Chapter 6

BUNTER DEFENDS INDIA

Beads of sweat formed on Bunter’s brow, amalgamated into small droplets combined with others to form a drop which slowly made its way down a snub nose before falling with a small splash onto his upper lip. Bunter shook his head irritably and taking a sodden handkerchief which had lost its power to absorb, mopped his brow, distributing moisture evenly over his forehead. He was sitting under a canopy giving shade from the relentless tropical Burmese sun, but no protection from the heat and humidity. Small fluffy clouds wandered lazily across the azure sky, giving hope neither of shade nor temperature relieving rain.

“Get me a drink, Jimmy, would you?”

He said to the other man seated beside him. Jimmy Waugh was the same age as Bunter, but there the similarities ended. He was tall and slim with a strong Brummy accent.

“Get it yourself fatty. And while you’re there, you can bring me one as well,”

Bunter groaned “I’m not feeling well. Go on, be a sport,”

“I’m not feeling well either. From listening to you complaining. Give it a rest,”

If Bunter suffered, he, with typical generosity liked to share it. 

Bunter had been elated when in 1935 when he had been appointed a probationary, tea tester/blender. The notion it would be his ticket to easy street was soon dispelled. Jackman and Jeffreys, who had spoken for him to the proprietor, Mr Andrews, felt an obligation to make sure Bunter came up to the mark and were relentless in pursuing his education. They gave him the simplest of jobs in working with teas, preparing them for testing and in other ways building up his basic knowledge of the business. He learned of varieties available, the method of blending, and products appropriate for various customers. After a year they allowed him to do his own work, albeit under supervision. Bunter’s educational deficiencies surprised both men he being no credit to his old school in this respect. They insisted, over Bunter’s indignant opposition, that he attended night school to learn the essential elements of maths, accounting and even to write and spell to a standard needed to compose commercial correspondence. The transition from idle Bunter to industrious Bunter was not altogether successful but even Bunter realised that if he wished to lead the comfortable lifestyle on offer to him, he had no alternative, so he worked, by his standards, with exceptional zeal. After 18 months he completed his probationary period and could work as a full, though junior, member of the team. 

Being a single man, they selected him to go into the field, to a station in a production area, the Assam region of India famed then, as now, for its tea plantations. Before he went, he had to learn to drive, since getting around the various tea producing estates was an essential part of his duties. The driving test had recently been introduced in England and although the standard was not exacting, it took Bunter three attempts to pass. When he arrived in India his driving, as his appearance, resembled that of Toad of Toad Hall – furious and undisciplined; a danger to Bunter himself and other road users. 

He was introduced to the man he was taking over from upon his arrival in Assam, who showed him the ropes. It was not a plum post in that the tea growing areas were in the lowlands with its hot, humid weather and debilitating monsoon season. Bunter found the living conditions, if you excluded the weather, congenial. He lived in a company owned bungalow, spacious and comfortably appointed in which he lived on his own. If Bunter took to India, India didn’t take to Bunter. He had two servants, which delighted Bunter, but not the Indians assigned to him. Bunter prided himself on having a short way with servants, as he expressed it. In response, they had a short way with him. His arrogant contemptuous attitude and unreasonable demands resulted in them leaving almost as soon as they could be recruited. Nor was Bunter much more popular in the local club where he was barely tolerated. Only the tea planters who depended on Andrews and Son, felt obliged to be courteous to him. He conducted his work with the minimum of diligence relying on a local Indian well versed in the business who, for a fraction of the salary, did most of the work. This suited Bunter rather well. The discomforts of the summer monsoon weather, however, brought its own dangers, and in 1939 Bunter caught a debilitating tropical disease. His inability to recover caused such concern that it was decided he should return early, and so in August he caught a ship for home.

The first ominous signs of forthcoming troubles came after they left Gibraltar when the ship observed a blackout and the captain increased speed for fear of U boat attack. By the time Bunter arrived in Southampton, on the 4th of September, he found he was at war with Germany. An apprehensive Bunter made his way home to an indifferent reception from his father and siblings, and an ecstatic one from Mrs Bunter.

He resumed work in Andrews and Son and life, apart from the irritating round of restrictive wartime regulations, resumed its old pattern. There was the black cloud of military service in the offing. Bunter was willing to serve, as he told all and sundry, waxing loud and long how the Hun should be taught a lesson they’d never forget though intending to avoid personal involvement in handing out that lesson.

Having failed to have his job declared a reserved occupation, and so exempt from being conscripted, in due course he received his invite to join the war. He was directed to a centre in Kensington to be medically tested. Having passed, despite foot dragging, preliminary testing flunking his medical was his last chance to avoid his opportunity for heroism. It was a slim version of Bunter that presented himself for the medical examination. He had lost a considerable amount of weight, because of his illness, and kept some of the tan he had acquired in India. It was therefore a fit looking and relatively svelte Bunter who presented himself for examination. He passed the physical testing despite his best efforts and his loud declarations of the miscellaneous ailments from which he suffered. 

