The Empire Trilogy Part 59

Meanwhile, as a descant to Dr Brownley's rather anxious elucidations (the good doctor, though for years he had been medical officer to Langfield and Bowser Limited, had never been faced with such a problem before ... And just think of it! The Chairman himself! A heavy responsibility indeed!) there came Ehrendorf's reasonable tones, gently chiding Matthew for being selective in his view of railways in the colonies, for conveniently forgetting their positive aspects ...

'What we are doing is subsidizing the white man's business operations at the expense of native welfare ... Now, I agree with you, this would not matter if the profits stayed where they were produced, but they don't but they don't ... they're whipped off back to Britain, or France, or Belgium or Holland or wherever ...' ... they're whipped off back to Britain, or France, or Belgium or Holland or wherever ...'

'A three-gallon bottle with two gla.s.s tubes pa.s.sing through the rubber stopper, yes, I've got that ... One tube reaches the bottom of the bottle to take up the liquid and pa.s.s it out to a rubber tube and then to the injection canula. I see. The other gla.s.s tube through the stopper you attach to the bicycle pump ... Oh, I see, a foot pump ... I thought you might mean ...'

'Let's not forget that railways act as an instrument of civilization,' said Ehrendorf vaguely, his eyes probing the darkness for some sign of hope, 'bringing isolated people into contact with the modern world.'

'Slavery used to be defended in those very words! Besides, in Africa natives died by the hundreds of thousands just in building the d.a.m.n things. Look at the Belgian Congo under Leopold! You see, what I'm trying to explain is how everything in a colony, even beneficial-sounding things like railways and experimental rice-growing stations, are set up in one way or another to the commercial advantage of the Europeans or Americans with money invested in the country ...'

'D'you mind if we just go over the sites of injection once more,' cried Dr Brownley in a voice of despair. 'No, operator, this is an important matter, a matter of life and death. I'm a doctor, will you kindly get off the line, please. Now, fluid equal to fifteen per cent of body weight into the arterial system? 450 cc to a pound, yes, I've got that. Two per cent body weight to be injected into each femoral artery towards the toes. One per cent into each brachial artery towards the fingers, yes. One common carotid artery towards head with two per cent. Inject same carotid towards heart with seven per cent. Total amount of fluid should come to fifteen per cent body weight. What happens, though, if the blood in the artery has clotted, as I'm afraid it might have by now, and you can't force the fluid in? Wait a moment, I'm trying to note it down, yes ... the extremity should be wrapped in cotton wool soaked in the fluid and then bandaged ... and you keep on soaking the cotton at intervals. Good. Another thing I want to know is whether one has to inject fluid into the thoracic and abdominal cavities?'

'How frightful!' thought Walter, and despite the heat his skin became gooseflesh and even the bristles on his spine rose in horror. Meanwhile, the two young men had reached the foot of the white marble steps which curved up to the portico and thence to the verandah. Still talking nonsense they began to ascend.

'How about the rights of the individual, imported along with a Western legal system? Isn't that worth having, Matthew?'

'Freedom of the individual at the expense of food, clothing and a harmonious life, of being swindled by a system devised to the advantage of those with capital? If you had asked the inmates of the coolie barracks in Rangoon, dying by their hundreds from malnutrition and disease, I'm sure they would have told you that wonderful though being free was, just at the moment so wretched was their condition that it wasn't much help. It's no good calling somebody free unless he's economically free, too, at least to some extent ... Is it? ... however much lack of individual freedom may horrify an English intellectual sitting at his desk with a hot dinner under his belt.'

'Yet even if one admits, and I'm not saying I do,' replied Ehrendorf, 'that the natives in British and other colonies have been placed at a disadvantage, or even swindled and abused, can you actually say that they would have been better off left strictly alone? You could say that the coming of Western capital is simply a bitter pill that they have to swallow if they are ever to achieve a higher state of civilization ... In others words, that capitalism is like a disease against which no traditional culture anywhere has any resistance and that, in the circ.u.mstances, in Malaya and other colonies it could have been worse and will certainly get better.'

'Perhaps,' said Matthew dubiously, 'at some future period men will be able to look back and say, why, it was merely a bitter pill they had to swallow before achieving their present state of felicity, but for the moment, although it's clear what they've lost with their traditional way of life, it's not so easy to see what they've gained. Improved medicine in some places, but mainly to combat new illnesses we've brought with us. Education ... largely to become unemployable or exploited clerks in the service of our businesses or government departments ... And so on.'

'I say, Walter, are you there?' called Dr Brownley who had left the telephone and was peering uneasily out on to the darkened verandah. 'Oh, there you are, I didn't see you at first. What a business!' he added, mopping his brow. 'It seems we must wash the entire body with the fluid, including the face, ears and hair ... and we can get rid of any post-mortem staining of the face by ma.s.sage.'

Walter did not reply. He was looking at the silhouettes of Matthew and Ehrendorf who had paused by the wire door to the verandah and were looking out towards the restlessly moving searchlights over the docks. Dr Brownley, distraught, began to think of a matter which had occupied his mind almost exclusively for the past few days: walking with an innocent mind and a serene, untroubled expression on his face along the street his eye had happened to stray to Whiteaway's window and there, alas, had found itself locked in the basilisk stare emitted by a certain article of an almost infinite desirability, agreed, but costing $985.50. How could a man afford such a price? Yes, but how could a man do without such an article? These were the horns of the Doctor's dilemma. But first he would have to deal with this dreadful business of embalming old Langfield.

'There's only one way, it seems to me,' said Matthew with a sigh, 'in which our colonies could begin to get the benefits of their contact with us ...'

'And what's that, I should like to know?' came Walter's forbidding voice from within, startling the two young men.

'Oh, h.e.l.lo, Walter. Well, by kicking us out and running the mines and plantations for their own profit instead of ours. In other words, a revolution!' He smiled wearily. 'The only trouble with a revolution is that it seldom improves things and very often makes them worse.'

