The Pharmaceutical Journal
Vol 277 No 7483 p733-735
22/29 December 2007

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Out of the dispensary and into the jungle

This year, 105 war veterans from the UK, including pharmacist Maurice Cutler, travelled to Malaysia to take part in a parade to celebrate its 50th anniversary of independence. In this article, he tells the story of his two years in national service, which took him from Leeds to the jungle

Christmas miscellany 2007 index

Having qualified as a pharmacist in 1955, it was not long before I received notification that I was to go for a medical examination. I was pronounced “A1”, the highest category of fitness, and shortly after I received my calling-up paper: I was going into the army and was to report for training at Crookham in Hampshire.

On my arrival at Crookham I was informed that I had been selected for the Royal Army Medical Corps and was assigned to E Company, an elite unit earmarked for special training. I completed basic training without any difficulty. It took about 10 weeks and, unusually, I was promoted to lance corporal (one stripe) then to corporal (two stripes) and then to sergeant (three stripes). I was then given my first posting to the army physical training depot at Oswestry in Shropshire, close to the Welsh border, where I undertook an extensive “toughening up course” — a complete mystery to a pharmacist.

At that time national servicemen and regulars were being posted to various parts of the world, including Germany, Egypt, Hong Kong and Kenya, where the Mau Mau rebels were causing problems. A few fortunate soldiers were posted to the Caribbean or, as pharmacists, were doing their duty ferrying troops back and forth to the Middle East or the Far East on boats like the Empire Fowey.

No such luck for 23181445, Sergeant Cutler M RAMC — a telegram from the War Office said I was to go by air to Singapore, then on to Malaya on active service. This was unusual for a national serviceman.

Before we were to depart, we were given two weeks’ embarkation leave. I had not been home for three months so this was something to be enjoyed, but on arriving home I found my father sad and my mother with tears in her eyes. They were both worrying about my fate. Nevertheless, I arranged a leaving party in the Kardomma Cafe in the centre of Leeds. It was a lunchtime party, so that all my friends, who were working, could attend. As a parting gesture, I remember throwing my university scarf — which, in those days, attracted the young ladies — up in the air like a bride’s bouquet.

When my two weeks were up, I reported for duty back at Crookham, collected my jungle kit and set off on the 8,000-mile journey to Singapore. Unlike present day air travel, the journey took five days. The aircraft was a specially chartered four-engined Hermes. All personnel had to travel in civilian clothes due to regulations against military personnel flying over certain countries.

Our first stop was Brindisi (at the tip of Italy) for refuelling. Then it was on to Beirut for an overnight stop. Early the following morning we flew to the Persian Gulf, stopping for refuelling at Bahrain, then on we went to Karachi where, for the first time in my life, I saw an Indian snake charmer blowing on his flute while the magnificent king cobra did its dance.

The views over the Persian Gulf were breathtaking, with brilliant sunlight, golden sands and a multicoloured sea. Equally astonishing were the early morning sights of Karachi. We had booked into a palatial hotel in the heart of the overcrowded city. Outside was hot and humid and, for a young man from Leeds, the giant ceiling fans were a welcome relief.

In the morning we had an early call and breakfast was served at 4.30am. The scene on the pavement outside was one I can never forget. Either side of the hotel entrance lay a mass of bodies sleeping their way through the night packed close together, just like sardines.

Travelling the 1,400 miles across the breadth of India, from Karachi to Calcutta, was made memorable by the sight of the meandering Ganges. We had an overnight stay in Calcutta, where the heat was unbearable. Once again we were to take off early the next morning. I remember ordering eggs on toast for breakfast, which was duly delivered. Sitting on the single slice of toast were four small poached eggs. I was not sure of the origin of the eggs so I did not eat them.

We boarded the aeroplane at 6am. We refuelled in Bangkok and the final leg of our journey took us down the Malay Peninsula to land at Changi Airport, Singapore. My lasting memory is of the archipelago at the foot of the peninsula. From the airport we were taken in a three-ton truck to Nee Soon transit camp.

Moving across the island of Singapore was exciting, seeing the mosques and colonial buildings, temples, markets and masses of people, including attractive women in their silk cheongsams. There were Malays, Chinese, Eurasians and Indians, which was fascinating as I had never before seen such a multicultural society.

Bandit territory

On my arrival at Nee Soon I was immediately told that I would be going into bandit territory in Malaya, where the Chinese communist terrorists (CT) were active. I was to join 39 Field Ambulance, part of 17 Gurkha Division, a front line unit that went anywhere alongside the assault troops. My destination was Raub in the province of Pahang, deep in the heart of the jungle.

I waited three days for an armed convoy to take me to my destination. The armoured column that formed consisted of two Land Rovers, front and rear, both armed with Bren guns, two three-ton trucks and an army personnel carrier in the middle of the convoy. I was to ride in the passenger seat of the second Land Rover, armed with my rifle and several rounds of ammunition.