He still had his ace of trumps, his eyesight. This was the last test. How he passed puzzled those who knew him and all he met afterwards. Bunter knew well that this was his last chance to prove his unfitness for military service. A Dr Lawrie, a small wiry elderly Scotsman greeted him in the testing room. Lawrie was not an ophthalmologist. having been drafted, out of retirement, to examine large numbers of conscripts. Most of whom were keen, others indifferent, and some were obvious shirkers. Dr Lawrie hated malingerers and, this may have had a bearing on events, had imbibed a few glasses of scotch at lunchtime. When Bunter entered, he had heard of his earlier attempts to exaggerate or invent disabilities that would make him unfit for service.

 “Take a seat over there,” he barked.

Bunter walked, unsteadily, to a seat in the middle of the room as if struggling to see it. This performance was closely watched by Dr Lawrie. 

“Now look at the chart,” he ordered

“What chart?” asked Bunter as he staring straight at it. Even Bunter, with his glasses still on, had no difficulty in seeing it. Dr Lawrie snorted.

“Take off your glasses. Read the first letter,”

Bunter seeing the large E with no difficulty pronounced, “Z.”

“Next line,”

In fairness the next line was more difficult for him but without bothering to try pronounced X F instead of F P. And thus, it continued. 

“And the last line,”

 “A D B Z M U I TR E P  L,” adding in two extra letters for luck.

The doctor had enough. It had been a long day; he was tired and Bunter was a malingerer. He should have checked Bunter more closely but just barked.

“Close enough! You’ve passed. Congratulations,” 

Bunter scraped through basic training, displaying no aptitude for any military discipline, and giving concern because of his limited vision. His attempts on the shooting range endangered the citizens of Hampshire, but not the target. He got through the six weeks of basic training through a combination of fear of the instructors and help from his fellow draftees. At the end, there was an earnest discussion between an officer and the trainers.

“Now what about this Bunter chap? Doesn’t seem much use at anything,” said the Captain.

“It’s a mystery how he held it together through training. But the real problem is his eyesight. I can’t understand how he they passed him. He’d be a liability in active service,” replied the NCO.

“Hmm! I don’t want to discharge him on medical grounds since he was passed fit. What did he do in civvy life?”

“It says here he was a tea planter in India,”

“That’s the answer. The Catering Corps – he can’t do much harm there,”

“No more than the rest of them,”

“And he’d be quite at home in India,”

Bunter found himself on a troopship heading for India in 1940, to his immense relief. The failed defence of France and the evacuation at Dunkirk took place whilst he was en route so Britain had to prepare to defend itself against the Nazis without the assistance of Bunter. Whilst in Cape Town there was an ugly rumour of a diversion to North Africa, Italy having joined in the war against France and Britain, but to Bunter’s relief nothing came of it. It was on the ship that he met Jimmy Waugh, who was to become his boon companion. Waugh had been employed in a works canteen before joining, so had experience of mass catering. He had attributes which made him the ideal companion for Bunter in that he knew his job, was a hard worker and, almost uniquely, liked Bunter. He regarded providence as having put Bunter on earth for the sole purpose of keeping him amused. Where others found his pompousness and ill-deserved self-regard as sources of irritation, Waugh regarded them as absurd eccentricities to be laughed at. He tolerated, up to a point, Bunter’s natural laziness, but could also cajole work out of him. Often, he took upon himself, with his natural good nature, more than his fair share of the workload and so became, with no attempt at imposing his will, the natural leader as between them. Upon arrival, they were assigned to the Indian 5th Army and ended up in a barracks in New Delhi. The life was agreeable and the constraints of military existence were as loose as in peace.

The Battle of Britain, fears of invasion of England and fighting in North Africa seemed remote in the Indian sunshine. And then on the 8th of December 1941 all changed. The Japanese landed an invasion force in Malaya in an undeclared war on the British Empire. Later the same day the Japanese attacked the American fleet at Pearl Harbor (7th December in Hawaii time). Whilst Bunter was still over 1500 miles away from the nearest belligerent Japanese soldier, it still seemed too close for comfort. The war had followed Bunter, and he was not comfortable with it. Jimmy Waugh said consolingly.

“Don’t worry. Even though they’re not Germans, you’ll get the chance to have the go you always wanted. We only need a posting to Malaya,”

“Of course. But do you think we’ll get a combat posting,” He couldn’t keep the anxiety out of his voice “They hardly need frontline chefs,”

“Why not? Even soldiers on the frontline eat.”

“Oh, Lor. I mean, of course, and maybe we could see action. The treacherous dogs need to be taught a lesson,”

“You’re just the man to do it,”

There was never any question of a posting to Malaya as the Japanese swept down the Malay peninsula brushing aside ineffectual British opposition and then, shockingly, forcing the surrender of Singapore in February. This shook Bunter, who had expressed the view that the Japanese were little men with poor eyesight would be no match for even the lowliest British soldier.

“That’s you,” commented Jimmy, “You sure you could overcome any Jap soldier?”

Bunter sniffed “Just watch me,”

Bunter’s confidence and desire to get to grips with the enemy waned with the continuing successes of the Japanese army. There was a simultaneous attack on Burma, worryingly closer to Bunter’s safe billet. Rangoon fell and the British forces, assisted by Chinese divisions, made a stand in central Burma. The line broke and it was realised that only a retreat to India would preserve a semblance of an effective fighting force. Invasion of India itself seemed possible. Japanese forces so far had been unstoppable overrunning Burma, Malaya, and the Americans in the Philippines.

“Your time has come,” said Jimmy one day out of the blue.

