| Travels to Maturity: A Signalman�s Life in India 1944-1947 |
| By Jesse Bridge |
| Introduction: Mr Jesse Bridge, just turned 82 years of age in Jul 2005, retired and settled in Dawlish, Devon in England established contact with me through the website of the Sarhad Conservation Network (SCN). When I made a suggestion to Mr Bridge to render his remininscences about his stay in India he readily agreed. This is the personal memoir of Jesse Bridge, a signalman in the Indian Army. The beauty lies in his narration, which is so matter-of-fact, simplistic and natural. The following are his impressions from his travels. Dr Ali Jan <[email protected]> (June 2005) (Please feel free to contact me for any comments or queries about the contents on this page) |
| This page created and maintained by Dr Ali Jan <[email protected]> |
| About Me: I was born of English parents on 18th July 1923. For my first seven years we lived a poor area of East London. In 1930 my parents bought a house in a small but fast growing town called Southall which, then was just outside of and to the west of London. Between 1935 and 1939 I went to Southall Technical School. An Apprenticeship in Scientific Instrument Making followed between 1939 and 1944. I was called up for service in the Army in early 1944. After initial army training I was transferred to the army Royal Signals. Following much training and practical exercises, I was, with many others sent to India in 1946. Travel to India: We were attached to the British Indian Army. We all were now in the 7th Indian Division that was coming back from helping to drive the German army out of Italy. They had had a very rough time there! We were flown out to India in roughly converted USA supplied �Liberator� four-engined Bomber planes. With the bomb bay doors secured together with many nuts and bolts (they assured us!) and a long line of seats each side of where the bombs usually were held, off we went. We flew in several �hops�. As we were crossing the Mediterranean Sea we were struck by lightning that blew up the aircraft radio. We landed in Sicily for repairs. Later we landed just outside Tunis, then Cairo and Aden where we landed after one engine went �rough�. Two days later with an engine changed, on we went again, refuelling somewhere south of Egypt. Next stop Yemen then a long flight across the Arabian Sea to land finally at Karachi. Aeroplanes were much slower then. The Liberator flew at a cruising speed of 200 to 220 miles per hour. Their range was quite short too. Sitting in the bomb bay was not too comfortable either! The airfield at Karachi was not large; a great deal of the ground was covered in a sort of Bitiumized roofing felt. This included the large storm drain channels. I think this was to quickly drain off Monsoon rains. After documentation and food, we were marched off to our temporary barracks. To our amazement we were housed in a huge shed. We soon found that it had been built for the English built R101 airship. Sadly it crashed in northern France, so never arrived. As a consequence, the scheme for a fleet of airships providing a world wide service collapsed. Most nations soon turned to aeroplanes for this. This gigantic hanger had been fitted out with long steel constructions that were bed bunks. They were at least six bunks high. Luckily each bunk had some side rails to stop anyone falling out! Ladders were built into the structure. I believe that not long after Partition, this huge structure was taken down and its materials were used in many new projects in Pakistan. Same airfield has been vastly expanded into the now Karachi Airport. After a few days our party of some 30 to 40 Signals troops was sent by train to Sialkot. There were no officers just three corporals and one sergeant. Our train was not the expected troop train. It was a very dirty and heavily infested with cockroaches. The latter fact was soon discovered as soon as the journey had started. All this and the heat was quite a shock to many of us fresh from England! Many of us had never been more than a 100 miles at most from our hometowns before. A day later, somewhere in Sind when the steam engine was picking up more water we refused to get back on the train. A proper troop train was demanded. We waited in the heat for several hours. Finally a fairly clean but still 3rd class set of carriages was coupled up. On we went. It was during this journey that we got some idea of the vast size of the Indian subcontinent! England with Wales and Scotland is only about 400 X 100 to 200 miles wide, at the most. We had a lot to learn indeed! It was at least two days before we reached Sialkot. There we stayed for several days. Whenever we collected our food from the cookhouse and had to carry it across to the dining hall nearby, we used to run � waving with the other arm to ward off the eagles as they dived down at us. We saw our first Indian army troops in the next-door camp. They were having their wrestling competitions. We also saw many cricket games in progress and Indian regimental bands playing bagpipes! Surely, only our Scotsmen used them we had previously thought. Indeed, Sialkot