Chapter 7

COKER IN MALAYA

Horace Coker glared at the setting sun. The reddish light glinted and glittered in the ship’s wake as it headed across the Indian Ocean. From time-to-time dolphins appeared above the surface, danced in the waves before retreating again. None of these delights mollified Coker. To be fair, it was hardly the sun’s fault, but in Coker’s eyes it was in the wrong position. It was October 1941, and he was on board a troopship heading towards Singapore. In Coker’s view it should have been on the port side, bringing him to the war in North Africa instead of the safety of the Far East.

Coker was a product of Greyfriars School, a year ahead of Wharton, Bunter, and their friends. He was a prodigy. A brilliant footballer and cricketer, a natural leader of men, intelligent and with abilities that made him the outstanding Greyfriars man of his generation. Petty jealousies, that dogged him throughout his career, meant that these talents were overlooked in favour of lesser men. An idiot, Blundell, was appointed as Head of the School in succession to Wingate instead of the obvious candidate, Coker. Blundell then followed Wingate’s policy of excluding him from the first elevens in both football and cricket through jealousy or idiocy.

These views were, unfortunately, unique to Coker himself. Failing to acknowledge Coker’s prowess, his contemporaries regarded him as a silly ass who couldn’t play sport for toffee and who’s mere suggestion as to a course of conduct was sufficient reason to do the opposite. Coker and the rest of the world lived, in a phrase to become popular much later, in parallel universes which rarely met but when they did it were marked by mutual incomprehension. Coker could never understand why, when he took a shot at goal, the corner flag got in the way or when he bowled in cricket, the square leg umpire was in more danger than the batsman’s wicket or why his carefully considered schemes never worked out as planned. Everyone else found his self-regard, impervious to evidence to the contrary, incomprehensible. All acknowledged Coker’s undoubted merits. His honesty and integrity were beyond dispute and he was as brave as a lion, veering into foolhardiness. As a boy he had been large and well built, but now he was a prodigious man standing at six foot four inches and weighing 18 stone of solid muscle. He was formidable as a fighter, the one sport in which he could more than hold his own.

He left school with no qualifications, having failed all his exams. But in typical Coker fashion, he attributed this to his incompetent examiners (silly asses, what do they know?). Fortunately, he had the undying loyalty and affection of his aunt Judy on which to fall back. Her wealth and generosity had enabled him to live well at Greyfriars and attracted two acolytes, Potter and Greene, whose loyalty, despite a concealed contempt for him, depended on his access to money and tuck. She was aware of her Horace’s limitations in intellect. She would say.

“Poor boy, he outgrew his strength,”

Nobody knew what this meant.

When Coker left Greyfriars, she set about planning a career for him. She was blessed with two attributes, wealth and a circle of loyal friends and contacts which enabled her to hit on a solution. She persuaded a large landowner in the West Country to employ Coker on his grounds to learn estate management. He was dubious, and even more so upon meeting Coker, but nonetheless agreed to give him a trial. Aunt Judy supplemented Coker’s wages, enabling him to live very comfortably. He acquired a small grace and favour cottage which she improved to make a gracious home for her Horace. Since he had no formal training, he had to learn the business “on the job” and to pick up the necessary ancillary skills, bookkeeping, etc as he went along. Coker happily accepted the opportunity and threw himself into this work with enthusiasm, if not discretion. His total ignorance didn’t prevent him from having fixed and determined views on any work assigned to him, or indeed to anyone else. This gave rise to rows with the estate manager, which led to his receiving an ultimatum; that either he followed instructions, however idiotic they seemed to him, without argument, or he should leave. Only his loyalty to his Aunt Judy caused him to refrain from punching his boss and walking away. And so, with ill grace, Coker knuckled down and, in time, became a useful member of the team. This was due to two attributes – his physical strength which proved invaluable for the many jobs where required and his aptitude with things mechanical. At Greyfriars he owned a motorbike which he enjoyed riding and looking after and repairing when needed. This aptitude he found he could apply to machinery of all sorts. It was said of an 18th century French aristocrat that “When he speaks of horses he speaks like a man; when he speaks of men, he speaks like a horse”. If there was a modern equivalent, Coker was it. The farm was being mechanised and this, unexpected, skill was put to good work. There was little about engines of any sort, age, or size, he couldn’t handle, after he was sent to a technical college and expanded his knowledge. He became a valued member of the team and since he dealt with his own specialisation and was king in his own domain, so to speak, he and everyone else were content.

His home was close to the local village, Abenworth, where he socialised. His open-handedness made him popular with some; those prepared to tolerate listening to his views – on every subject and at great length. The captain of the local rugby club eyes widened when he was introduced to Coker and promptly recruited him to the team. As he said, “He’s worth at least six points just by turning up”. By this he meant that the size of Coker was enough to strike fear into the opposition. Coker’s limitations as a ball player, contrary to Coker’s own description of his abilities, were less vital in rugby than in football. His inability to catch a rugby ball or to pass it (not that he was ever inclined to do so) could be overlooked. Placing the ball in his hands and pointing him in the right direction his size, strength and bull like determination invariably resulted in a substantial gain of territory. Initially put in the second row, the force he applied to one side of the scrum caused it to wheel round and descend into chaos. He was then put at lock and his strength made the Abenworth scrum feared in the local league. There was one flaw in his game, however, which resulted in his early retirement. Although a tough tackler, he regarded a tackle upon himself as an intolerable assault and was liable to turn on his assailant with fists flying, resulting in a roughhouse between the two teams. Frequently warned by referees about his behaviour, he was once sent off. An almost unheard-of event in rugby at that level and time. Abenworth, with great help from Coker, swept all before them in his first season. Unfortunately, at the annual meeting of the league, some teams they played against made it clear that if Coker was playing, they would not fulfil the fixture. To his indignation, apart from an occasional game against touring sides, Coker’s promising rugby career ended. 

His much self-lauded cricketing ability excited the Abenworth cricket captain. This enthusiasm did not survive Coker’s first showing in the practice nets, and although he played, when short of players, he became that specimen unique to lower-level cricket; the specialist number 11 batsman. His one undoubted sporting success was the Abenworth local pub’s tug-of-war team on its occasional outings, and with this he had to be satisfied.

