The following article by Field Marshal Sir John Chapple was published in The Sirmooree #71 in Summer 2013:
I was fortunate enough to be John Chapple’s ADC or chief bag carrier and bird spotter for eighteen months from 1989-1909, during his time as Chief of the General Staff. A fascinating time in the MOD when the iron curtain was crumbling and the Minister for Defence Procurement unleashed his Machiavellian plan; optimistically called ‘Options for Change’. The General (as he was then) was the ultimate ‘Whitehall Warrior’ and with sagacity steered the army through a very difficult time. We could have ended up with the numbers similar to the decimated Service that we have today. In my humble opinion, and being a fly on the wall, he was the right man in the right job, at the right time.
One of the first official visits we undertook was to Indonesia. This was a revelation at the time as this was the first time that such a senior British officer had visited the country since the end of the Indonesian confrontation and the first time the General had returned to the Sarawak Sabah side of the Indonesian border since he was a captain. What follows are my meandering memories of a tour over thirty years ago.
The Dinner Night
What had not been briefed to us back in UK was gleefully announced by the Defence Attaché the afternoon before the dinner with the head of the Indonesian army. He explained that it was customary for the host of the dinner to perform a ‘musical part piece’. What slightly threw the General was that the chief guest was expected to repay the compliment in a likewise manner. He looked at me, the DA looked at me with a wry smile and all I could think of was Stanley Holloway’s monologue ‘The Battle of Hastings’ (it was not musical and I am not sure the Indonesian generals would have appreciated my Yorkshire accent). After making me sweat for a couple of hours the DA graciously, of course, mentioned he had to do it frequently and had a piece prepared. That night he and his wife gave a rendition of the Rolf Harris song ‘The Court of King Caractacus’ which was sufficiently long and incomprehensible to fulfil our obligation.
The Briefing
The General’s key note briefing, in front of the Indonesian military hierarchy, was about the Falklands conflict. At the end of a very comprehensive talk, a small Indonesian general in the front row, raised his hand and asked “General, thank you for your talk, but what is your secret?”, to which the reply was ‘Please explain’.
“You have told us about these very remote and barren islands that British people want to live on and you went to war to defend them. In Indonesia we have over 17,508 tropical islands or which only 6,000 are permanently inhabited and the vast majority of our population live on Java. We have been trying for decades to redistribute the population of Java to the other islands…..they do not want to go. And so I ask you again what is your secret?”
Ujong Kulong
On the very western tip of Jave is the wild life reserve of Ujong Kulong. It home to last 50 to 70 Javan rhinos. The General, as president of the WWF, was more than keen to spot this elusive animal. After two days of searching, my knowledge of LBJs (Little Brown Jobs (Birds)) was profound. The only sight of the rhino was a BBJ (Big Brown Job)!
You can see Krakatoa from the reserve as it sits between Sumatra and Java. It is west of Java unlike the film would lead you to believe.
Surprise Reunion and the Ghee Tin Missile
During the visit the General met, for the first time, the Indonesian officer who was on the other side of the valley that formed the border during the confrontation. They swapped their experiences. One stood out in particular: the Indonesian officer asked about the missile that the local Iban tribesmen had told him that the British had. To save the officer’s face the General feinted surprise and said the tribesmen must have been mistaken.
The truth was that the General had got his men to build a fake missile; the body was made out of ghee tins, it was given fins and a nose cone, and painted red and black (of course!). This was secured to a trailer that could be moved up and down to simulate a launch position. This was situated just outside the village. It was covered by a tarpaulin and guarded by two soldiers, night and day. Every morning the tarpaulin was removed and the missile elevated to launch position, a lot of false fire commands issued, the missile was brought down to its rest position and recovered. As there was a lot of cross border traffic the General had hoped that word of this would get back to the Indonesians. He was delighted to know (20 years later) that the subterfuge had been a success.
Historical Footnote on Indonesian C130B Registration T-1306 (September 26, 1965).
In September 1965 one of the few Indonesian C130 transport planes was carrying paratroopers (reinforced platoon of RPKAD 1st Battalion Company C ‘Cobra’) and was flying along the valley of Long Bawen. Their mission was to neutralise a gun position on the border ridge. Indonesia had so few C-130s that the troops on the ground thought it must be an enemy plane. Commonwealth troops knew it was an Indonesian plane. Both sides opened up and it was hit by friendly fire. One of the two right hand engines caught fire, which developed onto the wing. All the paratroopers were forced to bail out over the forest at low altitude. The flight crew made an emergency landing, saving 17 flight crew and passengers.
We were subsequently told on the visit that this incident, indirectly, changed Indonesian history. The paratroopers were from the presidential guard. As the guard had been depleted, the September 30th Movement staged an abortive coup, kidnapped and killed six of Indonesia’s most senior generals. Major General Suharto, crushed the coup attempt within days. He blamed the Indonesian Communist Party (PKI) for masterminding the plot and a brutal, state-sanctioned purge took place. The destruction of the PKI shattered the delicate political balance President Sukarno had maintained between the military, communists and Islamists. This paved the way for Maj Gen Suharto to be elected president in 1968, initiating his 32-year ‘New Order’ authoritarian regime.