“What do you mean?”

“We’ve received orders to move in 24 hours,”

Bunter stared with eyes wide open in fear “Not us, surely? We’re caterers, not front-line soldiers,”

“Yes, us surely! They’re scraping up anyone, everyone, and sending us to the front. That includes us. That’s how bad things are. You’ll have to carry a rifle again,”

Bunter and everyone who had been rounded up at short notice assembled the following morning and packed onto a train. At the railhead lorries met them and finally they had to slog up along narrow roads and tracks to their ultimate destination: the camp of Mawlaik, just outside the town on the Chindwin river. 

The invasion of Burma and the rapid Japanese advance came as a shock to British administrators and military alike. If Burma fell it would expose India, the very bulwark of the Empire, to invasion from the east. The force that Bunter came part of was an ad hoc formation specifically raised to secure the right flank of the main British force in case they were forced back to Imphal in India. It was a rare piece of forward planning in the maladministered civil and military chaos of the early months of 1942. The mountainous region between Bengal, western India, and Burma formed a natural defensive barrier, but lines of retreat needed to be secured. Hence the decision to reinforce the hitherto disregarded, small encampment at a strategic point on the Chindwin in case of any attempt to envelop the retreating main force. 

Upon arrival there was a flurry of activity; ramparts were created or strengthened; machine-gun posts sandbagged; quarters renovated, and new ones erected. For Bunter and Jimmy, along with other caterers, a rudimentary kitchen and an adjoining storeroom were renovated, and equipment and general stores deposited.   

Bunter saw the preparations with great trepidation. His bravery, at its peak in New Delhi, had declined in direct proportion to the success of the Japanese advance. He and Jimmy were issued with rifles and integrated into the defence force. Work went apace shoring up the defences. The camp was on a 70-foot-high bluff overlooking a tributary of the Chindwin, ‘Naanee Chinswin’ or little Chindwin. A narrow road, nothing more than a track, ran down one side beside the tributary. The bluff was sheer on two sides and for all intents and purposes unassailable. Dense jungle bordered the other two sides of the camp. Bunter and Jimmy were excused from most of the heavy work. They constructed a defensive perimeter, parapets raised to set up firing points, and then came the even more onerous task of clearing the jungle in front of the fort to afford a clear field of fire – the “killing zone” for charging attackers. Orders were given to cut the trees to a level of 18 inches to impede the attackers without providing cover for them.

“Clever,” commented Jimmy, “They’ll trip when they charge, break their ankles and have to hop back to Rangoon,”

“Do you think they could be bothered attacking somewhere as insignificant as here?” asked Bunter, anxiety in his voice.

“Perhaps not, but we have to prepare for all eventualities I suppose.” 

As they sat under the canopy they could see, in the distance, a small reconnaissance plane flying lazily southwards, its low drone forming a soporific background noise to those of the jungle insects.

“Off looking for our Japs,” said Jimmy.

The word soon got round that, contrary to Jimmy’s assessment, a column of Japanese soldiers was heading in their direction and they were told to prepare for battle. Soldiers in the garrison, expecting an imminent fight, reacted in different ways. Some became excitable, talking incessantly as if to quell their own fears. Others became more withdrawn; others threw themselves into frenetic activity, all trying to suppress any overt signs of nerves. Bunter and Jimmy were the exceptions. Jimmy was seemingly unchanged; unperturbed by the prospect of his first experience of battle. Bunter, in contrast, was in an abject and open state of funk. Jimmy, in the cookhouse's corner, wrestled with a tangle of electric cables said to Bunter.

“Isn’t it odd? If you put wires, ropes, string anywhere near each other even if you never touch them, they rush off and entangle themselves in the most awkward way possible,”

Bunter wasn’t interested in such observations.

“I say. Do you really think they’ll attack here?”

Jimmy looked at Bunter’s anxious face. Bunter was nearly in tears – generated by fear and exhaustion. He had scarcely slept over the past several nights, sleep being interrupted by nightmares which always ended the same way - with a Japanese soldier rushing straight at him, a ferocious expression on his face and bayoneted rifle pointing at him. Jimmy could see that Bunter was coming apart at the seams, so he lied.

“I don’t think so. It’s almost certainly a diversion, hoping we’ll move forces away from our centre. They’ll fall back before they reach here once they know the ploy has worked and we’ve reinforced a place of no strategic interest,”

Bunter felt relieved. It only needed that the words be said, like a mother reassuring a small child.

There was a growing sense of anticipation throughout the camp. In the absence of any hard information, rumour and counter rumour held sway.

The first hint of the approach of Japanese forces was the flood of refugees plodding along the road below them. They were a mixture of Indian, Singhalese, and Burmese. They had served the British Empire and relied for protection on the British forces. The refugees did not look to the camp above them for protection or succour. The Japanese successes had shattered the aura of invincibility of the white man and their indifference to their fate, their trust.

The Burmese population, having no affection for the British colonisers, were prepared to join the Japanese “Greater East Asia Co Prosperity Scheme”, with its supposed economic and national benefits expecting the establishing of a Burmese state. Disillusionment only arrived afterwards when they found they had swapped the arrogant though relatively benign British for the arrogant and brutal Japanese.