Coker led a contented life in rural Gloucestershire until the outbreak of war. As an agricultural worker he was exempt from military service, but he unhesitatingly resigned his job, the one time he went against his Aunt Judy’s wishes, and enlisted in the Army without waiting to be called up. He received basic training which he found easy, although still resented taking orders which caused problems with his NCOs. Upon Coker’s insistence a callow officer, because of Coker’s school background, put Coker forward for officer training. Weeks later a discussion took place to assess the recruits.

The senior officer reviewed the papers in front of him.

“This Coker chap doesn’t appear to have distinguished himself,” he observed in an understatement. There were suppressed smiles around the room. “What exactly is the problem?”

After a brief silence, a lieutenant spoke.

“Coker is unique in my experience. If I speak to his attributes, he’s as brave as they come. He has leadership qualities in that he is decisive, a forceful personality, and prepared to take the responsibility of command. They are also his fatal weaknesses. His bravery often means he will take ludicrous risks without regard to the consequences. His decisions are always wrong. And you always recognise Coker’s group in exercises because they come in last. If he is not the leader, they spend much of their time arguing with him because he never agrees with the team leader and if team leader, he always chooses the wrong solution to the task.”

“So, no Coker then. You’d better tell him, Lieutenant,”

“Do I have to? He’ll not take it well,”

He didn’t.

The lieutenant tried to assuage him.

“Do well with your regiment and you may be put up again,”

Unassuaged, Coker returned to his regiment as a private. His unit remained in England and he settled to a steady, if frustrating, routine. Coker’s high-handed manner didn’t make him popular with his fellow soldiers, but his size and fighting prowess earned respect and they left him alone. His wealth and generosity attracted, as it had at Greyfriars and Abenworth, a coterie of hangers on. He acquired his new Potter and Green, both Londoners, Parks and Constable, who followed him everywhere, helping him spend Aunt Judy’s generous allowance. 

Coker was still in England when the phony war ended abruptly with the invasion of Norway followed by that of Belgium, Holland, and France. They sent Coker and his unit to Southampton, where they embarked on a troopship for France. Once settled in, they were told to disembark again. This was repeated once more before the ship sailed off, empty, to evacuate British and French soldiers from France. Coker’s regiment found itself positioned on the south coast to meet the expected German invasion. Coker didn’t waste his time. He prepared, in great detail, with maps and painstakingly drawn arrows, plans to re-invade continental Europe. With great prescience he planned a landing in Normandy, pressing through North France and crossing the Rhine to take Berlin and thus end the war in one brilliant move. He accepted the British forces may need time to reorganise, so he set his invasion for 1942.

He was called before his CO.

“Coker, what’s the meaning of this?” he asked, pointing at the scribbles over several sheets of paper representing Coker’s invasion plans. He started to explain but was cut short.

“I forbid you from sending any more of these to the War Office. They don’t have time to read this nonsense. They must wonder what idiots we have here.”

Coker was used to rejection but was outraged, years later, to find that his plans had been stolen by Eisenhower, and his staff, to affect the D-day landings in 1944. 

Then came the order to prepare for service overseas. Tropical gear was sent for and speculation ran rife that they were to be posted to Egypt where the Italians, stiffened by German units, were advancing towards the Suez Canal. Coker was delighted at the prospect of being involved, at last, in fighting the Axis forces. He had worked out a plan to defeat the Italian and Germans. It involved an ambitious amphibious operation, landing forces behind the enemy lines, relying on the superiority of the Royal Navy thus cutting off their armies from supplies and forcing a surrender. These he was prepared to share with General Alexander on his arrival in Alexandria. Coker couldn’t contain his disappointment upon realising that after leaving Cape Town they were heading to the far, not the near east.

After landing in Singapore, Coker, together with a corporal and his two acolytes, were sent north to man a checkpoint in Malaya. It was in the uplands near Hulu Telemung, on a minor road off the major highway which ran down the east side of the peninsula. The duties were not onerous. There were few passing cars needed checking, and the carts containing local produce seemed hardly worth the bother. Coker became irritated.

“What’s the point of this?” he ranted “I didn’t join the army to check out oxcarts in the middle of nowhere, stinking of durian….”

For the thousandth time Parks replied, “It’s in case of a Japanese invasion. We’re on the lookout for spies and to resist invaders,”

Coker snorted “What chance of that. They wouldn’t dare attack the British Empire. We saw the Prince of Wales and the Repulse when in Singapore; one look at them and they’ll scuttle back into their holes quickly enough,” In this Coker was expressing a generally held view.

Great was the shock when news came through of the attack on Pearl Harbor and, more imminent, from their point of view, muddled reports reaching them that Japanese troops had landed at Kota Bharu just north of their position. They heard of heavy fighting as the invasion force fought their way on shore. Having succeeded, despite heavy losses, they then progressed southwards. Simultaneously, they landed in Thailand to the north, encountering minimal resistance, and swarmed into Northern Malaya. Coker and his colleagues felt beleaguered as the rumour of the Japanese landings reached them. Coker’s confidence was not shattered.

“It won’t take long to throw them back. Treacherous little bastards. It’s time we moved from being policemen to soldiers,” His enthusiasm was not shared by his colleagues.

Even Coker was taken aback by the news that the Prince of Wales and Repulse, heading towards the landing grounds, had been sunk by the Japanese airforce. He responded by falling into a towering rage and hurled even more virulent insults towards the “Dirty Japs”. They received no orders, as lines appeared to have been cut, and communication, by radio, revealed little but confusion as the Japanese advanced southwards. The British, Indian, and Australian troops made “strategic withdrawals” fighting rear-guard actions. Then communications with HQ were lost.

Coker favoured, in the absence of orders, making their way to the main road and join up with the fighting units. The corporal in charge rejected this course for the same reason. Then a bedraggled group of British soldiers made their way towards them. Coker heard, with incredulity, that the Japanese having gained a foothold were advancing rapidly along the east coast, often using bicycles brought with them or taken from locals. They appeared from the jungle without warning behind the allied lines, causing chaos. Japanese light tanks rolled through defensive lines that had no equipment to oppose them. Their new compatriots were without an officer, killed or abandoned they didn’t specify, and when they asked where the road they were on led to and told it looped round to meet the main road again they shrugged in despair.