The following is a 2nd Goorkha version of a poem written by Major Peter Sparks (1914 – 2003) that was originally published in Punch in 1949. It was
subsequently republished in the 1950 edition of Regimental News, whose editor commented that the Sirmoor erudition was rather shattering, but this
could be attributed to the brilliant conversation which is usually heard in the Mess……
Lady, in your crimson sari, undulating up the queue
For the fast eleven -thirty, Bournemouth – bound from Waterloo,
Do you like the way we travel? Aren’t our platforms cold and pale ?
Don’t you hanker for the chaos of the old Calcutta Mail ?
Do you never miss the voices crying coconuts and pan,
Crying water for the Hindu, water for the Mussulman;
Miss the crowded wooden benches in the dilatory train,
Miss the three- day – journey to the distant village in the dusty plain?
Where the smoke of burning cow dung spreads its homesick – making smell
And your sisters, softly swaying, balance homeward from the well
Tier on tier of brazen vessels ? Do you never long to see
Kites and bubuls, crows and mynahs? Bullock carts ? A peepal tree?
Would the evening howl of jackals still be music to your ears?
Have you heard the West a- calling through the voice of Donald Peers ?*
Do you go for Veeraswamy’s chillies, turmeric and rice
Or exotic puddings, apple flans and cottage pies?
Have you left your Mother Ganges, turned your back on Kali’s shrine,
For a pilgrimage to Boscombe, Canford Cliffs and Branksome Chine?
Madam, take my reservation in the Tudor dining car.
Where’s the queue for Coromandel? When’s the train to Malabar?
*Donald Peers (1908 – 1973 ) was a popular Welsh-born singer
The following anecdores about Doc Evans were included in some Regimental correspondence recently passed to me by Colonel Denis Wood, having been sent to him by Major John Lamond . We are grateful to Denis for agreeing to their publication here.
Lieutenant Colonel Herbert ‘ Doc ‘ Evans MBE DL (1915 -1998) was commissioned into 9GR and transferred to the 2nd Goorkhas in 1948, serving with the 1st Battalion during the Malayan Emergency. He retired from the Army in 1968 to live in Pembrokeshire, where he was appointed Deputy Lieutenant of the County. He earned his nickname from having been a medical student in Edinburgh before the start of the Second World War. He was also a fine tenor and was said to have had some training as a singer. Indeed, after a convivial evening at a Bugis Street Chinese restaurant in Singapore , he would often sing an aria from his favourite operas and attract a small but bemused audience.
Kalo Paltan
A Welshman hailing from Pembrokeshire, Doc was one of a fast disappearing breed; a genuine eccentric left over from the War who did not give a damn for anybody or anything except good companionship, Anchor beer and grand opera . In 1948, when Doc was Brigade Major Brigade of Gurkhas in Seremban, his wife had given up and returned to the UK to manage their estate, complaining about his eccentricity and the amount of time he spent drinking. On one particular occasion during an official visit to 1/7GR, he joined several like-minded individuals for a post-lunchtime session in their Officers’ Mess, where outside he had parked his small MG two-seater. The Mess was of a bamboo and rush construction, which was common in those days in Malaya, being sensible, cool and attractive. Pictures were hung and regimental silver displayed. It was very much the Battalion’s home.
Long after lunch, and while Doc was going through his operatic repertoire in his fine tenor voice, including a rendition of his favourite song ‘Santa Lucia‘, his ‘ friends in the ‘kalo paltan‘ [black regiment, named after their all-black mess kit] thought it would be amusing to jack up the rear axle of his MG on bricks. Eventually, and much later that afternoon, Doc emerged somewhat unsteadily, climbed into his car, put it into gear and attempted to drive off. Not comprehending what was wrong, he moved rapidly through the gears and trod heavily on the accelerator. The car began to shudder as the wheels spun madly and the axle threatened to bounce off the bricks. The windows of the Mess were full of grinning faces in the know, but their grins soon turned to horror when the MG suddenly shot forward like a whippet out of a trap and crashed straight through the Mess wall. Perhaps by this stage, Doc had an inclination of what was happening, for he was clearly out of control and could do nothing as the car flew on and out of the other side of the Mess, while he disappeared in a burst of song and alcoholic haze, but leaving two large holes in the shape of an MG and Doc’s head … or so the story goes.
Target Practice
Doc was appointed 2IC 1/2GR on three occasions during the Malayan Emergency, and in 1954 was with Tac HQ located near the main road in a rubber estate a few miles south of Kota Tinggi. As life at ‘ Tac ‘ was all too humdrum for Doc, he was in the habit of livening it up by visiting friends outlying company bases.
The usual means of travel in those days, when ambush was an ever-present danger, was by Humber scout car. That admirable workhorse of the Emergency had a crew of three: a driver in the well of the vehicle who had to peer through a small slot in the armoured plating, a wireless operator hunched at the side of the driver, and a ‘ commander ‘ seated above in a revolving turret with a pair of twin-mounted LMGs fitted plus one hundred rounds at his disposal.