'Obviously they too are subject to my Second Law,' smiled Ehrendorf.

'But it wasn't that that I wanted to see you about, Walter. I wanted to ask for your help in another matter entirely.'

'And what might that be?' Walter did not sound encouraging. Matthew explained that he was trying to help Miss Chiang to leave Singapore because she would run a particular risk if the city fell to the j.a.panese. It seemed impossible, however, to get her the necessary pa.s.sport and permit to leave. Perhaps Walter could do something ...?

'I don't see how I can help,' said Walter testily. 'With all the red tape I can't get anything done myself these days.' Although there was some truth in this, Walter would not have felt inclined to help in any case. He considered it a sign of 'the spirit of the times' that Matthew should be seeking a favour for a Eurasian woman with little concern for propriety as if she were his wife.

'I thought it might be easier to get her an exit permit if she were travelling with someone who had a British pa.s.sport. Presumably Joan will be leaving soon? Perhaps she could go with Joan if you have no objection?'

'That's up to Joan,' replied Walter shortly. 'You'd better ask her and Nigel.' From his tone it was plain that he did not want to discuss the matter further.

When the two young men had retreated, in silence this time, the way they had come, the Doctor cleared his throat. 'I say, Walter, d'you think you could give me a hand in the dining-room for a few minutes. I can't get hold of anyone to help me on account of these d.a.m.ned air-raids. This job shouldn't be too difficult, fortunately, but I've never had to do it before ... And by the way, please don't let me forget to plug the a.n.u.s, mouth and nostrils with cotton soaked in the embalming fluid. Oh yes, and what I wanted to ask you was this: do you think that the Langfield and Bowser shareholders will want to keep the body a long time? I mean, they aren't thinking of keeping it in a gla.s.s case in the board-room or anything like that, are they? Because the thing is this: If they do want to keep it we shall have to rub it with plenty of Vaseline and bandage it to prevent it from drying out ... I say, Walter, is anything the matter?'

57.

'I'll make sure that she has money, of course, and take care of the ticket. We think it may be easier to get her an exit permit if she is employed, at least nominally, by someone with a British pa.s.sport. She won't be any trouble, Joan, I guarantee.'

'Nigel,' Joan called to her fiance, invisible in the room behind her, 'Matthew wants to know if we can take someone with us? I don't think we can, can we?'

'I don't think you realize how urgent it is ...'

'A Eurasian girl, you say? An amah amah? A servant? Really, it's impossible.'

'Not a servant ... a friend.'

'I'm sorry.'

'Joan, this isn't just anyone. It's someone you know know. She'll be in deadly danger if the j.a.panese ever take Singapore and she's still here. Vera has told me that you were there when the j.a.ps arrested her in Shanghai ... You know better than anyone what will happen to her if they find her here!'

'Nigel, there's nothing we can do, is there?'

A voice called something from the interior of the room which Matthew was unable to make out.

'Sorry, Miss Chiang should have thought about all this earlier in the day. There's nothing we can do, I'm afraid.'

'To h.e.l.l with you then, you b.i.t.c.h!' cried Matthew in a voice that took even him by surprise.

Since the air-raids which had on successive days devastated Tanglin, Beach Road and the central part of the city, many Europeans had at last come to realize the extreme danger that they ran. Even if it were improbable that the j.a.panese would be permitted to land on Singapore Island itself, the fact remained that their air force, whose control of the sky was no longer seriously disputed by the few and rapidly diminishing fighters of the RAF, could inflict all the damage that was necessary. Such was the confidence of the j.a.panese bombers that they now droned constantly over the city in daylight, flying at a great height, twenty thousand feet or more, in enormous packs that for some reason were always in multiples of twenty-seven, causing Europeans below to think that there must be something sinister and unusual about j.a.panese arithmetic. At such a height they were well beyond the range of the light anti-aircraft guns which made up the greater part of Singapore's air defences. And so the truth had begun to dawn on the inhabitants of the city: if attacked from the air they were defenceless.

Many European women who had bravely declared that they would 'stay put' now had second thoughts or at least yielded to the demands of their men-folk that they should leave forth-with. The result was that every day crowds a.s.sembled at the shipping offices in search of pa.s.sages to Europe, Australia or India. But, although earlier in the month many ships had sailed from Singapore with room to spare (Mrs Blackett and Mrs Langfield had marvelled at the deserted decks and echoing state-rooms of the Narkunda Narkunda) now, quite suddenly it seemed, you were lucky to find a berth on any sort of vessel going anywhere. Partly this was the result of the chaos in the docks, where unloading had almost seized up under the bombing; partly it was the result of the diminished ability of the RAF to defend incoming convoys in the sea approaches to the Island, now rendered hazardous to a distance of twenty miles or more by prowling j.a.panese bombers.

Matthew's efforts to help Vera had so far been frustrated as much by the perplexing regulations which governed departure from the Colony as by the rapidly swelling numbers of those who wanted to leave. Moreover, so much of his time was taken up by his duties as a fireman that he had little time or energy to spare to help and encourage her. One of the major difficulties was to find somewhere for her to go somewhere for her to go. After a series of tiring and time-consuming enquiries he had at length succeeded in discovering that it was government policy that women and children, irrespective of race, should be allowed to leave if they wanted to. To begin with he had thought it would be best to send Vera to Australia ... but Australia had agreed to accept only a limited number of Asiatics and Vera had returned empty-handed from their temporary immigration office, depressed and exhausted after many hours of waiting.