“Then we’re done for. They’ve bypassed us so we’ve no way to get to Singapore,”

Coker would have none of it “We should get going. We have our store of weapons, plenty of ammunition and food, so why are we waiting here?”

The newcomers looked at him from tired and drawn faces.

“Who’s stopping you? How could the few of us fight through an army?”

Coker’s attempt to rouse his colleagues met with little response. The newcomers were exhausted, only wanting a rest and food. Neither was there any enthusiasm in his own unit. Coker fumed but occupied his time by sorting out weapons and ammunition, of which there were plenty, including a much-prized Thompson machinegun. He loaded rucksacks with as much food as he felt he could carry to prepare for his trek to British lines. Whilst he was busy, a consensus had formed amongst the rest.

“We’re in a hopeless situation. We’ve no choice but to surrender so start destroying our weapons, hide the ammo and put up a white flag. Anything else is suicide,”

Coker was incredulous, but his outraged arguments roused no martial valour in the dispirited men. Finally, the Corporal said.

“There’s nothing stopping you taking on the Japs on your own. Be my guest.”

“I’m not staying here to surrender to little yellow men. Once our major forces around Singapore get involved, they’ll be seen off quickly enough.” Coker hadn’t lost faith.

“But you can’t fight through the Japs on your own,”

“I’ll go through the jungle,”

They looked at him sceptically “I have it worked out,” he assured them. 

Nobody was interested enough to ask him what his plan was as they indifferently watched him lumber himself with as much weaponry as he could carry. He loaded several bags of food and declared himself ready to move. After a last attempt to persuade his pals to go with him, he headed to the west, toward the central mountains, intending to turn left and south to Singapore. He had no compass or map, but that left him unconcerned. His plan, which had merits, was to travel by night along southbound roads sheltering up by day, both to avoid the worst heat of the day and the Japanese. He would navigate by the stars as, in his hours of leisure, on the boat journey from England, he had from boredom read and reread a book on astronomy. He found to his surprise that you would see different stars depending on your latitude, but, more importantly, he had realised that he could use them as a ready way of reckoning south from north. 

After cursory farewells Coker strode into the jungle, machete in hand. It was hard going. Harder than Coker had imagined. He would hit trails, as he thought, and then find them petering out. He swiped at vegetation with his machete, find his legs entangled in vines as he swore freeing himself. Before long he was drenched with sweat, insects buzzed around him, biting and stinging, adding to his general discomfiture. His plan was to walk for a short time westward and then turn south, until he hit a road that he could follow southwards. After half an hour of tortuous progress he took a break and sat on a tree stump only to jump up again as dozens of stinging black ants swarmed over his legs. He moved to a nearby rock and took a drink. As he did, he heard shouts followed by volleys of shots and screams. It puzzled Coker for a moment, thinking that a battle had started back at the post. He realised that since the British weapons had been disabled, the Japanese were shooting their prisoners out of hand. His rage knew no bounds, gathering his gear set off back towards the post to wreak revenge regardless of the odds against him. 

The struggle back was even more difficult that his outward walk, and although he tried to move as fast as possible, progress was no greater. He heard sporadic shooting although, puzzlingly, they kept, as it seemed to Coker, to come from different directions, even on one occasion from behind. Coker realised that sounds in the jungle could be distorted and direction hard to pinpoint. After an hour of tortuous progress, a sweat soaked Coker took stock. The shooting had stopped, and he realised he was taking much longer to return that he had on the outward journey. It was a puzzle. Coker’s thinking worked on a simple syllogism. Only an idiot would get lost. Coker is not an idiot. Therefore, Coker is not lost. On the other hand, he had to accept that he wasn’t altogether sure where he was. There was no easy solution to the conundrum. 

Coker pressed on until dusk came marked by the jungle vibrating to the sounds of countless male cicadas and, exhausted, decided it was time to take a rest. Comfort was anything but easy, but he was so tired he fell asleep instantly, although disturbed from time to time by unidentified screaming noises during the night. He awoke to the morning cicada chorus, well rested. Light filtered through the high canopy, although he couldn’t see the sun. Coker came to the realisation that there was no point returning as the Japanese responsible, for what he now assumed, was murder wouldn’t still be there. But what direction to take? Jungle surrounded him in a uniform vista of tree trunks, vines, and ferns. A layer of dead leaves and old rotting tree trunks inhabited by innumerable small creatures covered the forest floor. Nothing if not positive, he set off resolutely in an arbitrarily chosen direction. He struggled through thickets, slashed his way through clinging vines and crossed small rapidly flowing streams for several hours. The rain forest lived up to its name. Coker was soaked before he stopped for a rest at the side of a small water pool. He was startled when a troop of gibbons started howling around him, intrigued, frightened, or annoyed by his presence. He shouted at them and they retired further up into the trees and then it appeared to start raining again until he realised the gibbons were showing their disdain for him in a direct way.

“Dirty little beasts,” he muttered to himself.

His confidence in himself was undented by his failure to find a road as he plunged resolutely on, often slipping in the rain sodden slimy clay or tripping over tree roots. By the end of the day, he was exhausted, wet through and harbouring the tiniest of doubts. The next morning, he came across an animal trail which made progress easier but not necessarily leading him in the right direction. By mid-afternoon he came across a minor road, little more than a dirt track and it was with great relief that Coker rested up out of sight, close enough to gain easy access to it. In accordance with his plan after the cicadas started the evening chorus and the short tropical twilight ended, he accessed the road. It was now dark, and he had an unobstructed view of the sky. All he could see was a mass of undifferentiated stars. He snorted. It had been so clear in the illustrated book on astronomy, with its patterns and pointers indicating the major constellations. The Southern Cross couldn’t be seen, no matter how hard he stared. Fortunately, Coker had an excellent memory and came across a group of stars he remembered low in the sky and a clear indicator of the south/north axis. It didn’t exactly conform to the way the road ran but after a bit of working out, he headed in a south-easterly direction. This would bring him closer to the coast and increase his chances of rejoining the British forces.

