麻豆官网首页入口

In January 1944 I boarded a troopship in Liverpool and sailed for Nigeria, a young infantry officer assigned to a battalion of the King's African Rifles based in Kaduna. There were short stays in Abeokuta and Ibadan before reporting to Major Winstanley at the barracks. With several more junior officers I was to train with African soldiers for jungle war in Burma against the Japanese enemy.
We were kept busy,training men to use rifles, machine guns, to throw grenades, practise night attacks and bushcraft, undertake route marches, prepare dugout defences and get used to the routines of camp life. All interesting everyday work in a climate less humid than around Lagos and the sultry south.
Our native soldiers were a mixture of tribes from all parts, Yorubas and Ebos, Hausa and Fulani and many more. We were greatly helped by stalwart Regimental Sergeant Major Bawa Debba, a magnificent figure in Khaki shorts, grey puttees, highly polished boots, red fez and gleaming brass bugle at his side. My company sergeant was Hassan Yerwa.
Pidgin English was effectively used by all of us. I admired the ready responses of our men and their easy use of a basic language. When Sgt Yerwa was looking unhappy one morning and confided in me "One wife fine fine sah, two wife be plenty trouble" I knew he had a marital problem. And as I passed by a soldier trying to inflate a bicycle tyre he looked up in disgust. "Dis one no fit pass breeze" he told me, pump in hand.
Soldiers given leave were allowed two whole months before returning. Each received pay that for most men was much more money than they had ever known or handled. After one contingent went on leave alarming reports came in about soldiers running amok in a village, Potiskum, of the market place smashed up, looting and raping and fearful people begging for help. Major Mack ordered two officers to take an escort and army trucks and find the ringleaders. Don Newbold was to make for Maidurjuri, I to Yola in the East. We each had a native sergeant; the major armed us with revolvers and told us not to use them save in the most serious circumstances.
Sgt Yerwa was my interpreter and a helpful, close support. For me it was a long dusty-hot journey into the unknown. Somewhere west of Jos we were rounding a small rocky hill and stopped to watch a group of baboons leaping and chasing on the higher slope. Then a large troop of big savage baboons descended to hurl chunks of rock at our trucks, barking and baleful. What provoked them I couldn't imagine but we hastily drove away.
Eventually we came to Potiskum, quiet and almost deserted now, talked with the villagers and located several army miscreants, their money spent, sheepish and even pleased about being arrested. I went ahead in one truck, crossing a river on a raft poled by four men, slowly gyrating as we floated across. At Yola I met a young white officer and his sergeant housed in a wooden bungalow. It was a remote recruiting office. I soon understood they were an uneasy pair, victims perhaps of the anxiety neurosis not uncommon in tropical heat and environments we had to accept.
Our rations dwindled as the days passed, finally ran out. We urgently wanted food to see us back to Kaduna. Sgt Yerwa, more familiar withy the regiobn, suggested we seek help from the Emir of Biu. We located his mud palace, noting a green plush throne at the entrance and the sinister long sword leaning beside it. I had queasy thoughts about Islamic justice but with Hassan Yerwa at my side entered a square courtyard packed with people. It was a colourful scene, blue and yellow robes, white djellabas, blue and green turbans, animated conversations. I hesitated, looking for the main palace portal. Quite suddenly everybody flung themselves on the ground face down. Even Sgt Yerwa, to my surprise. I pulled him up to standerect with me. We saw the Emir and his vizier emerging from deep shade, standing on steps. He beckoned us and we picked a way through a spread of recumbent bodies. A plump, bearded man, bulky in a faded blue djellaba, a slender rod of office in his hand, he smiled and gestured us to enter. Dark corridors led to a large reception chamber, cushions strewn on the floor, low armchairs and leather stools, lion and leopard skins on two walls, sundry swords and round shields mounted between them. We sat ad Sgt Yerwa explained my problem. The Emir smiled graciously, probably aware that hungry soldiers could make trouble, and asked me if a sheep and calabash of onions would suffice. I rose to shake a limp and flabby hand.
Next day I realised what a unique journey I had undertaken. In a village of beehive mud huts I watched women pounding groundnuts held in a wood-carved container, their staves rhythmically rising and falling. They were chanting in tempo. I tried it for myself but could not manage their casual expertise, and stood back to watch them again. I felt fingers plucking at my fair, wavy hair. They backed away laughing helplessly - embarrassed or perplexed I couldn't decide. It dawned on me they had never seen a white face and blonde hair before and they were somewhat shocked.
Back in Kaduna I reported details of my mission to Major Winstanley. I learned that my name was on the next draft listed for the Burma campaign.

漏 Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.