Why had she been refused? Were her papers not in order or was there some other reason? Vera shook her head; she had been unable to get any explanation from the hara.s.sed and impatient officials at the office. Her papers certainly did not look very convincing. Under the Aliens Ordinance, 1932, she had been given merely a landing-permit which she had been obliged to exchange for a certificate of admission valid for two years and renewable. Matthew nudged his gla.s.ses up on his nose and examined the doc.u.ment despondently: it identified Vera merely as a landed immigrant resident in the Straits Settlements. If she needed a pa.s.sport would she be able to get one at this eleventh hour? And what country would give her a pa.s.sport? Time was running out so quickly. He was somewhat heartened, however, by the knowledge that it was official government policy that Vera, in common with other women, should leave if she wanted to.

Next, Vera had gone to another office to enquire whether she would be permitted to go to India. She had again been obliged to wait for many hours and once more it had proved to be in vain. On this occasion, although there had been no racial difficulty as there had been with Australia, she had been asked for evidence that she would have enough money to support herself in India. She had had none and by the time Matthew had taken out a letter of credit for her with the Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank and sent her back again another two precious days had pa.s.sed and she was once more obliged to join a long line of anxious people besieging the office ... it had closed before she had been able to get anywhere near the counter. To make matters worse, Matthew could see that with weariness and disappointment Vera had grown fatalistic: she no longer believed that she would be allowed to leave Singapore before the j.a.panese arrived. Matthew, who in the meantime had been waiting fruitlessly on her behalf in another equally anxious queue at the Chinese Protectorate to apply for an exit permit, had secretly begun to wonder whether she might not be right. However, he did his best to rea.s.sure her, saying that certainly she would be able to escape and that the j.a.panese would be most unlikely to take Singapore.

Matthew was so tired these days that his few off-duty hours were spent in a waking trance. If he so much as sat down for a moment he was liable to fall asleep immediately; it seemed that his mind would only work in slow motion. If only he had had time to sleep he felt he might have been able to think of some solution, some way of getting through this baffling maze of administrative regulations. Add to that the difficulty, under constant air-raids, of accomplishing the most simple formalities. In search of a doc.u.ment you went to some office, only to find that it had been evacuated, n.o.body knew where. Then further exhausting searches through other offices, which themselves might have removed themselves to a safer area outside the city, would be necessary before you could locate the office you wanted.

While in the queue at the Chinese Protectorate Matthew had been told by some of the other people waiting that Vera would need pa.s.sport photographs in order to obtain her exit permit. She had none and these days it had become impossible to obtain them. Change Alley, which had once swarmed with photographers who were only too willing to snap you in any official pose you wished, or even in a grotto of cardboard tigers and palms, was deserted, for the photographers had all been j.a.panese and were now interned. So what was to be done? Matthew considered buying a camera and taking the photographs himself, but this was hardly a solution: he would still have to find someone to develop and print them. To make matters worse Matthew had heard from the Major, who had heard from someone at ARP headquarters, that the troopships, the West Point West Point and the and the Wakefield Wakefield, which were bringing the 18th Division, would soon be able to take a great number of women and children to safety, provided that they could avoid the j.a.panese bombers. To know that only bureaucratic formalities prevented Vera from having this chance of escape filled Matthew with bitterness and despair. After five days of roaming the hot and increasingly ruined city with her in the last week of January, obliged to take shelter at intervals in the nearest storm-drain, he felt utterly exhausted and demoralized.

'Don't worry, we'll find a way,' he told her as he was leaving her one evening after another unsuccessful search for a photographer. 'Didn't you once have a camera?' He remembered that she had wanted to show him some pictures of his father. Yes, but it had only been a box-camera and anyway it had been stolen. Vera was lying on her bed in an odd, crumpled position, the very picture of hopelessness. She gave him a wan smile however, and told him in turn not to worry. After he had gone, she would get up and go and see someone she knew who might be able to help. Some hours later, returning from the docks with the Mayfair AFS unit, he pa.s.sed near where she lived and asked the Major to stop for a moment so that he could ask whether she had been successful. With refugees from across the Causeway the number of people living in Vera's tenement had greatly increased and he had difficulty making his way past those sleeping on the stairs and in the corridor. When he had at last reached Vera's cubicle he found that she was still lying on the bed in the same odd position, just as he had left her. It seemed that she no longer even had the will to move.

'You must come with me to the Mayfair,' he said. 'Bring a toothbrush and whatever else you need.

But Vera shook her head. 'No Matthew, I am better to stay here. Soon I will feel better.'

'But it's dangerous here. You're too near the river and the docks.'

Again she shook her head. Nothing he could say would make her change her mind.

'I must go. They're waiting for me outside. You stay here and rest ... I know how tired you must be. And don't worry about the photographs. I'll think of something ...'

Having returned to the Mayfair still, despite his rea.s.suring words to Vera, without any idea of what to do next, Matthew was greeted by the smiling face of Mr Wu, to whom he had already spoken of the difficulty of finding a photographer. Mr Wu had thought of a solution to the problem in the meantime. He had an interest in a Chinese newspaper which would undoubtedly employ a photographer. It would take nothing more than a telephone call: by evening Vera would have her photographs. It seemed almost too good to be true.

Tired though he was, Matthew set off again, this time on a bicycle he had borrowed, to tell Vera the good news. The streets were just beginning to get light; in Chinatown the first shadowy figures were emerging after the night's curfew. On his way along Southbridge Road, however, he was astonished to see that a great crowd of women and children had already formed outside one of the buildings and he thought: 'Good heavens! What can they possibly want at this time in the morning?' But then he realized that they were waiting outside the pa.s.sport office for it to open and his heart sank at the thought that the photographs were only the beginning.

Vera had been asleep: she gazed at him with dulled eyes as he told her about the photographs.