And so early one evening, Doc set off. He soon reached the base of D Company (Major P T Bowring) located on the Nam Hang Estate, without incident, and a splendid company nautch followed. However, all good things must come to an end, and (with apologies to Robert Burns) “ The hour approaches Doc maun ride “. It is claimed that Doc had left D Company base in fine voice, and the scout car successfully negotiated most of the five miles of rubber estate road without any real difficulty. However, after a while, it occurred to Doc that it might not be a bad idea to scare off any bandits with some prophylactic fire. And so, singing as he revolved the turret, he succeeded in killing or at least wounding a few score rubber trees en route. But it was not long before edgy planters were quickly on the radio to Tac HQ with reports of ‘ There is firing at the 33rd milestone Nam Hing Estate ‘ to which came the reply ‘ Yes, we know about it, no need to worry ‘. Then shortly later, came another report, ‘ Firing now at the 32nd milestone ‘, and the reply, ‘ Please don’t worry. Everything is under control, and thank you for your call. We are taking action.’ Meanwhile, inside the scout car, the wireless operator’s attention was being divided between getting a sitrep through to Tac HQ and dodging red-hot empty LMG bullet cases from going down the back of his neck. The po-faced driver was having to concentrate hard, peering through his metal slit at the winding estate laterite road using the faint beams of light from the angled headlights. Above these two, Doc continued singing and squirting fire in an alcoholic haze at the serried rank of rubber trees.
Then suddenly, as the scout car rounded a bend, the soft ‘thump’,’ thump’ of rubber trees being hit mysteriously changed from thump to ‘clang’, ‘clang,’ ‘clang’. The driver and operator both heard the new sound, but with muffled cries of ‘arre ‘, got on with the job in hand. Doc, oblivious to his particular Kirk-Alloway (‘When, glimmering thro’ the groaning trees, Kirk-Alloway seem’d in a bleeze (’Tam o’ Shanter by Robert Burns )) eventually reached Tac HQ, where he dismissed the scout car crew and hogsnarled, collapsed into bed.
The officer in charge of the local Police Tactical Unit, which had been ambushing a rubber estate, was not amused at the line of bullet holes in his transport. Fortunately, his men had heard the singing and firing getting nearer and had the good sense to get under cover. The Commandant at that time was not a Gurkha born and bred, but he was black-buttoned and a man who appreciated ‘ style ‘. (Lieutenant Colonel G P Rickcord DSO, late Royal Ulster Rifles ). As he emerged from his room onto the verandah at 06.30 hrs with his morning tea, sniffing the exquisite Malayan dawn and listening to the shrieks of the gibbons, he was somewhat surprised to see that Tac HQ was being cordoned by a circle of men with serious intent. To cut a long story short, the angry Police Officer explained what had happened while Doc snored the sleep of the damned in his room at the back of Tac HQ. To cut the story even shorter, Doc in turn had some fast explaining to do, but being Doc, he survived, reformed for a few months, and then went on to further successes!
Peking Ducks
The worst of the Malayan Emergency was over and the Battalion was based at Slim Barracks, Singapore. Doc was still 2IC and life was altogether much easier.
Doc possessed a gruff, hearty extrovert manner, and his actions on meeting others in the Lines always followed the same pattern. He would stride along a road with a scowl rather like King Kong, and before the person coming the other way had time to salute, Doc would growl in rough, ready and very impolite Gurkhali – ‘Ke garchhas?’ [‘What are you doing?’]. Then, without waiting for a reply, he would spit on the ground, thump the startled person in the stomach, shout ‘ Lato ‘ [‘Stupid’]and walk on. This greeting became Doc’s SOP, was expected by everyone and caused much amusement. Indeed, had he not acted in this way, there would have been something seriously wrong!
One year, a local Chinese contractor had presented Doc with a dozen ducklings. Doc planned to fatten them up for Dashera, and he cared for and guarded them lovingly. They followed him round the Lines like a Jack Russell terrier, and living on bhat had rapidly put on weight. Some even claimed Doc fed them with codliver oil and ‘diabolical steroids‘, but by September they had all become very fine ducks, and Doc was beginning to slaver. Sadly, other eyes must have been on the ducks because one day, Doc woke up to discover they had all gone AWOL. Doc was furious. He followed up every possible clue without success, but he was like a bear with a sore head. On the day of the loss, it had been raining heavily, and someone suggested, perhaps with tongue in cheek, that the ducks might have entered the monsoon drain and been swept down towards Holland Village. Doc took this seriously and followed up on the lead. Yes, someone had indeed heard ducks quacking just outside Slim Barracks, and so wearing his Empire building shorts, bush shirt and chukka boots and armed with his blackthorn, Doc set off along the monsoon drain, questioning everyone he met.
The modest-sized monsoon drain near Slim Barracks was soon joined by many tributaries, and as Doc approached Holland Village, it was about nine feet wide.
A Chinaman was standing idly on a footbridge over the drain, with a Good Morning towel around his neck, picking at a mouthful of gold teeth. The inscrutable face of the East momentarily flickered at the sight of this strange, red-faced Englishman ploughing his way down the drain, waving a stick and screaming at innocent bystanders. Doc stopped at the bridge, looked up and shouted, ‘Ke Cheena – mero hans dekhis?’ [‘Oi, Chinaman, have you seen my ducks?’]. Getting a blank stare in response, Doc spat and shouted ‘Lato!’, then strode on towards Collyer Quay and the sea.