The commanding officer interviewed some refugees, rewarding them with rice and tins of food from the stores. Word got out that they expected the Japanese would arrive in about three days.

Bunter sought further reassurance.

“Once they see how strong our defences are, won’t they think the diversion worked and give up?”

“You never know,” he replied not wanting to extinguish hope “But even if they come, we’re more than a match for them so don’t worry,”

“Even if we had to surrender, they’ll treat us alright – they’ll need cooks, won’t they?”

Jimmy stared “You think they’ve slogged through Burma just to enjoy your cooking? Besides, what do you know of Japanese cuisine? I’ve heard they eat raw fish. I think you had better hope we win any battle if it comes to one.”

The lines of refugees dwindled to a trickle and then ceased altogether. On the side facing the jungle, from where an attack must come, sandbag emplacements protected the defenders. At its apex of was a machine gun nest from which there was an almost complete range of fire across the area so laboriously cleared. Bunter and Jimmy were twenty yards to its left, directly in front of the cookhouse. Captain Longmore oversaw that section and called for attention.

“Men within hours we are likely to be under attack. Our best information is that they are no stronger in manpower than we are. They’ve fought through Burma and across jungle so are at the end of their supply lines. We believe they have no heavy weapons other than mortars. If we all do our bit, we will repel these buggers– give them a taste of their own medicine. We have better weapons, better supplies, and better men. So, stand by your comrades and we’ll see this through. Good luck to you,” 

It was a reasonable imitation of a Nelsonian speech and the soldiers, apart from Bunter, felt reassured. 

They manned the ramparts in rota. An unusual silence descended upon the camp. Even the insects in the jungle seemed to be quieter, as if anticipating the battle to come. Bunter by now was in such an abject funk that Captain Longmore noticed and asked him.

“What’s your name private?”

“Bunter sir,”

“Bunter, we’re all nervous. It’s only human to be afraid. We’re well dug in and have all the advantages. Just stand there with your colleagues and you’ll be fine. Alright?”

“Yes sir,” Bunter lied.

“He’s a decent spud,” commented Jimmy “And he’s right. Stay with me and we’ll look after each other,”

They stood side by side chatting in a low voice. It surprised Bunter that he knew so little about the man with whom he had worked with for over a year. Jimmy was engaged to a girl back in Birmingham. He had ambitions to open a small café after the war and was saving up to rent premises.

“Difficult on three and six a day. I’ve saved 50 pounds and Alison has 20, so we have a decent start. All we have to do is win this damn war. You must visit us, and I’ll promise good old-fashioned grub. Not a curry or clove of garlic in sight,”

“I’ll look forward to it. Even if it means a visit to Birmingham. Wherever that is,”

“Typical Londoner. You’re in for a real treat,”

They continued a desultory conversation through the night.

Just before dawn a tree behind them exploded in a shower of metal shrapnel and wood splinters, several pieces of which struck their helmets and pummelled their tunics. Bunter let out a shriek, drowned by several further explosions as mortar bombs rained down on the encampment. 

“Are you alright?” asked Jimmy. Bunter’s teeth were chattering as he blurted out.

“I’ve been hit,”

“Where?”

“All over,”

Jimmy carried out a cursory pat down and pronounced.

“Nothing more than I have been. You’ve been hit by flying debris. You’re fine,”

They had been due to be relieved but were ordered to hold their positions to await the imminent attack. The bombardment ceased and then…. nothing happened. They stayed at their posts to wait for an attack that didn’t come. They were stood down and instructed to prepare food for the troops on duty. Sporadic explosions occurred during the day but caused little damage other than demolishing the officer’s mess.

“Just when you thought things couldn’t get any worse,” commented Jimmy and added.

“Looks as if Longmore was right; they don’t have any heavy weapons, thank goodness. They haven’t been able to haul them up here. We have mortars and two light artillery pieces so we’re out gunning them.”

As if on cue, the defender’s mortars started up and peppered the surrounding jungle, but having nothing to aim at it was impossible to say whether it had any effect. Jimmy and Bunter were stood down and tried to get some sleep. Without success, in Bunter’s case, as he shivered in the tropical heat. Jimmy slept like a log. They remained in battle gear with rifles by their sides. The day passed slowly. Enervating heat sapped the energies of those in their posts and rendering rest for those who weren’t difficult. The green wall of jungle hid the enemy, only the occasional explosion was a reminder of their presence. As the long day ended, the short tropical twilight gave way to a clear moonlit night. Bunter and Jimmy went back to their positions on the forward line.      

Then the calling started.

“Tomeee…. Why you fight… we treat you good.” Followed by a loud hysterical laugh. Taunting continued.

“Tomeee… why you die… why you here in Asia… Tomeee go home,” always followed by the same high-pitched laugh and always coming from a different direction.

It became too much for a soldier down the line who let loose a volley of shots in the general direction of the last taunt.

“Come on you yellow bastards if you’re coming,”

“Hold your fire that man” came a bellowed order followed by silence broken by another shout from the jungle.

“You mees Tomeee,”

“Why are they doing that?” asked Bunter.

“A few reasons, I suppose. To assess how strong, we are. It keeps us awake and on guard while they can rest up and suit themselves when to attack and puts a mental strain on us,”

“It’s put a mental strain on me,”

Bunter and Jimmy were still at their posts when the first glimmer of dawn appeared. Jimmy was leaning his chin on the sandbags of the parapet, staring into the thick foliage when he thought he detected a movement.