'Don't you see!' he exclaimed irritably. 'Now we'll be able to get the exit permit and everything else!' He was angry with her for not having reacted with more enthusiasm. It seemed that she had given up hope at the very moment that they had a chance of success. But his anger melted away almost immediately. 'You mustn't give up hope,' he said more gently. 'When did you last have something to eat?' He went out then to the food-stalls at the end of the street and presently returned with some soup and a dish of fried rice. He had to feed her with chopsticks, like a child: she was utterly exhausted. While he fed her he spoke to her encouragingly: when they had the photographs they would go to the Chinese Protectorate and get her an exit permit and whatever else was needed. After all, the Government wanted her to leave: they said so! Then they would get her a berth on a boat to Colombo or, failing that, to England. He would have money sent to a bank there for her. She could stay in a hotel and he would join her as soon as he could get away from Singapore. By tomorrow evening or perhaps the one after that, they should have all the necessary papers: then they could go together and register her name at the P & O office. They would certainly be in time to get her on one of the ships that were due to leave soon.

'I don't want to leave without you.'

'But you must. If the j.a.ps take Singapore ...'

'You always said they wouldn't,' she said, smiling at last.

'Well, perhaps not. Who knows?' Matthew no longer knew himself whether he believed that Singapore would hold out. 'I must go now before the morning raids begin. Is there anywhere for you to shelter if the bombers come this way?'

Vera shook her head. 'Don't worry. I feel better now.' She smiled again and squeezed his hand. 'I'm sorry to have been "a weak link".'

'You're not a weak link,' said Matthew, delighted to see her more cheerful. 'Don't forget to eat something today, even if it's only a pair of white mice on toast.'

58.

In these last days of January it had become General Percival's habit to rise before dawn and spend an hour in his office before leaving by car for Joh.o.r.e just over the Causeway where the fighting was now taking place. As a rule, therefore, it was still dark outside the bathroom window while he was shaving. But he had had a restless night and had reached the bathroom a little later than usual: the sky was already brightening as he rubbed a finger over his bristly chin. In the course of the night two matters of enormous importance had loomed-up over his halfsleeping mind saying: 'Remember us tomorrow!' But now, as he delved to drag them into the light, he could scarcely believe that he had taken them seriously. One of these anxieties had concerned transport: the prospect that every motor-car and lorry in his Army might have a simultaneous puncture causing the entire force to freeze up had afflicted him dreadfully. Was it nothing more than that? Evidently not.

Well, what was the other worry? During the night he had decided that he must issue orders to the effect that all dripping taps, both civilian and military, must be turned off at the main forthwith or provided with new washers. This was ridiculous too, but at least he knew what had caused it. The day before he had had a brief word with Brigadier Simson, the Director-General Civil Defence, who had made some gloomy observations about Singapore's water supply: it appeared that out here in the tropics where there was no danger of pipes freezing up, the munic.i.p.al engineers did not bury them deep underground as they did in England: hence they were vulnerable to bombs. Already there had been considerable damage.

In a moment of intuition he realized, too, the source of his worry about punctures ... it was the fear that both the 53rd (British) Brigade and the Segamat force might be cut off by the j.a.panese before they had time to retreat through the bottleneck at Yong Peng. But that was a danger which was now in the past, thank heavens. Strange that it should continue even so to torment him in his dreams. But ... he brushed all that aside. He had more important things to think about.

As he began to shave, though, he did not think about them. He began to think about other things, about the Governor, and about oil dumps, and about his mother in Hertfordshire. What a terrible year 1941 had been! And yet it had seemed to start off so well with his appointment as GOC Singapore. In April, even before he had left England, his mother had died suddenly. She had been getting on in years, mind you, but it had been a heavy blow, nevertheless. All the same, once or twice recently when he had been in low spirits, it had occurred to him that perhaps, after all, her death had been a blessing in disguise, sparing her from unnecessary suffering on his account.

He stood poised, razor in hand, gazing at his lathered face in the mirror. A commander must be a man of strength of purpose and authority, like General Dobbie who had once no doubt shaved in this very mirror. But his own face with its thick white beard of lather looked encouragingly commanding and purposeful. With care, for he had been a staff officer long enough to know that one must be scrupulous in attention to detail, he began to attack the fringes of the lather, driving it inwards from its perimeter at ears and throat with tiny strokes of the blade in the direction of chin, lips and moustache. Here he would presently have it surrounded, if his experience was anything to go by, and would finish it off with a few decisive strokes.

Meanwhile, his mind had begun to feed once more on that run of bad luck which had a.s.sailed him so abruptly. His mother had not been dead a year and yet his whole career and perhaps even his life itself were in jeopardy. He had served on the Western Front in the Great War and had kept his eyes open. Yes, he knew what was what! For the truth was, if you were not on the Western Front you were nowhere nowhere ... at least as far as the Powers That Be were concerned. The same thing went for this war, too. Right from the start he had been in no doubt about that. You only had to look at the obsolete equipment and untrained men, the odds and ends and riff-raff from India and Australia, all speaking different tongues. You only had to look at the way his best officers had been milked off to lend tone to the Middle Eastern and European theatres to know that Malaya Command was not very much in anybody's thoughts in Whitehall. The big reputations would be made in Europe: it had happened before and it would happen again. Europe was the fashionable place for a soldier to display his skills. Out here a man could perform miracles of military strategy and much good would it do him! n.o.body would pay the slightest attention. But make a blunder and, ah! then it would be different. ... at least as far as the Powers That Be were concerned. The same thing went for this war, too. Right from the start he had been in no doubt about that. You only had to look at the obsolete equipment and untrained men, the odds and ends and riff-raff from India and Australia, all speaking different tongues. You only had to look at the way his best officers had been milked off to lend tone to the Middle Eastern and European theatres to know that Malaya Command was not very much in anybody's thoughts in Whitehall. The big reputations would be made in Europe: it had happened before and it would happen again. Europe was the fashionable place for a soldier to display his skills. Out here a man could perform miracles of military strategy and much good would it do him! n.o.body would pay the slightest attention. But make a blunder and, ah! then it would be different.

