MY piece last week offering what I knew of possible reasons why many non-Malay youth did not join the army during the 2008 to 2009 intake drew some fire. A few readers’ comments were critical but constructive, a handful were flattering and a couple downright rude.
REST IN PEACE: The Anzac memorial at Anzac Cove, Gallipoli.
One of those occupational hazards, you know.
However, one caller, introducing himself as a former soldier, gave me a pep talk on the exploits of the Iban trackers and the Sarawak Rangers during and after the Malayan Emergency (1948 to 1960). So emotional was he that he demanded to know why it was necessary to change the name from Sarawak Rangers — formed on Sept 2, 1872 — to Malaysian Rangers.
Before I could raise the white flag, he continued firing: “What about the Irish Hussars, the Gordon Highlanders, the Gurkha Rifles, Fiji Regiment, the Manchester Regiment — are they not still there, c’mon?”
Finally, he eased up, but not before his final shot, ”They should have retained Sarawak Rangers — I would have asked one of my sons to join, to continue with the tradition.”
During the respite, I took the line of least resistance — “What’s in the name?” — all the time agreeing with him. But when I began to suggest that the decision must have been that of the government of the day, he hung up abruptly. His mobile’s battery had suddenly run out, I thought.
During this year’s celebrations of National Day and Malaysia Day, the heroic exploits of VAT 69 were portrayed on the TV and the role of the Orang Asli’s Senoi Praq was acknowledged. When those of the Sarawak Rangers and Trackers were obviously excluded in this particular show, many ex-servicemen from the state were up in arms.
Normally, a TV station buys or leases films from the owners or producers and shows them on its station. Unless the government funded that particular project, you cannot fault it. It was a strictly commercial venture.
Since that verbal uprising led by a former police officer in August, mention ‘Rangers’ to a soldier who has served in one of the battalions and you will get a torrent of sentimental reminiscences, always followed by tears in memory of a fallen friend. They remember the names of their hunting grounds — Ulu Tiram, Sungai Petani, Tapah, Kluang; the near misses, thanks to the rajut (amulet) and the good dream.
In this kind of discourse, I would have no input to offer except to mention that my maternal granddad was merely an Orang Kubu (fort man), who handled a gun purely for a ceremonial purpose at the entrance to the Astana. No act of gallantry there.
But I have something to say about the Trackers, based on what I have read in a book written by one KH Digby, called ‘Lawyer In The Wilderness’, and published by Cornell University, Ithaca, New York, USA, 1980. Among other things, it tells you how the Iban Trackers were recruited.
Governor Sir Charles Arden Clarke had apparently made the decision himself without prior consultation with the Supreme Council, of which Digby was a member, as legal adviser to the government.
Digby was against sending the Dayaks to Malaya because, “these men are being engaged as mercenaries in a land to which they do not belong, to assist in the killing of persons with whom they have no quarrel, for a cause they do not understand and which, in any event, is no cause of theirs. Their recruitment is to my mind a wicked misuse of imperialist power and I said so.”
Apparently he was so miffed by this “business of the Dayaks” that he was finally persuaded to quit. “I could not continue to be a member of the executive of a colonial Government.”
After losing what he called the “toughest battle which I waged, and one which I was hopelessly defeated on the question of sending Dayaks to assist the British forces in Malaya”, Digby retired in 1951.
His nemesis, Arden Clarke, must have gloated when tracker Awang Raweng was awarded the George Cross, civilian equivalent of the Victoria Cross. Awang had single-handedly held off some 50 communist terrorists in Kluang, Johor, on May 27, 1951, while shielding and thus saving the life of Private Hughes of the Worcestershire Regiment, who was badly wounded before they were rescued.
Another interesting book is ‘God’s Little Acre’, compiled by former Police Superintendent R Thambipillay, and published by the Perak Planters’ Association in 1998 to commemorate the 50th anniversary of the Malayan Emergency.