From The Daily Telegraph August 1997:
Major PH ‘Val’ Meadows, who died aged 78 in July 1997, was awarded an MC when serving behind Japanese lines in Burma, and was also twice mentioned in despatches.
The citation for Meadow’s MC recorded that ‘with great personal courage and endurance he led small parties deep into enemy territory, and his many and daring exploits caused bewilderment, uneasiness and numerous casualties among the Japanese’.
After the war, Meadows joined the Malayan Civil Service, and when Malaya became independent he stayed on to become Permanent Secretary (Special Duties) in the office of the Prime Minister of Singapore, Lee Kuan Yew. In 1963 Meadows became chairman of the War Committee when the Brunei rebellion broke out. He ended his career as Director of Far East Levingston Ship Building in Singapore.
Percival (Val) Herbert Meadows was born on May 15 1919 and qualified in Tropical Horticulture at Wye College, where he was captain of boxing. His first overseas appointment was on a coffee plantation in Kenya, from which he moved to tea-planting in Ceylon. On the outbreak of the Second World War he returned to England to enlist in the Lincolnshire Regiment, and soon afterwards won the Combined Service Boxing Championship at Welterweight.
In 1941 he was posted to India where, after initial training, he was commissioned into the 12″ Frontier Force Regiment, joining the 8th Battalion. After active service on the North-West Frontier he was selected for Intelligence duties and sent on a short course at Karachi. Here he also gained his pilot’s licence in a ‘Gypsy Moth’.
Meadows served as Intelligence Officer in the Arakan, mostly behind enemy lines, from 1943. He established a rapport with the local villagers which raised their morale and also brought in valuable and varied information. On one occasion he paddled upstream in a dug-out canoe, ducking enemy fire to rescue a Gurkha who had been left behind. Once he hid in the jungle with two Gurkhas when a whole platoon of Japanese passed within 50 feet. On examining the bodies of dead Japanese he noticed they all carried poems.
In 1945 he transferred to the 2nd Gurkhas, and as part of his duties had to depose the Japanese puppet governor of Perlis (Malaya) and install in his place the rightful Rajah, who then dubbed him ‘Prince of the Southern Seas’.
After the war, Meadows joined the Colonial Administrative Service, and after taking courses at Magdalene College, Cambridge and then the School of Oriental and African Studies, he was assigned to Malaya. However, at the beginning of the Emergency there, when Communist terrorists tried to take over the country, he volunteered for active service, and his previous experience of jungle warfare i Burma proved extremely useful.
In 1949 he was selected to study Cantonese in Macao, a colourful world of gambling casinos, gold smuggling, opium dens and Chinese ‘taxi dancers – girls who could be bought with a ticket for a dance.
For two years, as honorary British Consul, Meadows sent back intelligence reports to London on the Chinese Revolution, then in full swing, and learned the basic 2,500 characters required to read a Chinese newspaper, as well as mastering the art of Chinese brush strokes.
His next posting was to Singapore, but soon afterwards he was sent to Kuantan. In Pahang (famous for its tigers, black panther and deep jungle), which at that time was a flourishing base for guerillas. The chances of an ambush on the remote roads were considerable, but he survived unscathed by driving flat out in his MG sports car.
In the run-up to Independence, Meadows held a number of important administrative posts. He was variously director of Social Welfare (which included the protection of women and girls, some of the youngest of whom were employed in opium dens), chairman of the Rural Board, and Secretary of the ministries of Local Government, of Lands and Housing, and of Internal Security.
After Independence, Meadows’ tasks included the integration of cities and district the Port of Singapore Authority with appropriate legislation. When Lee Kuan Yew’s People’s Action Party had come to power under the ticket of ‘Sweep the British into the Sea’, Meadows recognised this as an election ploy and said “I always understood his game plan’. Meadows was a good friend and loyal supporter o the Prime Minister, a feeling which was reciprocated and his steadying hand calmed the fears of the commercial world and the Eurasian community. The successive stability of post independence Singapore owed much to Meadows. He promoted private enterprise in the development o Singapore and supervised the rapid establishment of television.
When the Brunei Rebellion broke out, at the request of Lord Selkirk, Commissioner General for South East Asia, Meadows agreed to go instantly to Brunei as Acting High Commissioner. As Chairman of the War Committee (Brunei, Sabah, Sarawak) his principal task was to co-ordinate the Armed Services, Police and Civil Service and give policy direction on the conduct of operations. At the outbreak of the rebellion the Residency had been captured and the Sultan, for his safety, was secured in a strong room under Gurkha guard.
Brunei then had no oil millions. The people were poor and aggrieved and one of the first acts of the new High Commissioner was to bring water to their villages by standpipes. In such a little way was their trust regained. Brunei was stabilised, but the rebellion led to Indonesian Confrontation.
In 1963 he was appointed CBE and for his services in Brunei was awarded a Loyalty to Brunei medal. In 1967 he became Chairman of the Singapore Tourist Promotions Board.~
Finally, as Chairman and Managing Director of Levingston Ship Building, he was engaged in the construction of some of the most technologically advanced vessels of the offshore industry.