'Out here you can destroy your career in two shakes, but can you make one? Not an earthly.'

The door-handle rattled faintly as someone tried it discreetly from the outside, but it was locked. Could that be Pulford up and about already? Percival paused again, this time about to launch a flanking attack along his jaw from the direction of his right ear. If it was Pulford, he himself must be running even later than he had realized. He usually beat Pulford to the breakfast table. Poor Pulford! His career, too, depended on obsolete equipment ... fancy having to send up the poor old Vildebeeste against modern j.a.p fighter planes! He had taken a liking to Pulford partly through loneliness, for neither man had brought out his family; he had not for a moment regretted inviting him to come and live here. One needed a staunch friend in a place as full of intrigue and back-biting as Singapore.

'They're all watching out for their own interests, every man jack of 'em, beginning with the Governor!'

How could the GOC Malaya be expected to defend a country whose civilians devoted their every effort to baulking his initiatives? What had happened to the Straits Settlements Volunteer Force, for instance? You might well ask! Volunteer force indeed! When he had tried to call up part of it for training the civilians had created such a song and dance that the Government had insisted on his abandoning the rest of the training programme. Why? Because a rash of strikes on the plantations had been blamed on the fact that the Europeans were absent ... while the truth of the matter was that they were not paying their workers enough. Naturally, he had protested. A waste of time! The Governor had waved some instructions from the Colonial Office in his face: these declared that exemption from training should not be what he (the GOC) considered practicable 'but what he, the Governor, thought was necessary to keep up tin and rubber production'.

And now, when retreat to the Island had become inevitable (as you were! 'withdrawal' to the Island), would you believe it? He was up to his tricks again. This time Sir Shenton was declining to intervene with the Chinese Protectorate who were refusing exit permits to Chinese who wanted to leave the Colony. He had done his best to spell it out to the Governor: in a very short time they would find themselves under siege on an island already teeming with refugees. Non-combatants must not only be allowed but encouraged encouraged to leave, if necessary to leave, if necessary made made to leave. But oh no, the Governor would not listen ... for him this exit permit business was just another chapter in a story which had begun long before the j.a.panese had invaded. Sir Shenton Thomas was too august a figure to consider explaining himself to the GOC. But Percival had heard the story anyway from other sources. It seemed that the Chinese community had conceived a violent dislike of two senior officials of the Chinese secretariat: this pair were obsessed by the need to root out Communist infiltrators and even with the j.a.panese sweeping through Joh.o.r.e the fervour of their anti-Communist mission remained undimmed. It would have been sensible to get rid of these men months ago, to get the Chinese population firmly on the British side, but this the Governor would not do. The dignity of the British Government was at stake. You could not, in his opinion, start giving way to demands from the local population. Well, so much the worse for everyone. Other people had remonstrated with the Governor: Simson, the DGCD, for example, and a number of influential Chinese businessmen. Many Chinese would be on the j.a.panese death-list if Singapore fell. But it had been to no avail. to leave. But oh no, the Governor would not listen ... for him this exit permit business was just another chapter in a story which had begun long before the j.a.panese had invaded. Sir Shenton Thomas was too august a figure to consider explaining himself to the GOC. But Percival had heard the story anyway from other sources. It seemed that the Chinese community had conceived a violent dislike of two senior officials of the Chinese secretariat: this pair were obsessed by the need to root out Communist infiltrators and even with the j.a.panese sweeping through Joh.o.r.e the fervour of their anti-Communist mission remained undimmed. It would have been sensible to get rid of these men months ago, to get the Chinese population firmly on the British side, but this the Governor would not do. The dignity of the British Government was at stake. You could not, in his opinion, start giving way to demands from the local population. Well, so much the worse for everyone. Other people had remonstrated with the Governor: Simson, the DGCD, for example, and a number of influential Chinese businessmen. Many Chinese would be on the j.a.panese death-list if Singapore fell. But it had been to no avail.

Percival had been sc.r.a.ping steadily at his commanding, white-bearded face. Gradually, as the razor advanced and the white beard fell away, the features in the mirror had grown more uncertain: a rather delicate jaw had appeared, followed by a not very strong chin and a mouth not sufficiently a.s.sertive for the moustache on its upper lip. Nevertheless, it was the face of a man anxious to do his best. Percival washed it carefully and mopped it, gasping slightly. As he did so the door-handle turned again. 'Just a minute,' he called. Silence and a vague air of expectation was all that came from the other side of the door. But why, Percival wondered, should Pulford want to use this bathroom when he had one of his own? Perhaps it was simply that he had left his shaving-tackle here. No doubt this rather unimpressive toothbrush was his; Percival inspected with disapproval its splayed and wilting bristles; it looked as if his batman had been cleaning his cap-badge with it.

His eyes moved back to the mirror to study with sympathy his clean-shaven but drawn features. Weariness was becoming a disease of epidemic proportions in Singapore these days and the past week had, perhaps, been the most exhausting in his life, spent in long car journeys back and forth to the front for conferences with his commanders. He had decided, however, that if disaster were not to ensue he must supervise the defence of Joh.o.r.e himself.

Alas, even this, he reflected, scrubbing his prominent teeth with tooth-powder from the round tin by the mirror, had not been enough, for Gordon Bennett had blundered. In Percival's view it was not surprising that he had blundered, given his mentality and erratic behaviour. It was unfortunate that nothing could be done about Bennett without risk of offending the Australian Government. Bennett, moreover, had made a good impression on Wavell who had lately insisted on putting him in charge of the vulnerable west coast in the place of the battered III Corps. Good impression notwithstanding it was Bennett who had left the unfortunate, untrained 45th Indian Brigade to secure his communications on the coast from the Muar River southwards against amphibious attacks that were all too predictable. The j.a.panese had naturally made short work of encircling the 45th Brigade and all subsequent efforts to rescue them had failed. Indeed, one had to be thankful that in the end it had been possible to withdraw the rest of the force by the trunk road and railway without having a substantial part of it cut off by the j.a.panese strike from the coast. Percival heaved a sigh. By now it was clear in any case that a retreat to Singapore Island would be inevitable.