We took the same route that the high commissioner, Sir Gerald Templar, had taken some few years earlier when his convoy had been ambushed and he had been killed. It was soon evident what a dangerous road it was. There were deep ravines on one side and high mountains on the other, all covered by thick jungle, and the incline of the winding roads was so steep that it was impossible to travel at more than 10 miles per hour — ideal for bandits.

There were no terrible events on the eight-hour journey, but by the time we arrived at the jungle clearing I was tired and thirsty.

The camp itself, known as Silver City, consisted of corrugated tin huts on a hillside surrounded by thick vegetation. I was shown to my quarters: a tin hut with a concrete floor and no windows or doors. Inside were four small beds, each covered with a mosquito net, and a small locker beside each.

That first night, I was introduced to the warrant officers and sergeants in the mess and to gurkha rum. It was clear and colourless, with a reasonable taste, but very potent stuff. I still remember the hallucinations it gave me and I never drank any more.

Jungle training followed — we had to be able to go into thick jungle, by foot, motor vehicle or helicopter if necessary — and, after eight weeks my unit was moved to another clearing about 10 miles from the centre of Kuala Lumpur. A large part of this camp was surrounded by dense rubber plantations and tin mines. Our quarters and mess were atap (straw) huts.

We teamed up with a unit of the Royal Army Service Corps, which would provide transport for us as well as ambulances and I was introduced to the regimental sergeant major who, in turn, introduced me to all the warrant officers and non-commissioned officers in the mess.

There was a look of shock on all their faces when they saw me. They were a hard bunch of regulars well into their forties and fifties. Unlike me, a 22-year-old national serviceman, they had come through the 1939–45 war. Some had seen service in Korea and others had been parachuted into Arnhem.

Duties

My job was to set up a medical store and dispensary that would serve all the troops in Malaya, including those as far as Singapore in the south and the Siamese border in the north. My responsibility was to order, store and supply medicines, and to make any that were not obtainable, improvising where necessary.

For example, the doctors liked to prescribe Mist Bismuth Sed for stomach problems but bismuth was expensive so I would substitute it with kaolin, which was readily available. The dispensing was usually by the half gallon, sent out to whole battalions.

I had the luxury of a refrigerator containing many vaccines, such as typhoid, paratyphoid A and B, cholera, tetanus and smallpox, and assorted anti-snake venoms, along with masses of penicillin — in the jungle climate, the slightest scratch can quickly become infected. In the warehouse I also had a room full of condoms, which had to be kept as cool as possible to prevent the rubber deteriorating in the humidity and heat.

It was a fact of army life that soldiers would seek out female company and we would also supply small tubes of mercurial ointment — squeezing a bit into the urethra was thought to help prevent sexually transmitted disease. That failing, a penicillin injection was given. I was also responsible for maintaining dental supplies for a mobile dental unit (a three-ton truck decked out like a dental surgery).

I was on duty 24 hours a day, seven days a week (unlike my staff of eight Malay soldiers) because we occasionally received telexes requesting urgent supplies that had to be made up and dropped by parachute to the troops operating in the ulu (jungle). The trouble with an airdrop was that it told the CT where the British troops were (especially if the dropping aircraft was a Douglas DC-3 Dakota).

All the urgent supplies were delivered to special dropping zones, but trials were being conducted with Austers (lighter aircraft) for small jungle drops from low levels (ie, without parachutes) making dropping zones more difficult to detect by the enemy.

Sometimes I had to go to Singapore for briefings about supplies. I would go on the overnight train from the magnificent colonial-style train station in the centre of Kuala Lumpur. On the train, I was usually given the job of guard commander of security, which required positioning an armed soldier at each end of each carriage and making sure that there was a relief for them every two hours.

I was always given a sleeper carriage for the 12-hour journey and slept with my rifle, with the sling tied to my body. To lose a rifle or ammunition would have been a serious breach of military law, resulting in a court martial, but it was not uncommon for rifles to be stolen because they fetched a good price on the black market, as did penicillin, which apart from sulphonamides was the only available antibiotic.

Furthermore, there was always a strong possibility of a terrorist ambush as the train travelled slowly through dense jungle.

Camp life

39 Field Ambulance was a mobile unit, which had to be able to move camp at short notice. Nothing in the camp was permanent, which is why we all existed under straw. The only permanent structures were the guardhouse at the entrance to the camp and the armoury. Even the kitchens were mobile.

The diet in our camp was poor. Because of rampant tuberculosis, we could only have tinned milk. Most of our other foods were tinned and we had special army rations of dried food. To supplement our diet, every morning with breakfast we were given two vitamin capsules (vitaminorum) together with our antimalarial tablets. In the evenings we drank the local Tiger Beer.