In spite of his talents and achievements, Val Meadows remained modest and unaffected. But he had the ability to inspire people of all races, creeds and customs. He had a dry sense of humour and a concealed sense of mischief. In a life of notable achievements he thought less of accolades than the generation of ideas from which others might benefit.
He had true nobility of spirit and a spontaneously generous nature. A man of great charisma, in his encounters with others he gave something special to each.
He is survived by his wife, Mary.
Editor’s Note:
What is not mentioned in the obituary is that Val’s first encounter with the Regiment, was, when as Brigade Intelligence Officer in ’44 ,he accompanied a 3rd Battalion patrol led by the then Capt D F Neill which resulted in the killing of 34 Japanese Infantrymen and the capture of another. It was no doubt with some irony that he next served alongside the Regiment as Acting High Commissioner during the Brunei rebellion!
The Gough family has produced many distinguished soldiers. In March 2012, The Daily Mail published an article entitled Britain’s Bravest Family which described the three of its members who had been awarded the Victoria Cross. General Sir Charles Gough VC GCB, was serving with Hodson’s Horse at the Siege of Lucknow when on 15 August 1857 he was awarded the Victoria Cross for saving the life of his brother Hugh,. General Sir Hugh Gough VC GCB, when a Lieutenant in the 1st Bengal European Light Cavalry, was awarded the Victoria Cross on 25 February 1858 for seizing two enemy guns near Alumbagh, and later for his inspirational leadership in attacking enemy guns near Jellalabad. The third recipient was General Sir Charles Gough’s son, Brigadier General Sir John Gough VC CMG KCB, was awarded the Victoria Cross on 22 April 1904 when a Major in the Rifle Brigade, for his bravery in helping to save a mortally wounded officer under fire during the Somaliland Expedition.
Two members of the Gough family served in the 2nd Goorkhas: Lieutenant Colonel Hugh Augustus Kepple Gough CIE (1871-1950 ) and his nephew Brigadier William George Hugh Gough MC ( 1897-1948 ).
Lieutenant Colonel Hugh Gough was the third son of General Sir Hugh Gough, nephew of General Sir Charles Gough, and first cousin of General Sir Hubert Gough and Major General Sir John Gough. He was also the uncle of Brigadier William Gough. He was educated at Wellington College and in June 1890 was gazetted to the Wiltshire Regiment, transferring to the 2nd Battalion 2nd Goorkhas in June 1892, officiating as a Wing Officer on probation until 1894 when he was appointed to special duties at Gilgit as Assistant Political Officer. He left the Regiment in 1898 to join the Political Department and served in the Punjab, Baluchistan, Central Provinces, Persia and Zhob.
In 1914, he was recalled to military service and rejoined the 2nd Goorkhas. He commanded the 2nd Battalion Depot in Dehra Dun until 1916, when he returned to the Political Department until his retirement in 1923. In an obituary written in 1950 by Major General Godfray Hind, he was described as ‘one of the kindest and keenest officers of the Regiment. Known to few of the present generation, he always kept up his interest in the Regiment.’
Brigadier William Gough, known as ‘ Bill ‘, was the son of Lieutenant Colonel Charles Gough, late Bengal Lancers, a nephew of Lieutenant Colonel Hugh Gough and grandson of General Sir Hugh Gough. Educated at Haileybury and the Royal Military College Sandhurst. He arrived in India in 1915 and joined the 1st Battalion, 2nd Goorkhas. He became Company Commander No 1 Double Company in Mesopotamia and was awarded a Military Cross in the assault on the Dujaila Redoubt. He was accidentally wounded, receiving no less than 27 wounds, a broken arm and leg and subsequent loss of an eye.
In 1918 Bill Gough took part in the Marri operations and in 1919 was a company commander in Waziristan. He was fined 
Rs 100 for burning a village in British territory, but the fine was never paid. He held various Staff appointments throughout the 1920s and 30s until he rejoined the 1st Battalion as 21C. The following year, he commanded the Regimental Contingent in the UK at the Coronation of King George VI. He took part in further operations in Waziristan before being appointed Commandant 2nd Battalion in 1938. He was described in the Regimental History as ‘one of the most aggressive and dynamic officers of the Regiment. He was a forward thinker who foresaw the possibilities of specialist training and welcomed with avidity the experiments of his colleague, Colonel Tuker.’ He qualified as a parachutist in the UK and on his return to India in 1941 raised the first Indian Parachute Brigade, designated the 50th. He retired in 1947 and was killed in an air crash in South Africa in 1948.
Bill Gough gets a mention in Major General Farrar-Hockley’s biography of General Sir Hubert Gough ‘Goughie’. The book recounts that in 1921, at the age of 24, Bill Gough and his cousins (the General’s daughters) became involved in a practical joke. They made a hole in an egg with a needle and pushed in horse hair, which went in with ease, and when boiled, the hole closed. The egg in question was duly given to the unsuspecting General for his breakfast, who, on close inspection and not finding the hole, suspected the hen had some terrible disease. After it happened again, he informed the local branch of the Farmers’ Union, which closely examined the eggs but came to no conclusion. Eventually a governess discovered horse hair in the schoolroom and showed it to the General. Bill Gough had returned to the 2nd Goorkhas but his daughters were forced to own up. After a flash of anger their father’s sense of the ridiculous asserted itself and he was relieved that more experienced men than himself had fallen for what was apparently an old country joke.