There had been moments since the opening of the war in Malaya when Percival had been visited by an exceedingly curious notion. Though he had done his best, as a pragmatic military man, to shrug it off, it had nevertheless returned more and more frequently in the past few days. Now it entered his mind again as he wearily threw his towel over his shoulder and unlocked the bathroom door. 'Good morning,' he said to Pulford who was hovering dejectedly in the corridor in a pair of pyjamas of Air Force blue. Pulford, too, had a thin face but more deeply lined than his own and with ears that stood out sharply from the side of his head; his moustache, moreover, was distinctly less generous ... a mere smudge around the channel beneath his nose, creeping a little way out along his upper lip. Still, his features gave the impression of a decent and dependable sort of man. 'You need a new toothbrush, old chap,' Percival told him as he continued along the corridor. 'Do I?' asked Pulford, somewhat taken aback.

This exchange, unfortunately, had not been quite enough to distract Percival's attention from his new train of thought, which could be summarized in one simple question. Had this entire campaign, in which tanks, ships and aeroplanes had taken part and in which thousands of men had already died, been staged or devised by Fate or by some unseen hand simply in order to make a mockery of his own private hopes and ambitions? Percival was not accustomed to think in such terms. He was a practical man. He did not believe in 'unseen hands'. That sort of thing was balderdash in his view. He still thought so ... yet the way in which, time and again, a flaw had appeared in his defences, first on one flank, then on the other ... the way in which there always proved to be just one missing element (the aircraft carrier, for instance, which would have prevented the sinking of the Prince of Wales Prince of Wales and the and the Repulse Repulse but which had but which had gone aground gone aground on the way to Singapore: how often in a man's lifetime does an aircraft carrier go aground that it should do so on the only occasion that he needed it?), a missing element which in due course would bring down a crucial part of the defensive edifice he had been trying to construct, this had begun to have its effect on Percival as it would on any reasonable man. on the way to Singapore: how often in a man's lifetime does an aircraft carrier go aground that it should do so on the only occasion that he needed it?), a missing element which in due course would bring down a crucial part of the defensive edifice he had been trying to construct, this had begun to have its effect on Percival as it would on any reasonable man.

It was easy, Percival knew, when a fellow got tired for him to get things out of proportion. He was tired. He knew that, admitted it straight out. Still, he was aware of the risk and was determined to be objective. He was only interested in what the evidence had to say. Well, the fact was that all these apparently random acts of fate, all these strokes of bad luck, had now begun (for the man putting his thin legs into shorts wide enough to have accommodated not only the GOC but a member of his staff into the bargain) to appear suspiciously weighted against him. For if you looked at what had happened carefully enough and remained objective, you could see that some hidden hand had been tampering with what one might reasonably expect to have been the normal course of events. It was as if, to speak plainly, on life's ladder some unseen hand had all but sawn through a number of the more important rungs.

The defence of Malaya had been organized before the war on the a.s.sumption that the RAF would deal with enemy forces before they had a chance to get ash.o.r.e. But, in the event, the RAF, suffering from a suspicious lack of planes, had been quite unable to do this. Well, never mind. They were busy elsewhere. Such things do happen. But if, having put your foot on the RAF rung and heard it snap under your weight you thought, well, you still had your other foot on the strike across the Siamese border, here, too, you would have found yourself treading all too firmly on thin air, for the man in charge of that operation had been poor old Brookers, an actor quite improbably cast in the role of Commander-in-Chief, Far East.

A commander, as Percival very well knew, cannot always have things his own way. But when everything everything is designed to frustrate him he may well begin to wonder. To be expected to fight against trained men with untrained men, to fight without naval or air support worth mentioning through a sweltering country of apathetic natives and exasperating Europeans whose only aim is to obstruct him, frankly that is too much: he begins to see that he is the victim of some pretty curious circ.u.mstances. is designed to frustrate him he may well begin to wonder. To be expected to fight against trained men with untrained men, to fight without naval or air support worth mentioning through a sweltering country of apathetic natives and exasperating Europeans whose only aim is to obstruct him, frankly that is too much: he begins to see that he is the victim of some pretty curious circ.u.mstances.

Consider for a moment the defence of Joh.o.r.e that he had been trying to organize. When he had been GSO1 to General Dobbie in 1937 fixed defences had been planned for Joh.o.r.e to protect Singapore Island from overland attack. But where were they now that overland attack had developed? They were non-existent. Very well. Consider now Gordon Bennett, the man in command of the Australian Imperial Force in Malaya on whom he had to rely for the defence of Joh.o.r.e (with 'Piggy' Heath, of course, and his Indians). It was common knowledge that Bennett had been repeatedly pa.s.sed over for the command of Australian forces sent to the Middle East; he was considered too difficult and erratic. There was no prospect, you might have thought, of such a man (a man of whom both the Australian War Minister and the Chief of the General Staff disapproved) being given command of the Australians in Malaya. So you might have thought. But already the sound of discreet sawing could be heard and presently these two influential men who disapproved of Bennett (the War Minister and the Chief of the General Staff) trod simultaneously on another weakened rung and the plane in which they were both travelling crashed in Canberra. They were replaced by men partial to Gordon Bennett. Aha! Bennett had wasted no time in promoting in turn Lieutenant-Colonel Maxwell, an- 'amateur' militia soldier and peacetime doctor, over the heads of more senior battalion commanders to take command of the 27th Australian Brigade on its way to Malaya. Maxwell, by the way, liked to keep his HQ near to Bennett's in case he should need a spot of a.s.sistance. Maxwell, a rank outsider!