“Billy!!!” he hissed as he shook Bunter’s arm “Look up, I think I saw movement,”

“Oh Lor’,”

Jimmy put his hand reassuringly on Bunter’s arm and said.

“Now just have your rifle at the ready in case. Don’t worry, no one’s going to get past the two of us,” and he gave Bunter an unseen smile.

Just then the jungle exploded with hundreds of soldiers in green uniforms. They were hard to distinguish from the dark green of the jungle in the half light. Jimmy raised his rifle to his shoulder and said.

“Let’s plug as many as we can. Good luck!”

Bunter responded with a terrified squeak and lifted his rifle. An inhuman shout came from the advancing Japanese. A volley of rifle fire and the chattering of the machine guns met them. Jimmy took aim at one figure running towards Bunter, fired and the man fell. Bunter saw another soldier looming towards them, the figure of his nightmares. He raised his rifle. Pulled the trigger. Rifle, Bunter’s legs, and helmet flew into the air. Bunter was propelled backwards by the recoil of the rifle and flopped onto his back with a resounding thump. Momentarily stunned, he turned over and, on all fours, crawled away towards the cookhouse.

“Stop that man” shouted Captain Longmore, who was pacing along behind the line revolver drawn “Bunter!! Get back in line!!”

Bunter, brain paralysed with fear, didn’t hear, or didn’t understand and continued to crawl away.

“Bunter, by God get in line or I’ll shoot you!!” Longmore roared.

Still unheeding, Bunter got to his feet and staggered away from the action. Longmore, in disgust, but unwilling to carry out his threat, turned his attention back to the Bunterless forward line.

He made it to the cookhouse, in his fevered mind, seeking safety and reassurance in the familiar making his way to a corner flanked by a sink on one side and a high shelf upon which was a large metal tea urn where he sat hunched on the floor. An explosion from a mortar bomb rocked the building, dislodged the tea urn, full of cold tea, which landed with a resounding crack on Bunter’s unhelmeted head, knocking him insensible. Blood from a gaping wound to his head poured out and mixing with copious amounts of tea enveloped his face and uniform. There Bunter remained, oblivious, in a peaceful, dreamless sleep. 

He didn’t see the Japanese soldier run at Jimmy before he could swing his rifle back round to shoot. The Jap leap onto the parapet and thrust downwards with his bayonet into Jimmy’s chest. Simultaneously Jimmy thrusted upwards into the torso of the attacker and both fell backwards off the parapet. The force of the landing on caused the Japanese soldier’s bayonet through and out of Jimmy’s back and as he fell Jimmy’s bayonet had a similar effect on him. He looked into the face of his assailant, inches from his own, as the two of them locked in a terrible parody of the procreative act. He saw the crazed determination on the face relax as the light of life left his eyes. The colour yellow swam before his eyes as it faded into the final blackness of death.

Bunter missed the Japanese regrouping and launching a concentrated attack on the part of the line where he had been positioned. The machine gunners took a terrible toll on the attackers Undaunted, the remainder overcame the first line of defence and streamed into the camp. Longmore, with a reckless disregard for his own safety, rallied the men, reorganised a second defensive line, called for reinforcements from further down, using his revolver to great effect. With furious, sometimes hand to hand, fighting the Japanese were forced back again. They retreated as far as the line of the forest. The defenders hauled the light artillery guns forward and having a point to aim at fired into the tree line with, devastating effect. By now it was full daylight. There was a lull and then a further attack on the extreme left where the machine guns could not be brought to bear. Once again, the first line was overwhelmed. Longmore rushed more men into the breach, and ignoring a bullet wound to his left arm, rallied the successful counterattack. They again repelled the Japanese. When they fell back to regroup, the mortars got their range and launched shell after shell into the forest. The Japanese mortars were silent, either because they were out of ammunition or their positions had been located by the British and destroyed. 

For the rest of the day there was desultory firing from both sides. The British were well equipped with plentiful ammunition and fired long and hard at any location from where enemy fire came.

Bunter lay where he was, oblivious. As night fell, everyone had to stay at their posts. Some having been there for 20 hours. There was a further frontal attack, at a different point, which failed to breach the defences. The attackers being mowed down before they could reach the British line. Then there was silence. By dawn they realised that the remaining Japanese had withdrawn. It looked as if Jimmy had been right. It had been a diversion, after all.

In the morning squads were dispatched to collect the wounded. Eventually two men checked the cookhouse and found Bunter, still where he had been laid low by the tea urn. He presented a ghastly sight. The tea had mingled with his blood and was now indistinguishable from it. His face and much of his clothing and the floor round him was discoloured in brown.

“My God, this fella copped it,”

“Is he alive?”

They checked Bunter found the head injury, and no other. 

“He’s lost a lot of blood from just that wound,” 

“Internal bleeding?”

As they checked Bunter out, he gave a low groan and opened his eyes.

“The Japs the Japs” he exclaimed his eyes wide open.

“Don’t worry, old chap, they’ve gone. It’s alright now. Do you think you could get up if we help you?”

