CHAPTER XXVII

TRAGEDY AT JORHAT
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 DECEMBER 1944—MARCH 1944

 DURING December the Division lived five thousand feet up among the Naga Hills , resting, training, and re-equipping.. At night the cold was intense, but the views by day were remarkable and never palled. To the west rose great hills behind which the afternoon sun sank early. But to the east the eye could see far across terraced hillsides, villages built on promontories, and valleys often filled with mist. You gazed across these to hills and other valleys that rose and fell on and on to the distant horizon, and far beyond.

The black tar ribbon of the Dimapur—Imphal road wound among these hills, and the Division’s camps were on the roadside, in tents or under huge tarpaulins stretched on a wooden framework. The Nagas, picturesque and colourful in their scarlet or black and green blankets, were to be seen chipping stones beside the road, or walking with the gait of hill people up and down the slopes.

Christmas 1944 was spent in this beautiful setting. But then, because of supply problems, the Division moved again, this time farther north to Jo rhat beside the Brahmaputra River . In winter this flowed by many branches round islands and between long stretches of white sand flats tufted with long grass. Inland, beyond the paddy fields, the patches of jungle, and the untidy villages, lie the tea gardens, acres of little close-trimmed, flat-topped bushes laid out beneath slender-branched ‘shade trees.’

Outside Jo rhat the Division set up a new camp in open green fields. Tents were pitched, flagposts erected, signboards and fences painted and installed. Smartness prevailed, and for the first time since Quetta Camp outside Baghdad two years before, the Division gathered together in a great cantonment of tents. Once again flags and pennants fluttered above the white tents. Once again inspections, conferences, office work, the dispatch of leave

BALL OF FIRE

parties, the listing of stores deficiencies, and the training of reinforcements were the order of the day. But no smoke from drip-flash stoves blackened the camp. No loose-wallahs prowled through the camps under the shield of darkness. The dust was scanty until the main tracks became stripped of grass and churned up by the to-and-fro of trucks and jeeps, lorries and marching feet.

The Division was no longer to operate with mules. Two of its brigades were to be fully motorised. Nine Brigade was designated for an air-landing role. The animal transport companies and the unit mules went away, and jeeps and trailers and four-wheel-drive 15-cwt. trucks took their place. The Divisional strength in transport rose overnight by nearly 2,000 vehicles. All these had to be collected, and issued to units. To find drivers for this influx of vehicles taxed the skill and ingenuity of every unit, the training of these drivers, and the painting of numbers and Divisional flashes on the front and back of every vehicle, occupied many hours each day.

Concert parties came to entertain the troops, mobile cinemas gave shows, football matches were organized. A race meeting on the Jo rhat track was an outstanding success, and so were, parties given by the Division to the Assam tea planters and their wives, who had made members of the Division so very welcome with generous hospitality in their homes and clubs.

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While the Division was resting in reserve, in the Naga Hills and near Jo rhat, the advance into Burma across the Chindwin by Messervy’s Four and Stopford’s Thirty-Three Corps was at once rapid and spectacular. Shwebo had been entered on January 7, and the first crossing of the Irrawaddy made two days later. By the third week of February four divisions and a tank brigade had crossed this great river and established bridgeheads on the east bank at widely different points. These bridgeheads had been fiercely attacked by the Japanese, but had been held against every assault. North of Mandalay the 19th Indian Division, led by Major-General Rees, whom we have met as commander of Ten Brigade in Eritrea, had crossed the Irrawaddy. West of Mandalay crossings had been made by the 2nd British and 20th Indian Divisions. And to the south-west, between Pakokku and Pagan,

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the Seventh Indian Division, commanded ‘by Major-General Geoffrey Evans, had struck across to hold the eastern bank. And, behind, the 17th Indian Division waited in reserve.

The Japanese fought hard to contain us in our bridgeheads, and rushed troops from other fronts to attempt to destroy our forces. The fighting was bitter and prolonged, the casualties serious, the odds at first heavy. Both sides suffered, many casualties, but gradually the bridgeheads were extended, and supplies and reserves built UI) for a break-through. Across the river were ferried men, weapons and transport, in readiness for a drive on Mandalay and Meiktila. And it was to balance the strength of the opposing forces and to ensure every chance of routing and destroying the enemy that the Fifth Indian Division was hurriedly re-equipped, despite the greatest administrative problems to be overcome in the process. General Slim needed a sixth division without delay, to help oppose the seven enemy divisions that were being reinforced hurriedly from other parts of Burma .

Farly in February orders had been received from Fourteenth Army that the Division must be ready to enter the battle of Central Burma on March 15. General Warren, with his new G.S.O., Lieutenant-Colonel P.S. Pryke, flew south to Kalemyo to confer at Army Headquarters. They were to be briefed as to the future employment of the Division. On February 11 they set off on their return flight. The small aircraft vanished among the hills. Its occupants were reported missing and were never found.