He felt quite cheery as he marched along, despite the heat and the ubiquitous mosquitoes. It was such a relief to walk in an unobstructed straight line. The moon rose behind him and lit his way as the jungle pressed closely on both sides. He strode along, wary, but confident in the knowledge that the Japs, with their terrible eyesight, had poor night vision would be unlikely to patrol the road. 

The Japanese didn’t realise they had such poor night vision, and after Coker had been walking for two hours, he heard sounds of booted men from around a shallow right-hand bend. He stepped off the road and took cover behind a tree. He then took out a grenade from a pocket, readied his Thompson sub-machine gun and waited. Although he thought they might be Japanese soldiers, it was at least as likely they were British, having swept the invaders back northwards. These doubts were resolved when he heard a curt voice of command in Japanese. As they came round the corner, Coker stepped out and threw his grenade at them in a replica of his bowling action. Also, in a replica of his bowling, the grenade flew at a right angle to the intended direction into the jungle where it exploded harmlessly. In alarm, the Japanese looked to their left. When they looked back, the large, hulking figure of Coker, silhouetted against the moon, was on the road in front of them. Coker had the advantage of complete surprise and before the Japanese had time to react, he emptied the magazine of his Thompson as they scattered. He had the satisfaction of seeing several fall before he ran back into cover. He decided he would walk a hundred yards into the jungle, and, with his acquired jungle craft and superior night vision, go round the enemy forces and surprise them from the rear. Perhaps fortunately for Coker, this didn’t work out. An hour later he was still stumbling through the dark jungle. Initially he had heard noises which he assumed were the Japanese soldiers searching for him, but sounds being notoriously difficult to pinpoint in jungle neither Coker nor his searchers located each other. 

The NCO in charge of the Japanese section in his report to his superiors explaining the loss of three men told them that an Oni, a huge hideous ogre, materialised with a loud noise and puff of smoke in the middle of the road, attacked them, and then disappeared again. The corporal was from a country area and susceptible to superstition, and the huge hairy Coker silhouetted by the moon was indeed a frightening apparition. His superior was not an understanding man, and the corporal became another Coker victim. He was demoted for cowardice and sent to a penal battalion.

 In the morning, Coker was once again, if not lost, not entirely sure where he was in relation to the road. To his immense puzzlement he didn’t find it that day, nor for several after that. It was fortunate indeed that he was well stocked with basic foodstuffs. One evening he stumbled across a Kampong inhabited by indigenous Malays. They were aware of Coker long before he stumbled into the village. The men had lined up armed with blowpipes, pointing at him. Surprised, he raised his hands in the universal gesture, showing he meant them no harm and after a short standoff, they seemed reassured that he constituted no danger. Coker towered over them as they invited him to come to the fire in the centre of the clearing. The smoke from the fire gave relief from the mozzies, and from it came the welcome smell of cooking chicken. Coker sat, but the men remained standing, with weapons at the ready. One of their number timidly approached the fire, took up the cooked chicken and offered Coker a piece before retreating. Coker smiled and said thankyou and ate. Both gestures reassured them that, despite appearances, Coker was human. They relaxed and the womenfolk and children, with wide staring eyes, came out to look at him. Coker didn’t care as he was eating food that hadn’t come out of a can for the first time in several days. Grabbing a second helping he looked up at the staring eyes, nodded and said thank you. As dusk settled, the men gathered around the fire and started eating themselves in an atmosphere of conviviality. They chattered amongst themselves, only looking at Coker occasionally and offering him food. They provided him shelter for the night, but in the morning, he got the impression that whilst his hosts weren’t exactly unfriendly, they would be happy to see him go. Since this coincided with Coker’s wishes as well, they parted on good terms. Coker had by confusing gestures involving imitations of motor vehicles conveyed his wish to find a road. A group of three natives accompanied him a short distance to a small stream and by gestures showed he should follow it downhill. After a couple of hours, he came across a road. It was a different one, wider and jewelled. That night, by reference to the stars, he resumed his trek southwards. He travelled cautiously for the next several days along the same road. Finally, he was brought up by the sight of a cluster of huts and a barrier across the road. A light shone in one of the huts, but there was little sign of activity and no sentries. It was dark and Coker decided to wait until the morning to assess the situation. 

After sunrise, Coker peered from the safety of a dense thicket. He was looking at a roadblock, but it didn’t appear to be manned by soldiers either British, or indeed Japanese. Three uniformed men, not seeming to be armed, sat on the veranda of the nearest hut. It was on the other side of, a barbed wire barrier which blocked the road but capable of being raised. 

Coker taking the bull by the horns strode to the barrier which he lifted with ease, and approached the men, Thompson gun at the ready. The effect was electric. They jumped up startled and stared at Coker, as well they might. The hardships over the last several weeks hadn’t diminished Coker’s size but had played havoc with his uniform, which had been reduced to little more than tattered rags. What they could see of Coker looked little better. He sported a ragged beard, his eyes looked wild and uncontrolled, and exposed areas of skin were heavily suntanned where not red, swollen, and blotchy. Coker shouted at them.

“Where’s the nearest British unit?”

This evoked no response as the men continued to stare uncomprehendingly at Coker.

“Do you speak English?” This at least evoked a response; a head shake in the negative.

Coker responded in the time-honoured fashion by speaking slowly and loudly to make himself understood.

“I.. am.. English.. soldier. I.. want.. to.. see.. your.. officer,”

This produced no response and Coker, beginning to lose his temper, took a couple of steps forward and gripped his machine gun. Alarmed, one of them held up his hand and said “OK” and walked rapidly to an adjacent hut, returning with a short, paunchy man pulling on his uniform jacket looking irritated. He pulled up short when he saw Coker.

Coker said, “Do you speak English?”

“Yes. My name is Paithon,”

“Good Mr Paithon, I can’t get any sense out of these idiots. I am English soldier,”

“Yes?”

“I want you to show me where the nearest British Army unit is,”

Paithon looked puzzled.