They got Bunter to his feet and, staggering under the weight, made their way unsteadily to the door into the blazing sunshine. When they emerged, Bunter, dazzled by the sudden bright light, nearly fell. They paused so he could get his composure back. When his eyes focused, he looked round. On the ground just 20 yards away he saw Jimmy lying on his side facing towards him still locked in an unholy embrace with the Japanese soldier. His eyes were open and in their blank stare they reproached Bunter. Flies crawled over them as well as polluting his mouth and nose. Bunter stared in horror. Then he fainted, crashing to the ground, and bringing his two supporters with him.

A beaming Bunter emerged from the school into the quad. It was a beautiful English summer’s day; majestic fluffy clouds meandered slowly across an otherwise azure blue sky; sunshine lit up the ancient stones given them a buttery colour; the “chock” of leather on willow echoed across the school from a first eleven pick up match on the Big Side. None of these delights registered with Bunter as he headed towards the tuckshop, for Bunter had in his sticky pocket a document which had gained the status of myth in the Remove. His postal order had arrived. And such a postal order! Even the wealthy members of the remove, Vernon Smith or Lord Mauleverer might be envious. When Bunter was in funds, there was only one place to be – the tuckshop. Bunter had many demerits, but meanness was not one of them and on the rare occasions he had money, he loved to show off.

“You look in a good mood, old fat man,” said Bob Cherry cheerily clapping him on the back.

Bunter went to the front of the queue where he found himself behind Harry Wharton, the captain of the Remove.

“I’m stony broke,” said Wharton before Bunter said anything.

Bunter sniffed and said, “I’m standing a spread in my study and you’re welcome,”

“I’m still stony,” said Wharton, “I can’t afford to go to one of your spreads,”

“Ha ha ha!”

Bunter sniffed again and raised his snub nose and ostentatiously produced the postal order from his pocket.

“Is that what I think it is?” Said Wharton incredulously.

“You heard me speak of my rich titled relatives,”

“All too often. But since they don’t exist….”

“Where did this postal order come from then?”

Wharton called over Herbert Vernon Smith and asked, “Look at this Smithy. Do you think it’s genuine?”

Bunter sniffed again “Of course it is Wharton. I’ve half a mind......”

“We knew that already,”

“Ha ha ha!”

“..... not to invite you to the spread.”

Vernon Smith examined the order and whistled. 

“It’s good alright. But how do you expect Mrs Mimms to cash it?”

Bunter addressed her “I’ll leave it with you, and I’ll be in credit. Just say when you need more,”

“Is that alright Mr Vernon Smith?” she asked.

“Yes,”

Bunter sniffed “Of course it’s OK. You’re all invited. Even you Wharton although you insisted I turn out for games practice last Wednesday though I told you I wasn’t well,”

“Guilty my Lord. I didn’t think you really had pneumonia in both legs,”

“Ha ha ha,”

“I suppose you’ll insist on me going to the next one,”

“Of course. We have the Rookwood match coming up next week. We need to get the practice. You will of course be playing?”

Bunter preened, “It’s taken a long time for you to recognise a chap’s abilities, but I don’t mind. I shall of course bat number three,”

“Of course,”

“And open the bowling. You can tell Smithy or Inky to keep them quiet at the other end and watch me take hat tricks,”

“The watchfulness will be terrific, my esteemed and absurd Bunter,” said Huree Singh.

“And,” continued Bunter “unlike you lot, I won’t need any practice,”

“I know,” said Wharton “But we hoped you might give the rest of us some pointers,”

“I might give you a look in,” Bunter condescended. “Enough of this. You chaps pick out what grub you want for a spread and we’ll take it up to my study,”

Many were the hands relieving a surprised Mrs Mimms of foodstuffs as directed by Bunter. 

“Toddy get that steak pie; Nugent grab the plum cake.....” The orders tripped from Bunter’s tongue as the Removites set with a will to load themselves with foodstuffs. Only Johnny Bull, the stolid citizen of Yorkshire, was dubious.

“There must be a catch somewhere,” he pronounced.

“Where?”

“I don’t know I’m just saying......”

In the middle of the chaos came Coker of the fifth, with Greene and Potter behind him. He looked with disdain at the scene before him.

“A lot of greedy fags scrapping over food,” he observed contemptuously to Potter “Come on we don’t need to hang around waiting for them. I’ve a short way with fags.”

Potter looked uneasy “Sometimes they have a short way with you. You don’t want to start a scrap with so many of them,”

“The three of us can handle a bunch of fags,”

Potter and Greene were dubious, looked wordlessly at each other, and as Coker strode into the tuck shop, they edged back out through the door.

“Out of the way you fags. Like your cheek hanging around here creating a racket,” Coker announced his presence.

“I’m standing a study spread Coker. You can wait your turn” asserted Bunter with an unexpected turn of confidence. Coker looked at him in amazement. Bunter, the Removite with the least pluck should cheek him, Coker of the fifth one of the great fighting men in the school. Some are men of few words and much action. Coker was a man of many words and much action.

“You cheeky young sweep,”

Smack! 

“Yarooh!!” Bunter howled and held his smacked head.

“Take that, you..... yoop,”

The Remove were used to Coker pushing his considerable weight around, and the Remove’s view was that Bunter’s head always deserved smacking, but an attack on one Removite was an attack on all. Many hands were laid on Coker as they bundled him to the ground.