This was a grievous blow to the Division, a piece of news that shocked everyone who heard it. Gloom and a sense of personal loss prevailed, for Warren —first of the Diyisional Commanders to be killed—had been held in warm affection.

The troops knew him as “Daddy” Warren, or as “Freddie” Warren. His hair had greyed, deep lines ran across his face, he wore spectacles. If at first sight he did not seem to be awe-inspiring, or typical of the senior Army officer, but more like a farmer, your first impression was certainly one of a real human being. Character­istic were his slow, deliberate way of speaking, his dry Irish sense of humour, the merry twinkle in his eyes, and his companionable pipe.        

If the British troops of the Division liked and respected him, the Indians adored him. He never passed anyone without talking

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to him. Though in the company of his colonels and staff, Warren would break off the conversation to speak to a Punjabi muledriver, to a West Kent stretcher-bearer, to a group of Sikh Sappers. For the humblest jawan Warren ‘had a friendly smile, an encouraging word of cheer. He greeted a private soldier, not as a toy of war, but as another human being. His memory for names was astonishing; and his unusual fluency in Urdu and Punjabi gained him a closer touch with the Indian troops than would otherwise have been possible. Moreover, he could make jokes that were understood and appreciated by the jawan.

To work for him was a pleasure, because he knew exactly what he wanted and always gave a decisive answer to his commanders and staff. They found him approachable, for he made time to see them. His brain was as shrewd in administration as it was in operations. He ‘was sure of himself, and prepared to back himself and his men to the hilt. He had faith in those under him, and the gift of making them feel this confidence. He gave an impression of slowness that deceived some men, but once he had made his decisions he would act swiftly, and was prepared to take a risk that had been calculated and deemed justified. But he would not be hurried by the highest in the land. He believed in the motto of “More haste, less speed,” and would often say, before coming to a decision, “Let’s think the problem out first.”

And he had a habit of suggesting a plan of action to his junior’ commanders, rather than giving them an inflexible order that might seem meaningless. In this way he took them into his confidence and inspired deep loyalty. His troops felt that whatever orders he gave would ensure success with the minimum casualties, and that he would never push them into a disaster.

He knew no fear, and in a tight spot he was an inspiration to all those around him. His bravery and enthusiasm infected his Brigade and his Division; he was never seen’ to be ruffled or excited. Even when the tide of battle was at its roughest, he remained cool on the surface. Indeed, he was at his best when faced with the utmost difficulties, and did not let the burden of adversity bear him down. His strong temper he kept perfectly under control, and many have commented how he never spoke out of turn to his subordinates, however exasperating, though he could be outspoken and challenging to his seniors ‘when~ he disagreed with their policy

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or when the situation warranted it He was always prepared to bold out against what he considered ill advised decisions

Durmg a battle Warren was invariably well forward, dropping in on a battalion, company or even platoon headquarters with his friendly manners and dry humour. Commanders loved to have in the forward areas, for he did not interfere, though a word advice was ready if needed. He would arrive on a captured position before it had been consolidated, and start to plan the

next move ahead

Despite his age and corpulence, he was a tremendous walker, and he clambered up and down hills in Arakan, by Kohima, and down the road through Tiddim to Kennedy Peak and Fort White with amazing speed and energy. One officer of the Royal West Kents recalls how, in a very exposed position in Arakan, Warren arrived on the very first day after we had occupied the feature. He said, with his gay twinkle, that he was walking round the walls of Jericho . ‘Then, in full view of the enemy, down a gully between the two leading companies, where no man had ventured, except running and crouching, Brigadier Warren walked without haste. And the sight of him there braced the infantry and gave them good heart. Always he carried a long staff to help him up the slopes, he wore a’ wide-brimmed bush hat, and his hands, when they were not holding or filling his pipe, were stuck’ in a very loose web belt and holster.

It was, ironic perhaps, that Warren, who had been born in Japan where his father was a missionary, should be fighting the Japanese. But he knew his enemy thoroughly, and his decisions about them were right. Sometimes his predictions, to the exact ‘time and place, long before they occurred and before others were prepared, seemed uncanny. It was in 1917 that he transferred to the Indian Army, after two years’ service with the Royal Munster Fusiliers. He and Brigadier Salomons had been together in the 34th Royal Sikh Pioneers, building roads in Waziristan; When the Pioneers were disbanded he transferred to the 8th Punjab Regiment, worked in the translation section at Army Headquarters in India for four years, and attended the Staff College at Camberley under protest, being afraid that he might end his days as a ‘chairborne’ soldier. In 1940 he raised the 6th Battalion of his regiment, Warren ’s Foot

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He was a versatile man, shrewd, widely read, gifted with an outstanding memory. Conscientious and methodical by nature, he worked at his languages, won prizes for short stories and military essays, and intended one day to take up writing seriously. If he was not athletic like so many soldiers, he was fond of riding, despite several nasty falls; he loved a game of golf as this did not interfere with his pipe, and he looked forward to the day when he would go sailing. The social life peculiar to the Army in India did not attract him, for all his friendly disposition. His ambition was to do a good job of work in India and then retire to the peace of a country home where he might read and write and make things in wood. But that was not to be. Instead he died at the height of his career, planning the new role for his Division whose confidence and affection he had so richly won during the eighteen months he had served with it.