Two names appear under the Roll Of Honour: Jawing Jugah and Unggat Ujom. Jawing, 30 years old, was killed in action on March 12, 1951 and Unggat aged 26 was also killed in action on Dec 7, 1955. Both were interred at the cemetery of Holy Trinity Church (Anglican) at Batu Gajah, Perak, together with 114 other soldiers and police from the British Commonwealth countries, planters and miners in Malaya.
On dangerous ground
That brings me to the proposed Project Ngerapuh.
From media reports, we have learnt that the state government has earmarked a piece of land somewhere in Kuching for this purpose.
Here I am on dangerous ground, not having the benefit of the full details of that proposal, and therefore relying on assumptions. At the outset, I wish to make it crystal clear that the suggestions here are mine with some useful feedback from a few well-meaning friends.
Suggestion 1
Assuming the project involves exhumation, will there be some kind of memorial placed to mark the original sites and appropriate entry in the Register of Burials. For instance, in the case of Jawing and Unggat, something like this may be written on a memorial or a plaque:
“In memory of Jawing Anak Jugah, who died in action on 12th March 1951, during the Malayan Emergency (1948-1960). Formerly interred here and now lying in repose at the …… Mausoleum in Kuching, Sarawak, on … RIP.”
Same for Unggat. Same for the others wherever they were once buried.
I’m not a relative of either man now at Holy Trinity. If I were one, I would prefer they stay put, resting in peace among the Christians there. One day their relatives may like to attend one of the Remembrance Day ceremonies, held regularly for many years now.
Jawing and Unggat are at peace in a place kept spick and span by the Kinta Christian Cemeteries Association and the Perak Planters’ Association.
Merits and demerits
The US Army would bring their dead home from Vietnam as far as possible. It would be a shame to leave them where they fell in a foreign country they had failed to conquer. Similarly, the Japanese would prefer to bury their soldiers at home because of the national shame to leave their men uncared for in a foreign country that they did not succeed to rule for a long time. But in our case, there is nothing to be ashamed of: our soldiers are either interred at Keranji in Singapore, or at Batu Gajah, or elsewhere in Malaya. They died in defence of Singapore, a friendly country anyway; they died in Malaya then, and now very much part of Malaysia.
The thousands of Australian and New Zealand soldiers who were killed during the Gallipoli Campaign in the First World War (1914 to 1918) were buried in Turkey; during the Second World War (1941 to 1945), those who died at Dunkirk were interred in France.
It has become a tradition for their relatives, hundreds of them, young and old, to attend the Anzac Day celebrations in those far away places.
That’s how the Aussies and the Kiwis honour their valiant dead. We may like to copy this, if it suits our psyche.
Names cast in stone
Twelve years ago, written on the walls of a small memorial hall in the Wagga Wagga Park in Australia, I saw all the names of the soldiers from that district — those who had died during the infamous Borneo Death Marches from Sandakan to Ranau towards the end of the Second World War.
In fact, most of the 2,400 Allied soldiers, except the six who survived, were buried in Labuan. In Wagga Wagga Park, on a granite table, there is a relief of Mount Kinabalu with the 165-mile Sandakan-Ranau treks properly marked out. Upon this table bouquets of flowers are occasionally placed. One Sunday morning, I saw an old man placing a red rose there. I asked if he was related to any of those involved in the infamous marches. He answered in the negative.
“They died so that we might live, mate.”
He asked me where I came from and when I proudly declared Malaysia, he replied, “Oh yeah, Tunku Abdul Rayman, heard of ‘im”.
Suggestion 2 — a place at the mausoleum
If the decision has been made to transfer our boys to their home state, don’t let this opinion of mine influence that decision. By no stretch of the imagination do I dare to question it. However, I would like to see, as a matter of right, reserved for everyone of those living PGB and GC holders or nearest equivalent a place in or near the mausoleum, never mind their political leanings, ethnic connections or religious affiliations.
What about those heroes who have gone before and are interred somewhere in Sarawak — will they be reburied in or near the mausoleum too, or just remembered by a plaque placed somewhere?
Many of the members of the ‘Leftists’ Club’ will have to be content to be at Batu Kitang; the rich and famous among them will be at The Nirvana.