On one occasion I was invited to Singapore to participate in a Friday night Kiddush (Sabbath evening celebration) at the home of Mrs Nissim, a famous Sephardi woman, whose family had originated in Persia. Her house was open to all service members every Friday evening and it was good to have some real Jewish food in me.

For relaxation, I kept myself reasonably fit and played rugby. Our unit formed a team and I captained both the 39 Field Ambulance team and the medical seven-a-side team, which won the trophy for central Malaya. The rugby fields were always as hard as concrete, except during the monsoon season, when it rained in tremendous volumes and the pitches became quagmires. (We had, as part of our jungle kit, rubber ponchos, which stretched from the neck down to the ankles to keep us reasonably dry during the monsoons.)

I also played for the combined services team in Kuala Lumpur, which included three men from 22 SAS. 22 SAS shared our camp (although they went on completely different operations) and I was responsible for supplying their special medical supplies, which included special suturing and resuscitation equipment to be used in the field. In addition, the use of morphine for the SAS seemed more liberal, probably because of the greater risks they took. Apart from rugby and swimming, the only other pastime was the Malay national sport of badminton.

Part of my other duties was to be in charge of the mess every four months. I soon learnt how to look after the catering and, most importantly, to keep the mess bar fully stocked. Having plenty of drinks was important to the morale of the soldiers because of the lack of recreation, and running out of beer was the worst thing you could do. I would check stocks as often as I checked the medical supplies.

Disease was always a problem in camp, and most soldiers had one or another. The most common were skin complaints, usually dermatitis, dhobi itch, ringworm or prickly heat. A lot of the men had foreskin problems and it was common to see a truckload of soldiers going off to hospital for circumcision and spending the next week walking around the camp bow-legged.

Then there was dengue fever, picked up in the swamps (or anywhere else where there was stagnant water) and, of course, there was malaria. We were never given any repellents, but were advised to use non-perfumed soaps so as not to attract the mosquitoes.

There were numerous other insects to make life uncomfortable. Ants were always a problem especially the giant ones, which would bite. The latrines were a bucket in a wooden box covered with a wooden seat and lid. This was enclosed by a square of metal corrugated tin, open at the top and bottom.

Going to the toilet was an art. You had to lift the lid and sit on the seat without any delay or you would have a bucket of flies and insects buzzing underneath your bottom. The buckets were emptied daily by a Chinese contractor. We called him the honey bucket man. He would empty them just before dinner, balancing a bucket on each end of a bamboo pole, which he carried over his head and across his shoulders.

Snakes were common and it was not unusual to find a whole snakeskin on the floor of the latrines first thing in the morning. The monkeys were also numerous, persistently chattering, and sometimes violent.

Leeches were a real problem. They seemed to prefer the groin and testicular area and the easiest way to remove them was by burning them off with a lighted cigarette end. If you tried to pull one off, all you would achieve was the removal of its body — the head would remain firmly fixed to your skin, still sucking blood.

After being on duty in the heat and humidity for so long, many of the troops suffered with exhaustion and so two rest camps were available. One was in the Cameron Highlands and the other was in Penang.

I was in touch with a schoolmate, Mike Elbogen, who had an easy number being pharmacist at Singapore Base Hospital. We both decided that a holiday in Penang would be good for us. The camp was situated on the Battu Ferringhi beach. The accommodation and food was good and my regimental sergeant major, W01 Webberly, a regular, also joined us.

Going home

At the end of my two-year tour of duty, I received instructions that I was to be released from Her Majesty’s service. I was looking forward to flying back to England.

When I returned to Leeds, however, things were not as I had imagined. Most of my friends had dispersed — some had married and others had moved away. In addition, I realised that I had picked up malaria despite always sleeping under a mosquito net and, being a pharmacist, religiously taking my Paludrine every morning. It was some years later that I discovered that the tablets should have been given to us for 14 days after leaving the infectious areas — something we had not been told about.

I had also developed a peculiar pale yellow complexion, which all the soldiers had on their return from Malaya. This was the side effect of the antimalarials.

I tried to pick up where I had left off but I was not the person who had left Leeds. I was much more introvert, had little conversation and suffered what I can only describe as a type of post traumatic stress disorder.

It took me two to three months to get back to normal. In the following years, I worked as a locum, got married, had children and eventually started my own business, which grew to a chain of seven pharmacies in and around Leeds.

I look back at my national service as the time when I grew up. I became independent and learnt how to look after myself. It instilled in me the trait of taking pride in myself — to this day, my shoes are always polished and my trousers always pressed. Another lasting habit is that I always use non-perfumed soap when I go abroad.

National service did us a world of good. It taught people from all walks of life, from bricklayers to doctors, how to get on, as well as about cleanliness and respect. When I think of a lot of the problems with youth today, I believe that national service could be one solution.

It was a great surprise to receive an invitation this year from the Malaysian government to the 50th anniversary celebrations of merdeka (independence). It did not take me long to decide I would go.