“Gerrof. I’ll splifficate the lot of you. Potter, Greene lend a hand......”

Coker struggled alone.

“Now then Coker no fifth form cheek here,” said Cherry holding Coker by both ears. “Would you like to apologise to Bunter?”

“Leggo, I’ll smash the lot of you,”

Bang!

“I’ll take that as a no then” said Cherry banging Coker’s head off the floor. “Are you sorry now?”

“Gerrof!!” Coker struggled in vain.

“You came in because you’re hungry,” said Cherry thoughtfully “Hand me that cake Nugent.”

“If you - leggo, I’ll smash the lot of….. groogh uurgh ooh,”

The first part of Coker’s utterance was intended, the second not as plum cake was stuffed into his capacious open mouth and the rest down the back of his neck.

“Now throw him out” ordered Cherry. 

Many hands helped to eject a spluttering Coker from the shop. He landed heavily in the quad, got up, a dishevelled figure, glared at his attackers, thought of rushing them and then thinking the better of it trudged towards the house to clean himself up and find Potter and Greene.

“Ok you chaps let’s get up to my study.”

 With Coker was out of the way, it was time to return to his Bunter’s first priority – eating. 

Like the Pied Piper of Hamlyn, he led a merry band of Removites, laden with goodies for his spread. As they emerged from the tuck shop, the weather had turned. It was now dull, to the verge of darkness. and no longer could he hear friendly birdsong nor the sound of the cricketers on the Bigside.

Then Bunter heard the indignant tones of Gosling the elderly and irascible school porter. 

He ran out of his gate lodge, as he struggled to put the jacket of his uniform over his portly stomach, towards the gate.

“’Ere you can’t come in here. Get out of it!!!”

Bunter looked towards the gate to identify the source of his ire. To both his astonishment and horror coming into the school grounds, in formation and at a semi trot, was a platoon of Japanese soldiers, in full uniform, holding bayoneted rifles at the ready. Gosling approached them.

“Look ‘ere you ain’t allowed in without........”

The lead soldier pushed him to one side, and the second raised his rifle and stabbed Gosling in the chest. Gosling staggered back, blood streaming through his jacket.

“I’ll report you to the ‘Eadmaster,” he shouted as he disappeared from view.

The soldiers spread out. Just then the captain of the school, George Wingate, came round the corner. He viewed the scene, held up his arm, and shouted imperiously.

“This is private property. You aren’t allowed in here. Please leave at once!!”

One soldier went on one knee, took aim with his rifle, and shot Wingate, who crumpled to the ground. 

Bunter turned in panic and ran back towards the house. Behind him he could the cries of the boys running away. Shouts of “Banzai” from the soldiers combined with sporadic shots. He heard Johnny Bull.

“I told you there was a catch,”

Bunter ran as fast as he could, heart pounding, sweat streaming down his face, but as fast as he tried to go the slower he moved. It felt as if he was running through treacle. The sounds from behind him seemed muted as he hunched his shoulders, fearing, at any moment, being struck in the back by a bullet or bayonet. None came. Panic overtook him as his breathing became more laboured. It felt as if a strap was tightening across his chest. Tears rolled down his red face. 

Just when all seemed lost, he found himself through the door of the house and with an immense feeling of relief ran up the stairs to the familiarity of the Remove passage. He stormed into the nearest study, number one, which was empty, slammed the door close behind him and turned the key in the lock. On hearing the sound of heavy boots, he looked round desperately for somewhere to hide. He pulled an armchair over to a corner and crouched behind it, thus rendering himself invisible to anyone who wasn’t in the room. The handle of the door was violently turned. Shouts of “Banzai”, bangs and crashes and agonised cries from Removites came from the passage. Bunter crouched even further into the corner, whimpering with fear. Then silence. Bunter stayed where he was for several minutes and before emerging from his hiding place. He heard a commotion from the quad and moved over to the window and carefully peeped out. From the Remove rag on the ground floor, many Greyfriars boys had gathered. From the window came a hail of missiles, ink bombs, dusters, books, and anything they could lay their hands on directed towards the Japanese soldiers. As Bunter watched, the Japanese brought forward, a heavy machine gun which they set up and pointed towards the rag window. As they did so one looked up in Bunter’s direction, raised his rifle and fired a volley of shots which pinged off the window frame whilst Bunter took refuge under a table.

Silence! 

Then came a single demanding knock on the study door. Bunter remained under the table, concealed by the tablecloth. There was another bang and 

“Bunter!! I know you are in there. Open this door at once”. It was the stern tones of Mr Quelch the Remove form master. Bunter remained silent.

“Bunter!!!!” Mr Quelch roared “Open this door at once,”

“I’m not here, sir,”

“You absurd boy. I command you to open this door,”

Miserably Bunter crawled out from under the table and opened the door. There stood the stern figure of Mr Quelch glaring at him.

“Bunter, you know it’s against the rules to bring Japanese soldiers into the school,”

“It wasn’t me, sir,”

“This is too serious for me to deal with. Accompany me to your headmaster and I’ll put the matter before him,”

“Crikey! Oh Lor,”

“Kindly refrain from using such absurd phrases. Come,”

When Bunter stepped out into the Remove passage, he was relieved to see that it was empty, although upon reaching the top of the stairs he saw Skinner, Snoop and Stott. As he passed them Skinner, taking obvious pleasure at Bunter’s discomfort, sneered.

