, as there were no roads in or out of Kuala Krau.

It all began one evening when one of the young soldiers became ill with severe abdominal pains. The only medical facilities we had were an RAMC orderly who was very good but his medical knowledge, drugs and equipment were limited, so the decision was made that the patient would be taken in the armoured train to Headquarters where better medical facilities were available.  The patient was made ready for the journey and after notifying the Stationmaster of our intention the train was also organized.  Another soldier and myself were detailed as escort to accompany the patient and the medical orderly. We left Kuala Krau within the half-hour.  I was in the cabin of the engine along with the driver and the fireman and the others were in the freight wagon at the rear of the engine.  The train was equipped with a spotlight fitted on the top front of the engine; this illuminated the track for about 500 yards in front of the train.

About 15 minutes into the journey, I was standing on the footplate looking ahead when I saw that several sections of the track ahead of us had been removed.  I yelled a warning to the driver but it was too late and the train ploughed into the section where the track had been removed. With a screeching of metal against metal the train crashed on to its side and came to a halt.  A quick check showed that no one had been injured but as we lay in the wreckage we braced ourselves waiting for the hail of bullets, which surely must follow the derailment, but nothing happened.  We lay absolutely still for a further 10 minutes before crawling gingerly out of the wreckage, still expecting to be ambushed.  We were in complete darkness, as the spotlight had been smashed in the crash.

After seeing that the driver and fireman were okay, I made my way to the freight wagon, which was still upright on the track to find that the patient and orderly were also uninjured. All of us gathered round the engine and held a discussion as to what we were going to do next. It was decided that the only feasible solution was for someone to walk to Kaula Krau to get help.  I was the NCO, so it naturally fell to me to make the journey.  I did not relish the thought of the trek along the railway line, for God knows how many miles, in complete darkness. I set off, warning those remaining behind to be on high alert as the terrorists might still be in the area.  The journey along the railway line was, to say the least, a very uncomfortable experience.  I was wearing a brand new pair of 'John White' shoes, which I had bought on my last leave in Singapore, and these were definitely not designed for the trip I was making.

It was about two hours later; just as dawn was breaking, I came round a bend in the track and there was Kuala Krau station a few hundred yards ahead.  I reported to the Company Commander and within half an hour a patrol was on it’s way to the scene of the derailment and they were to rendezvous with a train wreck crew on it’s way from Battalion H.Q. at Mentakab.  For myself, I was given an excellent breakfast and allowed to turn in to sleep.  I was absolutely exhausted and my shoes and feet were in ruins.

The sequel to the story was that the patient, who had been suffering from no more than severe constipation, had been cured by the shock of the derailment. We were lucky to have survived the crash, but luckier still that the terrorists had not followed up with a full-scale ambush.

This incident happened about one year before my three tour of duty in Malaya was due to end and as the date for returning to the U.K. came closer one became more anxious with each successive jungle patrol.  The command structure realised this and an order was issued that men who were within three months of return to the U.K. were not to be sent out on patrols, so barring accidents, we could see light at the end of the tunnel.

The foregoing brings to mind the first experience of meeting up with the terrorists, or 'bandits', as we fondly called them.  The platoon was stationed on a palm oil estate, Johore Labis, in the southern state of Johore, just across the causeway from Singapore.  It was the practice that each section of the platoon, take it in turns to be on 24-hour 'stand by'.  This meant being fully clothed, fully armed and ready to go at a moment’s notice.  We also had a 25 cwt. truck, with driver, also on the 'stand by' detail.  So it was a case of 24 hours on, 48 hours off, but not really off because we still had to carry out normal duties in our supposed off periods.

On this particular afternoon it was my section's turn on 'stand by'.  We were sitting around, drinking tea and playing cards when we heard the sound of small arms fire coming from the north end of the estate, which bordered on to dense jungle.  Within a matter of seconds we were on our way to the area.  As we approached, we came under fire and had to leave the truck and dive for cover.  The firing was very heavy but not very accurate, and it was several minutes before we could regroup and move forward.  As I lay there with bullets flying overhead, I remembered the words of an old soldier who had told me that when under fire, if you hear the crack of the bullet above your head you knew it had not hit you; not a very consoling thought in the situation.

Suddenly, the firing stopped and we lay still for a short while before starting to move forward, firstly crawling on our stomachs, then on our feet, moving slowly through the trees, ready to throw ourselves to the ground if the firing started again. As we went forward, we spotted a civilian jeep that we recognised as belonging to Mr. Swanson, the estate Manager.  The jeep was empty and our fears were realised when we found Mr. Swanson’s body a few yards away.  He had been very badly shot and it was obvious from his wounds that he had been riddled with bullets while lying on the ground and his weapons had been taken, as happened in every terrorist ambush, and to complete their work they had shot up the engine of the jeep with automatic fire rendering it absolutely useless.

We took Swanson’s body and the jeep back to our camp. Later, we found out that he had left his bungalow early that morning without his usual Malayan Police escort, an extremely foolhardy thing to do, considering the amount of terrorist activity there had been in the area in the previous months. It was sad to think that only a few days before his death we had been having drinks with him at his bungalow, but such was the price estate managers knew they might have to pay in their isolated positions.

This was my baptism of fire and although very brief and over in minutes, it was both frightening and exciting at the same time. Unlike Swanson, who had been alone when he died, at least we had each other in the section to support and encourage in moments of adversity.  This, I think, is what enables a soldier to carry out tasks he is required to do even though, at times, they seem almost suicidal.

My father went on to join Edinburgh City Police after the army and retired from Lothian and Borders Police after 25 years service. Healways felt like Malaya was a forgotten war and that it was overshadowed by Vietnam. But as he said, this was Britains Vietnam. Your website helps us not forget the sacrifices of people who served in Britains small wars
Douglas Martin
 

This page is dedicated to the memory of  Donald William Martin