I have to declare a personal interest in the Goughs because I married Miss Rosaleen Gough, the younger daughter of Lieutenant Johnny Gough, late Irish Guards, who at 101 is the oldest surviving Mick from the Second World War and in 1944 took part in the breakout from Normandy and the subsequent pursuit across France, Belgium, Holland and into Germany.
JRH
‘Gurkhas: Warriors from the Himalayas’ is by Gordon Elsden, who served alongside Gurkhas when with the Royal Hong Kong Police in 1979-2019, latterly becoming a Senior Inspector. It is a handsome two-volume compendium of stories and reminiscences collected from 28 retired Gurkhas and three Gurkha ladies. Most of the material is consequently about the Gurkha experience of the last 50 years although some of the family histories hark back to the early 20th and even late 19th centuries. Two of the most prominent testimonies from Sirmooris are by Major Rambahadur Gurung and Major(QGO) Hitman Gurung.
The book gives a voice to Gurkhas in a way that few other books have done (one exception is Lieutenant Colonel JP Cross’s 2007 book ‘Gurkhas at War’). As such Elsden’s book deserves to be fêted. It contains very little supplementary material explaining context which gives a welcome prominence to the personal accounts. I found the many anecdotes and insights fascinating, mainly because they provide such a different perspective on the Gurkha experience to the many factual histories and the plethora of glossy coffee-table books about Gurkhas. The contents also remind us of the rich Nepali hinterland behind the details of British military service. There are many stories about jhankri, bhut and bokshi (witch doctors, ghosts and witches). Several accounts reminisce happily about rodhi, the (to western ears and eyes) rather innocent gatherings of young Nepali boys and girls. Several recount at length the experience of finding a wife and getting married.
The concept of the book means it is necessarily new material. As such it is an important historical record in a similar way to Studs Terkel’s verbal histories and the ‘Forgotten Voices’ series. It has only a few passing accounts of warfighting, and even those are not particularly detailed or evocative. The book is consequently less a history of wartime events in the way these other verbal histories are, and more a series of personal accounts of the complete Gurkha experience. Much of that has been and will continue to be peacetime soldiering, and so it is perhaps unsurprising that the contents of the book reflect this.
The book is copiously illustrated, with many previously-unseen photographs provided by the Gurkhas who were interviewed. There is also much humour. I enjoyed the story of the 7GR CQMS who, on the way to the Falklands, got lost for 24 hours on the QE2, not having sufficiently good English to find his way back to where he was supposed to be and having to be rescued ‘embarrassed and extremely hungry’ by a kindly British NCO. Major(QGO) Judbahdur Gurung of the Queen’s Gurkha Engineers tells the story of how they fixed small explosive charges to a Figure 11 target at which (the then) General Sir Edwin Bramall was shooting in order to ensure he got a good grouping – and which he had the good grace to disown, stating that he had always been a ‘lousy shot’!
‘Gurkhas: Warriors from the Himalayas’ is an almost entirely British-free zone, although there are a few passing mentions of individuals. The story of Krishna Bahadur Gurung, latterly Gurkha Major of the Queen’s Own Gurkha Transport Regiment, includes a photograph of him when he was (then Brigadier) John Chapple’s driver in 48 Gurkha Infantry Brigade. The much-respected WRVS lady of 2/2GR, Eileen McEvoy, gets a couple of mentions. Three or four unnamed British Officers (but who you may recognise) make an appearance in group photographs. There is a short paragraph in one account about training British subalterns. That’s about it. Far from finding this disappointing, I felt it is probably an accurate account of lives in which most of Gurkhas’ experience is coloured by their fellow-countrymen and we British play a fairly distant role.
Each individual is given a chapter in the book. These are loosely grouped together into ‘Chronicles’. For example the input from several family members of Subedar Buddhi Bahadur Limbu of 10GR are combined under ‘The Legacy of Buddhi’, and the accounts of seven westerners are grouped under ‘Tales from the West’ (although there are accounts from other westerners elsewhere in the book). This structure gives prominence to the personal stories – which was perhaps the intention – but it does not provide a logical sequence to the narrative and, as there is a great deal of commonality in the experiences of those interviewed, leads to much repetition. Common themes include family background, recruitment, training, service in the various garrisons where Gurkhas were based, operational service in Cyprus, the Gulf, the Balkans and Afghanistan, marriage and retirement. Grouping the material around these would have provided a more progressive storyline and made the book easier to read. Many individual accounts are also incomplete or disjointed, but that is of course how we remember our past. Nevertheless, combining them in a thematic treatment might have created a more comprehensive and coherent picture.
I would also observe that the majority of the accounts are from senior Gurkha officers. Only 8 out of the 28 stories from Gurkha men come from those below the rank of Captain, and only 3 from those below the rank of Sergeant. This does not necessarily detract from the accuracy of the overall picture as the officers all came up through the ranks and are therefore able to reflect that experience, but it does mean we are mainly hearing from the relatively small number of the most capable and successful Gurkhas rather than the much greater majority whose careers did not progress beyond junior rank.