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Brigadier Salomons took over the Division for a few days, and then, at a moment when the troops were preparing to re-enter the battle and when a leader who knew and was known by the Division would be invaluable, General Mansergh was posted to command. He had only recently taken over the 11th East African Division, and their loss became our gain. Mansergh was a veteran of the Fifth Indian Division, he had commanded it temporarily on many occasions when Briggs or Evans had been away or ill, and now he returned where he belonged.

“Bob” Mansergh had seryed with 144Field Regiment ( Surrey and,Sussex Yeomanry) during the campaign in Eritrea and Abyssinia four years back. When he went to command the Royal Artillery Depot at Almaza near Cairo , he widened still further a knowledge of Gunner officers which he had built up while adjutant of the Royal Military Academy at Woolwich before the war. He had been born in South Africa , and spent the first years of his life there. Training in diplomacy had come his way when he served on thee Military Mission to Iraq ’ as a captain. It is told how he ‘wanted to go north to the border to paint and sketch. No leave was obtainable to do this, as the area was politically verboten. But Mansergh went without leave, only to be caught by the Kurds and cast into ‘a prison cell. He denied that he was an army officer,

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and claimed to be a school teacher on holiday. ‘He gave a fictitious name. This was cabled to London , where all knowledge of him was naturally denied. After several days of discomfort, when convinced that it was his only course, Mansergh confessed.

As a Gunner he was among the most capable, as a C.R.A. he was unsurpassed, both in the skill with which he managed his regiments, the unbounded confidence that he aroused in successive Divisional Commanders, and the admirable relationship he estab­lished between his officers and the infantry battalions they supported. He had been C.R.A. for more than two years, and then, being told that this would be his only avenue to higher promotion, he had gone as second in command of a brigade with the Seventh Indian Division. At the end of the Tiddim Road campaign, General Slim had sent for Mansergh, told him that he had no brigade that he could give him to command. Then, as though by an afterthought, to assuage very evident disappointment, Slim added that he was entrusting the command of the 11th cast African Division, to him.

Mansergh was a man of commanding presence, great height, and massive build. His manners were polished, his bearing at once urbane and impressive. His innate, sincere charm. was famous, for he went out of his way to make others feel at ease, bçcause, perhaps, he liked to be at ease himself. Characteristics was ‘his treatment of regimental officers who visited ‘A’ Mess at Divisional Headquarters. They. were likely to feel overawed at entering this group of senior officers, but from the moment of Mansergh’s entry all shyness was forgotten. ‘He would insist upon your sitting near him, and he was one of those few people who make you want to talk of your own interests. As one Gunner officer com­mented long afterwards, “What boring hours he must have endured listening to us all.” .

This same officer recalled that once, happily, the General spent a night with his regiment. “I remember asking him which, of all the men he had met, he would most prefer to dine with. His answer was unhesitating: ‘The Duke of Aosta and Lord Louis Mountbatten.’

To the Gunners of the Division Mansergh seemed almost their personal property, for he knew all the officers by their Christian names; he had been the welcome guest of almost every troop, battery and regimental mess at one time or another; and his

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unfailing tact, patience, and outstanding competence were widely known and respected.

His judgment of men was as admirable as were his confidential reports on them. Two particular gems have been recorded:

“Geared low but pedals hard,” and “I should hesitate to breed from this officer.” One regimental commander, describing General Mansergh’s amazing capacity for being able to call a man by his name—one of the secrets of his success—added that Man­sergh knew more of the men of this particular regiment by name than ever did its commander, even at the end of his period of command.

He was artistic, loved music, and painted or sketched; Alice in Wonderland travelled in his kit through the campaigning years; he watched natural life with keen interest; he collected Persian carpets and rugs, and when in Baghdad would spend hours in the bazaars bargaining like an expert.

He could enter into everything easily without ever losing his dignity, whether it was visiting a troops’ mess on Christmas Day or sitting unobtrusively on a bench at the back of the tent during a Toc H meeting in Baghdad or at some lecture. Or, by contrast, he was an ideal introducer to such a lecturer as Freya Stark, and a chairman of ease and tact. Though he was good at smoothing down the indignant and irate, he was also able, without becoming angry, to make those who had displeased him feel unutterable worms and vow that they would never again incur such an inter­view. Where any problem arose over a man’s pay or his reputation, Mansergh took time and the greatest pains with detail to examine the question. Humane and attentive to paperwork, friendly to every rank, he was in battle a bold and imperturbable commander. And when a soldier needed to be a diplomat, as will be seen later in this history, he had the gifts required.