“No English here,”

Coker took another aggressive step forward, the men retreated and Paithon asked.

“What you doing here?”

Coker contained his impatience with difficulty “You know Hulu Telemung?”

Paithon nodded.

“I have been walking from there since the Japanese attacked us and am going to rejoin the British in Singapore to fight the Japanese. Do you understand?”

“But why you here?” he repeated.

Coker raised his voice “Because I’ve been walking south for these last weeks, why do you think? Are you stupid?”

The man stared at him and then a smile of realisation crossed his face. He spoke rapidly to his colleagues in their language, and they looked at Coker and started laughing. Coker gripped his gun again and stepped forward aggressively. Paithon raised his hands.

“No. No, you make big mistake. You walk north, not south. This is border Thailand. Singapore far away,”

Coker looked at him, in disbelief, and then it fell into place. These were border guards, not soldiers.

 His gorge rose.

Just wait till I get my hands on the authors of that book on astronomy, he thought. How dare they print such grossly misleading information. This didn’t help him in his present predicament, however. The thought of covering the same ground again and the added distance to Singapore was daunting, even to the habitually optimistic Coker. He looked at the chief border guard as if he could help. As if divining Coker’s intention, he said.

“Singapore no good. British surrender,”

Coker reddened with anger “Nonsense” he spluttered as he advanced again. Alarmed, Paithon held up his hand in a conciliatory gesture, went back into the hut and presented a newspaper to Coker. Splashed on the front page was a photograph surrounded by print in a foreign language. But the photograph was enough. The humiliating sight of Senior British Officers diffidently carrying a Union Flag subservient to the accompanying Japanese needed no words. Not that Coker had any. For one of the few times in his life, Coker was speechless. He stared at Paithon in blank horror who upon seeing his despair simply said “Sorry”.

Coker just stared in bewilderment, uncertain what to do next. Paithon talked to his three colleagues. There was much discussion and some argument until Paithon spoke to Coker.

“Japanese soldier near here. You must go. You hide in trees over there until dark. Then we help.”

And seeing Coker’s uncertainty added reassuringly, “We help you safe.”

Coker was not the trusting sort but something about the man inspired confidence and since his options were limited, he nodded and retreated in the direction indicated.  

Out of prudence, he then moved further round to enable him to get a view of anyone approaching the tree line. If Japanese soldiers approached, he, from concealed vantage point, was going to wreak as much damage as he could before retreating into the forest and trusting to luck. 

He was on tenterhooks for the rest of the day, constantly moving his viewpoint in case of treachery. At nightfall, Paithon and two other men approached the line of the jungle. There being no sign of anyone else, Coker emerged and approached them, weapon at the ready. Paithon said.

“You here good. You must go. Japanese soldier near it dangerous for you. This man take you to my village. It will be safe for you,”

“How will I get back to my people?”

“There are friends there, maybe they help”

“Why are you doing this, Mr Paithon?”

“My name is just Paithon. I see Japanese soldier capture two men from plane. They bring them out and…” He struggled for words but demonstrated by making a chopping gesture at his neck and continued, “No heads. I don’t want you no head,”

Coker nodded in appreciative agreement as Paithon continued.

“Not all like our boss Phibun3. “Now you go with my friend here,” He pointed to a large man, barefooted and in traditional attire “He take you to where you be safe. It is long way over the mountains,”

Coker was unsure but since there was no obvious alternative, he said.

“Thank you,”

Paithon produced a bag of food, a pair of shorts, a light shirt and hat so Coker could get rid of his decrepit uniform. Despite Paithon producing the largest size he could manage, it was still a tight fit, but Coker welcomed the new cooler clothing. He looked at his boots, which had virtually disintegrated. 

“Can you do anything?” Paithon just shook his head and smiled at Coker’s feet. 

“No shoes big enough. It time you go. This man called Chatchai. He not speak English. He speak Dutch. Headman of village friend of mine speak Dutch he work for Company.4 You speak Dutch?”

“No,” 

The kindness shown touched Coker and he said.

“After the war I’ll remember and see you again,”

“Yes Yes. That good, but you must go now,”

Chatchai looked at Coker appraising him and said simply.

“Koom,”

Chatchai didn’t live up to his name, for hardly a word passed his lips in that or in the following days. Coker suffered. His boots gave out, and he was forced to go barefoot, an agonising experience with the myriad small objects that he stood on. Chatchai made no allowances for Coker’s difficulties keeping up a relentless pace. He followed tracks and trails indiscernible to Coker, never in doubt which direction to take. He supplemented the rations they had been given, dried meat and fruit, with additional fruits that he could harvest as they went along. On one occasion he stooped and, digging a shallow hole, scooped out handfuls of insects which he put into a burlap bag. Once full he bashed the bag against a tree trunk reducing its contents to a reddish pulp. This he presented to Coker and being in a talkative mood said.

“Eat,”

“I’m not eating that,” Coker replied disgusted.

“You eat” as he scooped up the revolting mush with a spoon and ate it himself. Coker stared at the insect stew, but as he was hungry, he overcame his revulsion and tried some. It was OK he decided with surprise, a texture of a watery semolina with a slightly sweetish taste. He had a second spoonful and Chatchai gave a slight smile of approval. 

Even Coker could work out that they were travelling westwards as they climbed upwards as the weather became mercifully milder; the nights becoming almost cool. But where they were and their likely destination, he couldn’t even begin to guess. On the few occasions Coker saw signs of human habitation, Chatchai veered off so they avoided any contact. The days became tough and dreary. Coker’s feet bled from numerous sores and blisters but still Chatchai pressed on, conceding only to provide a salve to treat the wounds. It helped and Coker became inured to the pain and, not being one to complain kept on at pace in silence. He was aware they were travelling along one side of a pass and then descended again with the consequent unwelcome rise in temperature and humidity. And still they walked, south, as Coker calculated from the stars, or north if the authors of the astronomical book were correct. Coker’s confusion in this regard was complete.