In summary, I am glad I bought the book. It provides a different view of what life in the Brigade is like for Gurkhas in a way that has not been done before. As such it is a valuable historical record. Its structure and its length (833 pages) means it is not an easy book to read in a conventional way, but it is well-indexed and lends itself to being read by individual chapters. ‘Try dipping in and out of it’ is perhaps the best advice I can offer other than recommending that you buy or borrow a copy to enjoy it for yourself.
One afternoon in December 2008 I arrived at Headley Court Military Rehabilitation Hospital in Epsom to give a Christmas present of bespoke shirts to seriously injured young service personnel returning from Afghanistan, as a gift of gratitude and in recognition of their courage serving our country. I was met by Peter Haslam, who ran the non-medical side of the hospital and had devoted over 15 years of his life to our injured, and is now a great friend. A nurse took me to the Complex Trauma Unit where the patients were having their supper. She gave me the invaluable advice that I should talk to them about their injuries and how they were sustained as they are very proud of their service and it is good for their psychological recovery to talk about it. As I drove home I knew I could not just walk away from these young servicemen and women, and had to keep visiting.
Over 10 years of visits I gathered a personal address book of over 500 injured servicemen and women, and subsequently their wives, mothers, partners and children. I realised that after being discharged they faced colossal challenges when beginning new lives and jobs, particularly as many of them were very young. I realised it would greatly help them to have smart clothes for interviews and work. Through my business contacts I arranged for Marks & Spencer and Reiss to donate over 1000 suits, for Russell and Bromley to give them smart leather brogues, and for Lock’s to give hats to those with head injuries (one young man was never without his bowler hat at Headley Court!). In addition I designed a black ebony walking stick for those who needed one, with a silver band engraved with their initials and regiment, making it appear as a smart fashion accessory rather than a medical aid.
Hari Budha Magar being kitted out with a smart Reiss suit.
Style for Soldiers has sponsored 10 injured veterans into new careers. We have funding degrees at University, put on an exhibition of their powerful poetry, paintings and performances in three cities called ‘Art in the Aftermath’ and used our contacts to make introductions that in many cases have led to very beneficial opportunities for them.
I met many Gurkhas at Headley Court, including the astonishing Hari Budha Magar, who greeted me with that dazzling smile and humbling gratitude for his bespoke shirt. I told him that my father Michael Willis had served with the 1st Battalion 2nd Gurkhas in Singapore as a young man and had raised over £100,000 for the Gurkha Welfare Trust. I had been brought up surrounded by Gurkha items including china figures on our dining room table, Gurkha portraits in my father’s dressing room, and Gurkha table mats. Hari and his wife Urmila have become great friends of my father and I over the years. A few years ago they invited him for tea on his birthday and Urmila made the most beautiful cake decorated with a Gurkha cap badge.
We receive many moving letters, emails and messages from patients, often hand-written and sometimes in careful capitals rather than joined-up writing, as well as thanks from several mothers, all of which I have kept. I remember one patient writing that he was going to propose in his shirt and the engagement ring was ‘burning a hole in his pocket.’
As these young people, predominantly men, started to go out in to the world they missed each other and the company of like-minded former colleagues who had experienced things that we civilians will never know or be able to imagine. I learnt that loneliness can be the trigger for PTSD, depression or addiction, which is not at all surprising, so began arranging reunions which are now the most important things we do. e hold the largest reunions in the country for injured service personnel and their families, including a summer dinner in Gloucestershire and a big Christmas Dinner at The Savoy in London. We also organise two Family Days, one at Woburn Safari Park kindly given for over 10 years now by His Grace The Duke of Bedford and the other at Cotswold Wildlife Park given by owner Reggie Heyworth. The charity provides hotel accommodation for everyone at these events. We always have the pleasure of welcoming several Gurkhas, their wives and children at our reunions.
Hari Budha Magar and his wife Umilla at the S4S Christmas Party 2025.
Gurkha ex-servicemen at one of the other ‘Style for Soldiers’ events in 2024.
The reunions are joyful events. In 2016, the then Prince of Wales attended our Style for Soldiers Christmas Party at Spencer House. His Royal Highness had discreetly visited Headley Court many, many times, and I heard how many young service personnel had awoken from their operation to see the face of their future King, as well as enjoying wonderful conversations at their bedsides. The Prince of Wales met and talked to over 100 injured service personnel and then spoke to all our 250 guests, an encounter which we will of course treasure for all our lifetimes.
The charity’s events also introduce wives, partners and children, creating a strong network that I hope will last independently of Style for Soldiers well into the future, for the rest of their lives. Their physical and psychological injuries will never go away. I have noticed what a vital role the wives and partners so often play in supporting our injured, and it is a great pleasure to be able to include them too in our parties and family days. I feel honoured and privileged to have met and got to know very well so many of our brave armed forces personnel and their families over the years, and now understand very well my father’s passion throughout his life to support them as best we can.