“You’re for it now,” 

At the bottom of the stairs he saw, without surprise, Jimmy Waugh. Jimmy looked at him, his face devoid of expression - neither welcoming nor reproachful but not unfriendly either. His dead sightless eyes pointed in Bunter’s direction. They were covered with flies, and they followed him as he trailed behind Mr Quelch. Bunter as he walked towards him had a million things he wanted to say, but when he opened his mouth, no sound came out. Several times Bunter attempted to say, he knew not what, but again and again as he opened his mouth no utterance came forth.

“Come along, Bunter. Stop dawdling,”

“Oh yes sir,”

He looked back as he left the house. Jimmy was still there staring straight at him.

To Bunter’s relief, the quad was empty- no sign of soldiers or indeed of boys. They reached the Head’s quarters and Mr Quelch opened the door of the study and swept in followed by a deflated Bunter.

“Headmaster, I’ve brought Bunter for you deal with,”

Bunter followed Mr Quelch into the room. Behind the Head’s desk sat a gargantuan Japanese soldier dressed in the uniform of a senior officer of the Kempe Tai with a master’s gown draped over it. The behemoth stood up - he was at least seven foot tall - and said, in the mild tones of Dr Locke.

“Bunter, what is the meaning of this behaviour?”

“ I I I didn’t do it sir.... oh, dear it wasn’t me,”

“Can there be any doubt Mr Quelch?”

Bunter looked hopefully at his form master.

“No doubt at all Dr Locke,”

“Your recommendation?”

Bunter looked at Mr Quelch and saw a mirthless smile.

“It is my view that an exemplary punishment is necessary,”

“I agree. Bunter bend over that chair,”

“Oh, lor!” Bunter did so in the lowest of spirits. Dr Locke went over to a cabinet at the side of the room to select a cane. He chose an enormous samurai sword, took a step towards Bunter, raised the sword high above his head and brought it down towards Bunter’s neck......

“Yarooh....stoppit Help! Help....”

Bunter sat bolt upright in bed. It was almost dark, and he was vaguely aware of breathing figures in beds close by his.

A boot hit him on the side of the head.

“For Christ’s sake, shut up,” came an irritated voice.

A disorientated Bunter realised he was in a dormitory, not in Greyfriars, but where? His breathing slowed, and he lay down again. He became aware of his surroundings; the metal railings at the bottom of the bed, a large wardrobe against the opposite wall; the more he stared at them, the more he concentrated on them, the more menacing they became. They appeared to grow bigger, more oppressive, pressing in on him to crush him into the bed. The more he stared, the bigger they got; Bunter found his breathing becoming constricted, and he gasped with the effort of getting enough air into his lungs. Off to his right he could see a dim light. He thought if only he could get to that light, he would find safety. Feeling the bedside table, to his relief, put his hand on his glasses and eased himself out of the bed.

He fell over the boot.

Crawling towards the light, he got to his feet, stumbled towards the door, opened it, and found himself in the dimly lit corridor of a hospital; as dismally unfriendly a sight as human architecture has ever devised.

“What do you think you’re doing here? Get back to your bed at once!” 

It was the ward matron, a formidable lady of indeterminate age with the build of an all-in wrestler and a voice to match. Bunter didn’t reply but just stared at her, red faced and wide eyed. 

“Come with me,” she said in a softer tone “You could do with a cup of tea,”

She led him into the general nurse’s room and sat him at a table. She went over to the standing tea urn, poured two cups of strong tea, sat opposite to him, and pushed one cup in his direction.

“Drink that. Now do you know where you are?”

Bunter remained silent.

“You are in the Queens Hospital, New Delhi. A specialist hospital for military shell shock cases. Do you remember now?”

Silence.

“They brought here you after you were injured in the battle at Mawlaik. Do you remember?”

Silence.

“You’ve been here three weeks now and haven’t spoken a single word,”

Bunter thought back and the events of Mawlaik came back to him; his own cowardice, the death of Jimmy and his inglorious hiding in the kitchen whilst his friend was killed. He remembered it all; with no self-serving gloss; he remembered it as it was, without excuse for his own behaviour or attempt to deceive himself. 

“Yes” He replied slowly in a faraway toneless voice. It was a Bunter shorn of self-delusion, a punctured Bunter seeing himself as others saw him, not, for once, the illusory Bunter of his imagination. He sat there lethargically until, the matron gave up, defeated by his silence, and left him to his own thoughts and a rapidly cooling cup of tea.

Two days later Bunter clad in his hospital pyjamas strolled into the dining room with renewed enthusiasm looking forward to a substantial dinner. As he sat down his colleagues looked at him with curiosity and one said.

“So, you’re back with us. We’ve heard that you were involved in the battle of Mawlaik. Well done. What you remember of it?”

Bunter thought for a second or two and replied. 

“It was hell. I was on the front line on our left. The Japs broke and our officer was killed. I had to rally the men in his place. We threw them back with such losses that they weren’t a serious threat again in the battle. Then I was wounded when knocked out by a retreating Japanese soldier….”.

Over the next days, as Bunter told it, his exploits became both braver and less credible. These were regaled to a diminishing and increasingly sceptical audience.

Bunter was back.