Day and night merged; days ran into each other and still they plodded on; mostly keeping to the forest, crossing streams, occasional dirt track roads but seeing no-one. Once Chatchai, who was always in front, gestured to Coker to stop and keep quiet. After a short time, Coker could hear, above the constant insect noise, a rustling sound which increased in intensity. Chatchai waved, indicating that they should quietly back off. As they did, Coker realised they were skirting a small water hole and clearing into which emerged a small herd of elephants. The elephants were unaware of their presence as they stood, only 40 yards away. The herd comprised five adults and two juveniles. They started drinking and splashing in the water until the largest elephant, the matriarch, raised her head and trunk into the air and looked around in apparent alarm. Chatchai made another gesture to Coker, telling him to get back further into the foliage. The matriarch trumpeted and the rest of the brood looked up in alarm in their direction and joined in so the jungle reverberated with noise. With this Chatchai and Coker ran, as best they could, through the jungle. When they stopped, they could hear, at a distance, the elephants, but as they did not appear to be giving chase, they resumed their trek. They saw the occasional deer and on one night heard alarm calls followed by loud growling and then sounds of eating. Coker found it difficult to sleep, and even Chatchai stayed awake and alert. Coker assumed he had heard either a tiger or leopard taking down a deer.

Aside from these minor diversions, the days took on a monotonous routine until they crossed a major road before plunging into forest again. Finally, they came to a tiny fishing village. A cluster of houses constructed of wood with palm frond roofing and raised on stilts were at the top of a sandy beach. It was at the head of an inlet with mountains on both sides with the jungle reaching to the water. The inlet widened as it met the open sea with a number of small islands forming a barrier several miles offshore. They approached the village and some of the inhabitants, including the Headman, greeted Chatchai. They engaged in animated talk with frequent glances towards Coker. Eventually the Headman nodded and Chatchai gestured to Coker to come over and said something to the headman, who addressed Coker.

“Welkom Engelsman in onze Hmuban,”

Coker nodded in acknowledgement and replied.

“Thank you for having me as your guest,”

That having been settled, Chatchai took his leave and in, for him, a long speech, took Coker by the hand and said.

“English you OK” and, for the first time, smiled. Coker thanked him in return and Chatchai disappeared, leaving Coker surrounded by curious villagers. And well might they be curious. Coker’s long straggly beard and long hair, muscles bulging out of stained and torn garments and still festooned with guns and ammunition, made him an unusual sight in any company. The Headman introduced himself. 

“Mijn naam is Thong,”

“My name is Horace Coker,”

Thong led him to the middle of the village and offered him something to eat, which Coker accepted gratefully. After eating he took him to a hut and provided a change of clothing consisting of a long strip of cloth to wrap around his midriff and a loose-fitting top.

There were about two hundred men, woman and children in the village subsisting largely upon fishing. They had cleared areas of jungle which they fertilised with seaweed and where they grew crops. Hens wandered in between the huts. 

Coker settled into the ways of the village and for their part the villagers came to regard Coker with a tolerant affection. His power was harnessed to the many tasks that required brute strength. To his surprise, his mechanical skills also came in useful. Although the fishing boats were paddled out to sea outboard motors, although low powered, could extend their range and likelihood of finding fish. They had acquired two, but neither was in working condition, although they had a stash of fuel and spare parts. Coker dismantled and reassembled the engines and with much effort, watched by a constant audience of small children and curious adults, got them working again.

Within a short time, Coker, with his eccentricities, became an accepted and useful member of the community. He went out to help with fishing one day, but one day only, as his bulk and clumsiness constantly threatened to capsize the boat. When a small girl was caught in a freak wave and was being swept out to sea, Coker dived in to save her. The villagers, with amused tolerance, first rescued the girl and then Coker, to his immense irritation. Whilst he grew very fond of his new hosts and his comfortable lifestyle, he was eager to get home and, to his credit, rejoin the war. Whenever he approached Thong, he got the answer.

“Misschien morgen,” which Coker eventually realised was the equivalent of manana. 

Months passed unhurriedly under the tropical sun until one day all changed. Coker was at the edge of the sea waiting for the fishermen to return, to help land the boat and catch. When he spotted them, they were paddling for all they were worth and as they got near shouted warnings. The villagers reacted instantly. As one, they packed such belongings as they had into bags and gathered the children in the middle of the camp. They moved heavier items to hiding places. Then rounded up as many chickens as they could and put them into cages. The fishermen rowed right up onto the beach and then dragged the boats under a canopy of palm trees and undergrowth. Coker, puzzled, assisted received an explanation in one word.

“Yipun” which needed no further translation. He could see no immediate cause for concern, but one man pointed out to sea and coming round an island he could see a grey vessel steaming in their direction. He joined the rest in the village, they loaded him with as much as he could carry, and they all set off along a narrow track, into the jungle and up to high ground. 

Although Coker wasn’t aware, the procedure was adopted out of fear of pirates, not totally eliminated in that part of the world by either the British, French or Dutch. Although there was little worth taking from such fishing villages, raids for food and even for slaves were not unknown. The reputation of the Japanese for wanton violence and rapine had spread along the coast, and the natives regarded them with both fear and revulsion. They took no risks, even though the ship might only have been carrying out a patrol.

After a hard trek, they arrived in a small jungle clearing with several huts ready to take in the villagers who set about making themselves as comfortable as possible. Coker and Thong and a couple of others went to a height to get a view of the bay. To their disappointment, the ship came into the bay and dropped anchor a mile from the village. After a while a small boat left it and motored to the beach. The Japanese sailors wandered around the dwellings looking, as it seemed, for booty of which there was none. In disgust, they retrieved a can of fuel from the boat and in an act of malice set fire to huts until the accelerant ran out and they reembarked and returned to the mother ship.

An excited Coker upon returning to the camp by a combination of shouts and gestures indicated he needed to communicate with the British. Thong shrugged as if to say what can I do. Then one of his sons spoke to him and an animated conversation ensued. After a short time, Thong nodded his head, and the son gestured to Coker to come with him. He set off at a great pace until full nightfall when they rested. At sunrise they reached a clearing where they found a group of men around a campfire eating. The son, Chakri, approached the men somewhat diffidently. They were not an attractive bunch, reminding Coker of a pirate band. One had lost an eye another was extensively scarred, and all were dressed in a motley array of grubby clothing. Chakri spoke to the one-eyed man who appeared to be the head pirate. He in turn spoke to Coker in English, or a form of the language, in a strong accent.