Or consider how Joh.o.r.e had been lost: that is to say, as a result of their inability to secure either flank against amphibious landings. The fortunes of war? But this would not have come about if that aircraft carrier had not gone aground in Jamaica and if the Prince of Wales Prince of Wales and the and the Repulse Repulse had not in consequence been lost. But no, let us not be difficult. Let the carrier go aground! Sink the ships! It was a cruel and unexpected blow but never mind, he would bow his head. A commander sometimes had to put up with cruel and unexpected blows. Yes, but what he should not have to put up with is that faint rasp of metal teeth on wood! For if he followed the naval situation a little further back and strained his ears Percival could hear it again, quite clearly, that discreet rasping sound. He was now thinking of the French Far Eastern Fleet and how eager it had been to join the British in Singapore. It would have made all the difference, too, no doubt about it. But beneath the loyalty of Admiral Decoux, that friend and admirer of the British, that most patriotic of men (you might have thought) a sinister little cone of sawdust was beginning to pile up. The only man who could prevent the French fleet joining the British had, by an unfortunate coincidence (rasp! rasp! rasp!), a secret ambition to become Governor-General of Indo-China. had not in consequence been lost. But no, let us not be difficult. Let the carrier go aground! Sink the ships! It was a cruel and unexpected blow but never mind, he would bow his head. A commander sometimes had to put up with cruel and unexpected blows. Yes, but what he should not have to put up with is that faint rasp of metal teeth on wood! For if he followed the naval situation a little further back and strained his ears Percival could hear it again, quite clearly, that discreet rasping sound. He was now thinking of the French Far Eastern Fleet and how eager it had been to join the British in Singapore. It would have made all the difference, too, no doubt about it. But beneath the loyalty of Admiral Decoux, that friend and admirer of the British, that most patriotic of men (you might have thought) a sinister little cone of sawdust was beginning to pile up. The only man who could prevent the French fleet joining the British had, by an unfortunate coincidence (rasp! rasp! rasp!), a secret ambition to become Governor-General of Indo-China.

Percival stifled a groan and stood up to draw in the double-p.r.o.nged buckle of his Sam Browne belt, pa.s.sing the shoulder-strap beneath the flap on the right shoulder of his shirt; as he did so his groping fingers touched the solid little crown on his shoulder-flap and the sensation brought with it a sharp reminder of his rank and duties. If it was his job to fight not only the j.a.panese but an unseen hand as well, then so be it. It was his duty to get on with the job and leave the speculation to future historians who, he did not doubt, would not fail to find something fairly fishy about the way events had coincided against him. He glanced at the rectangular face of his wrist-watch. How late it was! No wonder Pulford had been trying to get into the bathroom. On his way down the corridor he glimpsed Pulford through the half-open door of his room in the act of adjusting a sock-suspender around a grey calf.

Breakfast. A cool and succulent slice of papaya, tea and toast. When he had finished he went directly to his office to study the latest situation reports and evaluate the night's events. Then, with the balding, long-nosed, rather grim figure of the Brigadier General Staff, he went through the agenda for the daily meeting of the War Council: he must remember to have a final shot at getting the Governor to do something about exit permits for the Chinese if it were not already too late. Should he not be back from Joh.o.r.e Bahru in time the BGS would have to attend the War Council meeting in his place. Today, 28 January, was going to be another crucial day on the other side of the Causeway.

By 08.40 he was speeding across the island on his way to confer with General Heath at III Corps Headquarters, now located just on the other side of the Causeway in Joh.o.r.e Bahru. As he sat in the back of the car, his face beautifully shaven but expressionless, he swiftly reviewed the plans that had been made by Heath and his staff for the withdrawal of his entire force across the Causeway to Singapore Island. He had hoped until yesterday not to have put this plan into operation, particularly now that the 18th (British) Division was about to arrive. But alas, there was nothing else for it. Were his men to remain in Joh.o.r.e their flanks would still be threatened by amphibious attack, as Singapore Island itself would be, of course. Moreover, communications would depend on the narrow Causeway, all too vulnerable to air attack.

To withdraw is a delicate business at the best of times, but to withdraw such a disparate collection of forces from across a wide front back into the narrow neck of a funnel in the face of such a rapidly advancing enemy would require a degree of accuracy and discipline verging on the miraculous. Should one contingent withdraw too quickly it would automatically expose the flanks of its neighbours. General Heath's 11th Division was to cover the crossroads at Skudai where the roads from east and west converged, (pinching in the funnel to its narrow neck) until the forces from the west coast had pa.s.sed through. Meanwhile, yesterday afternoon the 8th Brigade of General Barstow's 9th Indian Division had begun to withdraw down the railway in the direction of Layang Layang, pa.s.sing through the 22nd Brigade under Brigadier Painter who had been ordered to hold his ground in concert with the phased withdrawal elsewhere.

'These manoeuvres can be a sticky business,' mused Percival, raising a hand to shield his eyes from the sudden glare reflected from the surface of the water as the car emerged from the foliage of the island and sped out over the Causeway. Yes, such a delicate operation, mismanaged, could result in the most fearful mess. He sighed. The car hurtled on over the water.

If you had been watching it from the island you would have seen that camouflaged staff-car gradually diminish in size until it became merely a moving dot in the distance; the next moment it had disappeared altogether as it plunged into the streets of Joh.o.r.e Bahru. One hour, two hours pa.s.sed. The sun changed its position so that the glare from the Strait of Joh.o.r.e became even more dazzling. At last a tiny moving dot appeared again on the mainland side of the Causeway cutting in and out of the slow line of traffic and rapidly growing larger until it revealed itself as the same car carrying Percival back from his conference with Heath. Heath had been worried about the ability of the 11th Division (the poor devils who had been in the thick of it since Jitra) to hold out much longer against the j.a.panese Imperial Guards. As a result the crossing of the Causeway had been moved forward twenty-four hours. At least, Percival reflected, again shielding his eyes, he would not get into hot water with the Chief of Staff, for Wavell had given him permission to withdraw to the Island at his own discretion. That old warrior had seen in the end that there would be nothing else for it. Unlike Churchill who a week earlier had sent instructions that they were to fight in the ruins of Singapore if necessary, Wavell had some conception of what they were up against.