His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales (now King Charles III) meeting injured Gurkhas and their families at the 2016 reunion event. Emma Willis is on the right of the picture.
More about the charity and details of how to donate to it can be found on its website: https://www.styleforsoldiers.com/. Style for Soldiers is holding a fundraising event in London on 8th April. Hari Budha Magar will discuss with Frank Gardner, the BBC correspondent, his extraordinary expedition in which he made mountaineering history by becoming the first above-knee double amputee to summit the highest peaks of the seven continents, including Mount Everest. To book tickets please see https://www.styleforsoldiers.com/products/an-evening-with-frank-gardner-obe-and-hari-budha-magar-mbe-8th-april-2026
Hari Budha Magar on the summit of Mt Vinson, Antarctica
This apochryphal story appeared in an unauthorised history of the XIth Gurkha Rifles by Lieutenant Colonel H R K Gibbs, late 6GR
Funny things ties. Jolly useful for holding up the odd pyjama, though I hear the subalterns all wear lungis these days . Saw a Yankee fellow wearing an MCC tie the other day ..turned out to have bought it at Tiffany’s in New Amsterdam and didn’t know a googly from a bar of soap. Now, when I was in the Regiment, we didn’t worry too much about ties, far too busy dodging the wily Pathans and the Bhunia with his bills and with damned little chance to wear mufti anyway except when we went poodle faking to the club when the staff wallahs in New Delhi sent their mems up to the hills. Goings on aplenty then, I can tell you, but I won’t – never did hold with telling tales out of mess.
Can’t really remember exactly what the Regimental tie looked like in those days, except that it had to be in colours that came from whatever it was that the planters grew locally – red, green and black I think, or was that the cocktail the griffins had to drink when they were dined in? Anyhow, now that I am retired so to speak. I do wear a tie a bit more often nowadays, old school, club that sort of thing and something that some scoundrel sold me years ago as the tie of the Regiment.
Anyway, one day, a few weeks ago, I trekked down to Hampshire to have a few snorts with old Bletherskite. Bit of a cad, Bletherskite, got posted to the South Waziristan Scouts for slapping the bum of some pretty young wench in Mhow once too often – turned she’d come out with the fishing fleet to marry some Brigadier General in the Jam Stealers. Walking down the street in Fleet, minding my own business, I ran into some fellow whom I had never seen before in my life . Dressed up like a Madrassi remount wallah with a black pullover and one of those hats like the Congress babus used to wear long after my time. Claimed to be an officer of the Regiment, did this chap and asked me where I’d got my tie. Well, after I had damned his eyes for his impertinence, he had the blasted cheek to tell me it was the wrong pattern! Apparently, mine goes left to right, and it should go right to left or some other damned fool nonsense.
Reminds me of the time in Kabul when young Belchworthy of the Bengal Staff Corps wanted to get a cushy posting to Calcutta, so he took to wearing his new-fangled Sam Browne belt ( invented by some counter-jumping wallah ) upside down so they would all think he was mad. Well, all the Generals in Afghanistan were barking anyway, so Belchers had to stay. His next wheeze was to send his Havildar Major up to Dargai to fetch him a black woman. The Haviladar obliged, and Belchers produced a damned toothsome Ghilzai tart at the Resident’s Ball next month. He got his posting all right, but the bibi married a Colonel of the Guides, became Lady Snipefoggers and wife of the Lord Lieutenant of Devonshire. Nobody minded much then, after all, Wheeler married a black Maharani.
Returning to ties …I went to the Reunion a few months ago – didn’t know anybody but had a good shufti around. It’s all different now. They don’t send the inlying piquet into the Ghussalkhana at first light anymore. In my day, there would have been a damned great Kabuli with a Khyber knife ready to whip your whatsits off if you neglected that sort of elementary precaution. We had a talk at the AGM by some whippersnapper dressed up like a French dancing master who said that most of our ties were the wrong pattern. In my day, the lad would have known that his seniors are always right and he would have nipped off and bought one of the same as ours sharpish. I didn’t really follow the story, but it seems that some archaeological excavation in Salisbury or somewhere had opened up a long barrow and found four empty bottles of rum, a losing betting ticket for the 1818 Derby and a skeleton clutching a Weobley and wearing a Regimental tie. Apparently, this was the mortal remains of young Crutchley, who had gone on long leave ( once every seven years if you can raise the price of a P&O ticket ) and never came back. We always thought the young blighter had shipped on a West Indiaman and was living the life of Riley on a sugar plantation with half the darzhis of Calcutta bemoaning unpaid bills. The truth apparently was that he‘d had a tip from some mountebank in the Life Guards for a three-legged congenital no-hoper in the Derby and had stuck the family silver and his younger sister’s dowry on it. When the uneducated dwarf riding the beast had failed to oblige, Crutchley did the decent thing and blew his brains out, but without first removing his Regimental tie – which just shows that you can never trust an Old Marburian.
The point of all this is that young Crutchley’s tie is the oldest known specimen of the thing, and the black and green stripes are three-quarters of an inch wide, and the red is one-tenth. Apparently, we old buffers are all going to have to buy new ties and allow the box wallah who makes the damned things to light up another fat cheroot . Shan’t bother myself . Funny things ties.