“Dis man say you English and want radio,”

“That’s right. There’s a Japanese ship anchored near here. I need to report to my people” said Coker earnestly. The man shrugged his shoulders disinterestedly. Coker took the Thompson and held it threateningly, although this produced no discernible difference in the man's demeanour but did evoke a response.

“You use radio – you give gun,” 

Coker glowered at him. “Don’t you want to hit the Japs?”

Again, the man shrugged “Gun for radio,”

Coker gritted his teeth and thought of resorting to violence but on realising that wouldn’t work replied “Once the Japs have left,”

The man nodded. They led him to a hut containing the radio, much bulkier than Coker had imagined. An operator turned it on with a flurry of crackles and he asked Coker.

“Frequency?”

“How would I know?”

The man grunted and after a long search found an allied ship who undertook to transmit a message to British forces. After a while an English voice came through and Coker reported.

“My name is Private Horace Coker. I am stranded on the west coast of Malaya in a small fishing village. A Japanese warship has anchored here. Over,”

There was a pause. “Who do you say you are? Over,”

“Coker,” Coker shouted, “I’m here to report a Japanese warship,”

“What on earth are you doing there? Over,”

“I escaped from the Japanese and have taken refuge here,” Coker was getting irritated.

“Give me your full name, number and regiment. Over,” Coker did so.

“And where precisely is this ship? Over,”

Coker was helpless. The one-eyed leader took the microphone and described, with rough coordinates where the village was situated. 

After a silence, “How could you think you may still be in Malaya? No, don’t answer that. Tell me about yourself. Over,” 

Irritated, Coker gave a short-potted history of himself. The voice at the other end said, “Get the Captain” and then a fresh voice came on.

“Coker is that you? This is Captain Ponsonby. Over,”

Coker replied disrespectfully “Cecil Ponsonby. Are you that that rotter from Highcliffe? Whoever made you a Captain?”

The anonymous voice chuckled, “So he knows you then Pon?”

“Captain Ponsford to you, Coker. If you were here, you’d be on a charge. What’s this about a Jap warship? Over,”

Coker summarised what he had seen. The anonymous one asked.

“Are you sure he’s who he says he is?”

“Oh, there’s no doubt. Only Coker could be so stupid as not to even know what country he’s in.”

An indignant Coker intervened “You cheeky tick I heard that,”

“Yes, most definitely Coker,” said Pon. 

“Do you think he might have been turned by the Japs?”

“No chance. He may be stupid, but he has no fear and totally loyal,”

Coker snorted and then Pon said to him.

“Listen Coker, your information may be important. We need to refer you to Naval Intelligence. Remain at your post. Over,”

About half an hour later a curt voice came through ordering Coker to repeat his sighting and then asked.

“Now tell me something about the ship. Can you estimate its tonnage? Over?”

“20,000,”

“What? Have the Japs sent the Queen Mary to your village?”

Coker quickly amended, “2,000,”

“You don’t have the faintest idea, have you?” Coker was forced to admit this.

“Let’s try again. How many funnels?”

“One,”

“Any guns forward. That’s the pointy end?” He added sarcastically.

“Yes. Maybe a 10 or 12 pounder,”

“And aft?”

“The same,”

“The length. How many paces would it take a sailor to walk its full length?”

“An English or Japanese sailor?”

“For crying out loud. English if you like,”

“About 60 or 70”

After further questions, his interrogator said to him.

“I need you to keep it under constant observation and if it moves, let me know on this wavelength. Ask for Barfleur. We’ll need to know at once anything that happens. You understand?”

“Yes sir. Over,”

With difficulty, Coker persuaded the pirates to go with him with the radio. It was no small achievement to move it and its battery back to the observation point. The Japanese ship was still there. But now had elaborate camouflage netting obscuring much of the superstructure. 

Coker kept watch, as instructed, though nothing happened for three days and he struggled to keep his vigil going with only brief naps to sustain him. On the third morning there was a flurry of activity on the ship and after a few minutes he could see why. Coming round the point was a Japanese submarine which slowly approached the ship and nestled beside her on the far side from Coker’s view. He could see sailors dragging up stores and torpedoes from the ship’s hold, which they transferred to the sub. Coker was so absorbed in watching what was going on that he forgot to return to the village to radio in the new sighting. After an hour he remembered and was about to get up when suddenly the sub appeared to leap into the air as a large geyser of water engulfed it and the ship. The sound wave hit him seconds later followed by two further explosions which rocked the ship so that it’s decking nearly hit the water. He could see that the sub was sinking with its two ends sitting at a 45-degree angle before disappearing from view. For a short time, the ship regained equilibrium, though settling lower in the water when another explosion hit it just behind the bridge. Japanese sailors pushed rafts into the sea, and many jumped in after them as the ship sank rapidly. The human flotsam swam as fast as they could towards the shore. 

All the villagers had gathered at the viewing point and having seen the fate of the ship, the men ran back and returned armed with vicious parangs. They made their way towards the beach followed by Coker and the pirates. Coker took his machine gun with him and several drums of ammunition. By the time they got to the beach, the Japanese sailors were struggling to swim to the land. Several could not make it as they had to cover the best part of a mile, but Coker estimated there were 70 of 80 survivors approaching them. Some sailors on the rafts wielded side arms and as Coker strode into the water took pot-shots at him. The range was too great to be effective. Coker, unperturbed, strode to waist depth, waited until they came within his effective range, around 150 yards, and ignoring bullets whizzing around him let fly. Even he was shocked by its effectiveness as the Japanese were bowled over. The uninjured jumped off their rafts into the sea. He raked each of the three rafts using four drums of ammunition. He reloaded but by now the survivors were all in the water and helpless as they struggled to shore. Coker held his fire but wondered what they could do with dozens of Japanese captives. He needn’t have worried. As the exhausted Japanese came into the shallows, the villagers leapt forward and with their parangs wreaked a terrible slaughter. Coker was astonished at their transition from peaceful, friendly fishermen to crazed assassins. But on reflection what else could they do? They couldn’t capture and detain a complement of antagonistic Japanese even if they wanted. They attacked the sailors with a frenzy born of vengeance and sheer blood lust. Some Japanese turned and made for the side of the inlet. None succeeded. They were swept back into hell.