How drab and dismal Singapore Island looked at a distance! And yet it would be here on this grey-green slab of land surrounded by glaring water that the most important events of his life would undoubtedly take place, providing he got his troops back to it safely. This thought reminded him that there had been one slightly disturbing piece of news at III Corps. Nothing too serious for the moment, just that contact had been lost temporarily with 22nd Brigade: that was the one which had been ordered to hold firm in front of Layang Layang. General Barstow was going forward now to find out what was the matter.

Later in the day, while Percival was in the Operations Room in Sime Road, he was observed by Sinclair who now found himself back there, much chastened and perplexed by his partic.i.p.ation in the action at the Slim River: this in the end had amounted to a brief and disagreeable traffic accident and a good deal of even more disagreeable crawling through miles of jungle to get back to a British-held position. To make matters worse he had broken his wrist in his collision with the tank, although he had not realized it at first in the heat of the moment: this had soon become extremely painful, and all the more so as two hands are needed for making one's way through the jungle. He would probably not have got through at all without the help of a little party of resourceful and determined Argylls who, like himself, had been over-run by the enemy attack, and were also making their way back. It had been gruelling enough, certainly, but there was no use trying to conceal the fact: he had hoped for more from his first active engagement. If only he had been at the bridge he could have joined in some real fighting. But he had gathered from his brother officers that even there it had not lasted very long. Sinclair could not help wondering whether warfare had not been a little spoiled by all the modern equipment that armies had taken to using. What fun was there in fighting with tanks? A cavalry charge would have been more his cup of tea. In any case, now he was back where he had started, and with his wrist in plaster into the bargain. Thank heaven that at least they had allowed him to do something useful!

Sinclair, busy though he was, was deeply interested in the comportment of the GOC at this critical point in the campaign and every now and then he would s.n.a.t.c.h a glance in his direction. Percival's face wore a rather blank expression, rather like that which senior staff officers affected when on duty. Sinclair thought of it as a professional man's face ... where the profession is of the kind which expects you to keep a careful watch on your dignity. Sinclair found it fascinating, though, to think that this was the man who was conducting the defence of Malaya; behind that expressionless face, even while Sinclair's eyes rested on its outer crust, the molten lava of history was boiling up!

Now some rather disturbing news was coming in: the 22nd Brigade had been cut off. Aghast though he was, Sinclair could not help keeping a surrept.i.tious eye on the GOC to see how he was taking this news. Percival merely frowned slightly and looked annoyed, waiting for more details. It seemed that the 8th Brigade had retired further than planned, allowing the j.a.panese to move through the rubber around Painter's eastern flank and seize Layang Layang. More serious still, General Barstow had gone up the railway with two staff officers to investigate, had been ambushed and was now missing, having hurled himself down one side of the railway embankment while the two staff officers, who had escaped, had thrown themselves down the other. Barstow, an experienced and able soldier, would be sorely missed if, as seemed likely, he had been killed or captured. Now the question was whether it would be possible to rescue the 22nd Brigade without prejudicing the evacuation of the entire force. All too soon it became clear that Painter and his men would have to be left to fight their own way out through the jungle as best they could. And what hope was there that, having done so, they would then be able to get across the Strait?

Presently, Percival came to stand quite near Sinclair, talking something over with the BGS but in a voice too low for him to hear. Sinclair considered that he had taken the bad news about the 22nd Brigade with admirable composure; but, of course, one had to remember that Percival was a professional and one would no more expect him to throw himself on the floor in a tantrum at the loss of a brigade than one would expect a grand master to utter a howl of anguish whenever one of his p.a.w.ns was taken. That blank face of Percival's, Sinclair realized, was the face of a man who has excluded all unnecessary emotion from the job in hand because he knows that it will only hinder him. Sinclair watched and approved. But then, quite unexpectedly, despite his blank expression, Percival began to shout. He suddenly shouted that men could not work properly in such conditions.

The Operations Room at Sime Road consisted of a wooden hut about the width of a tennis court but longer, more than half as long again. Tables ran from one end to the other and supported a bewildering ma.s.s of maps, charts and doc.u.ments. Here and there telephones were shrilling in little herds, all together like frogs in a pond. Add to this the overcrowding, for this room housed the RAF as well as the Army Staff, the jostling to get a look at wall maps and aircraft availability charts, the shouting into telephones and hammering of typewriters and all the other commotion one would expect in the central nervous system of that clanking, mechanical warrior which the modern army has become, as the campaign in which he is engaged begins to near its climax, and yes, one could very well see that General Percival, who after all had the main responsibility to bear, might find it something of a nightmare to conduct his campaign from such a mad-house.

But in due course it emerged that Percival was not complaining of the noise from inside the hut but from outside outside, where, in order to remedy the serious overcrowding at Sime Road, a party of Engineers were working to provide some further accommodation. The BGS scratched his balding head but showed no more surprise at Percival's outburst than he did at anything else. But all the same, to Sinclair it did seem peculiar. The fact was, you see, that with the noise inside inside the hut, a considerable racket, you could barely hear anything at all from outside. Sinclair c.o.c.ked an ear and listened ... but all he could hear was the faint whisper of a saw on wood as the men worked on the construction of the new hut. the hut, a considerable racket, you could barely hear anything at all from outside. Sinclair c.o.c.ked an ear and listened ... but all he could hear was the faint whisper of a saw on wood as the men worked on the construction of the new hut.