Coker stepped back, having no stomach to have any further involvement in the carnage. After a time, nothing remained but a silence and red waves breaking on the shore. Bodies of sailors bobbed in the water.

The sound of a motor broke the silence and looking up they saw, to their horror, another submarine approaching them on the surface. After the initial panic Coker recognised it as British. They launched a dinghy; it sped towards the beach and as it ran up onto the sand an officer jumped out and shouted.

“Is Coker here?”

“Yes me,”

The officer looked at him somewhat sceptically given Coker’s attire and said.

“Get in and hurry up about it,”

“I have to say my goodbyes,”

“No, you bloody well don’t. Get in – we shouldn’t even bother with this – Get in NOW,”

Coker turned and threw the Thompson at the pirate, ran over to Thong embraced him quickly, thanked him and ran to the dingy. He was pushed unceremoniously to the bottom as they turned back and raced to the sub. There they rushed him through the conning tower and below into the steaming heat of the interior. The engines revved up, and the ship made its way to the open sea. There was no time to be lost. Although the captain was fairly sure no distress call had been made he was taking no risks. The tension in the sub was palpable until they rounded the islands, submerged, and make their way to the safety of the deep ocean.

The skipper only then approached Coker and introduced himself as Captain Andress. He congratulated Coker on providing information that may have saved many allied lives with the sinking of a deep ocean submarine and submarine tender. Then he asked Coker how he came to be in Thailand.

Coker thought back – the murders of his friends, the solo slog through the jungle, the help provided by Paithon and Chatchai in getting him away from the Japanese despite the dangers to themselves and finally the village and kindness of the villagers and the dramatic end to his stay there. The emotions and strains of the past months came to the fore. To his own intense annoyance, he found he couldn’t answer. He looked helplessly up into the face of the captain, as tears leaked from his red eyes. Andress pressed a tin mug of grog into his hand and patted him on the shoulder.

“OK, old man. Take it easy you’re safe now,” he said softly.

POSTSCRIPT

Coker found out after the war what happened after he escaped from Thailand. As Captain Andress had thought, no distress signal had been sent out and the ships were not missed until a reconnaissance aircraft, a couple of days later, discovered them nestling at the bottom of the sea. Shortly afterwards a patrol vessel was sent out to investigate. Thong had expected this and had a plan. He got the villagers to retrieve the bodies of the sailors killed by parang or by Coker as these injuries were obviously not resulting from the destruction of the ships. They took them deep into the jungle and buried them. The others he left for the Japanese to discover. Many bodies, and body parts washed up from the ships as did a large quantity of diesel oil. As disgusting as it was for the villagers as it polluted their beach, it covered up the injuries sustained by the remaining corpses. The villagers then took anything remaining from the surviving huts and retreated to their upper village for safety. As expected, a patrol boat arrived and examined, as best they could, the wrecks and put ashore a small party to survey the scene before leaving. The next day a larger vessel arrived equipped with naval divers to examine the ships and sent a large party ashore to bury the dead sailors. It was a terrible task with the bodies having decayed in the tropical sun and covered in fuel oil. The party went through the deserted village and, perhaps suspecting collusion or from simple malice, set fire and destroyed the remaining buildings before reembarking.

The Japanese board of Enquiry determined torpedoes delivered by submarine had sunk the vessels (the impact damage was below the waterline). They concluded that a British sub had encountered the submarine, followed it, and attacked when it was at its most vulnerable. Since they didn’t suspect there were any agents or allied collaborators on the coast, given its isolated position, they did not suspect the villagers of complicity.  

News of the destruction of the village reached the Thai government who lodged a protest with the Japanese authorities. They were, after all, allies. After lengthy prevarication, the Japanese grudgingly accepted responsibility and paid over a small sum in compensation. This was even smaller by the time corrupt Thai officials had their share. But it helped, and the villagers were left alone for the rest of the war.

Coker, after the war and his discharge from the army, went back to rural Gloucestershire and resumed his old job. His Aunt Judy, now that he was over 30 and, she presumed, more sensible, settled a substantial sum on him giving him financial independence. He determined to return to Thailand, now reverted to its old name of Siam, to pick up on those who had helped him, and as he now appreciated saved his life. It wasn’t until 1949, did he receive the necessary permits.

 He contacted Paithon through the Thai authorities and found that he was now a senior official in the foreign ministry in Bangkok. He was delighted to see Coker.

“Good to see you and your head” he joked. Coker remembered and appreciated the reference. Paithon insisted Coker stayed with him and his family for his stay in Bangkok.

Coker expressed a wish to revisit the village where he had stayed for those months and whose name, he learned for the first time, Prapa Het. Having no desire to replicate his journey through the jungle, he with Paithon’s assistance, chartered a yacht and with Paithon and his wife sailed to the village. They passed and could just see the superstructure of the sunken tender, below the surface as they approached an anchorage close to the village. By the time they reached the shore the villagers crowded onto the beach and swarmed around Coker and the Paithons. For three days they were honoured guests and Coker renewed old acquaintances and could now communicate with them through Paithon. Coker came bearing gifts; bolts of cloth, fishing nets and three powerful outboard motors all greeted with effusive enthusiasm. Coker enjoyed the hospitality and the friendliness of his old acquaintances. There was however a difference; In 1942 he felt he was one of them, a villager sharing their lives. Now he was a guest, Khun Coker, dressed in smart western style, an outsider. 

Only Chatchai eluded him. Paithon thought he had joined the Free Thai Movement, which was both anti-Japanese and Phibun but didn’t know what happened to him or if he had survived. 

Coker never forgot those who had helped him. Paithon and his family travelled to England as Coker’s guests, and every year he ensured that Prapa Het received a gift from him. There was much turbulence in Thailand in the following years but once that settled, he regularly returned and regarded it as his second home.