City had, among its many industries, the making of bagpipes, tennis rackets, cricket bats etc we learnt later. Finally, we were driven to the railway and steamed off up towards Rawalpindi. Later, we were shunted into a small station siding for some time. Apparently the line had been attacked further ahead - John Masters book Bowhani Junction style! We were astounded by seeing the many people on the roofs of other train carriages.While we waited, an �old hand� with us took a large container up to the steam engine. After some bartering, an agreed amount of tea was given to the engine driver. He then opened a steam valve and our container was full of near boiling water. Grins on the driver and fireman�s faces, hot chai for us! Onwards we rolled, finally arriving at Rawalpindi. It has been nearly sixty years, I do not recall the name of our army camp and barracks but it might have been about a mile north east of Rawalpindi. It was a steady up hill drive from the city. It now became the HQ 25th Indian Brigade Signals Regiment. Behind the camp it was open farming countryside; in the distance a small village that I would visit later and then a range of low barren hills. These hills often attracted lightning and nightly dry and dusty storms during the summer months before the monsoon period. Slowly our unit got organised. About 70% were Indian troops from different racial and religions groups. The officers were all British at that time. Later, during 1947 when the Indian troops were being quietly separated the Muslims stayed and Hindus were transferred to other appropriate army units. Most of our officers were slowly duplicated with Indian commissioned officers; initially as observers, then later taking over the rank and position. I got to know the city of Rawalpindi. However on reflection, I remember now that only half the city was in the Cantonment where most of us were. We were not allowed to enter the older parts, probably �the other side of the tracks� where I am sure most of interest was. I did penetrate the old city once on my hired bicycle. Got as far as seeing �The Great Tank�. The water was green and dirty. It was not being used in the traditional ways any more. I am glad that all these divisive restrictions are now gone. After the monsoon, I was sent to the brigade at Campbellpore where there were several infantry regiments. One I remember was the Gharwalis. Our Signals officer was from UK, a Captain Pete (spelling may be wrong). I enjoyed this area. I was the Brigadier�s radio operator. I sat behind him in his jeep during many big army exercises well up into the NWF Province. Radio was only effective over a short range. Sometimes my radio was on a �Mules-Mountain�, radio slung on one side the 12 volt battery on the other. (Not a �Mules-Artillery� they were bigger and not so nimble). An Indian sais tended the mule. The brigade went on several big exercises that lasted 7 to 10 days. I remember an occasion when I was with the Brigadier and his aid. I was in the back seat as usual with my radio well clamped down. We were on the beginning of the road leading out of Campbellpore. All was ready; the tank column was first to move off past the Brigadier. However, the usual overhead power cables crossed over the road just there probably about 10 to 15 feet up. Each tank had a man standing in the open turret. All had radio earphones on. The tank radio telescopic aerials were fully up. As they rolled passed saluting the brigadier their antennas were burnt off to half height. The men on the turrets jerked their heads in shock having heard a very loud crack in their earphones! At this, the brigadier stood up and shouted angrily at the tank men. But they could not hear him! So although we could see the sparks and flashes, and because nobody looked up; the long column of tanks burnt all their aerials down to half size! The Brigadier by now was fuming with rage, waving his arms and using his best Cavalry language. He was an elderly man; most of his service was in Cavalry regiments. He hated the radio, and mostly ignored mine. So off we went again, the whole Brigade that is several thousand soldiers, with hundreds of vehicles. I cannot remember all the place names or details. However, I know we went at least a 100 miles. We started moving up into the mountains. Up into a Pass (Jungria?). Big machines were brought up. These were very early types of bulldozers or motor graders. A roadway was being carved up through the hills. �I want a mile a day�, thundered the brigadier. I don�t think he got it though. Later on, we were now all on foot well ahead of the road making. A light �screw-gun� troop came up. Each mule (Mules-Mountain) came with one of the three parts of each gun or mortar. Their officer called out a map reference, the gun parts come together. There was a neat line of guns already trained on the target; within I would think, just one minute. �FIRE!� Even in 1946 these guns were historic! But they were very easy and quick to move over very difficult ground. Since all these regiments need more supplies. An air-drop was arranged and the brigadier was happy. He was on a horse dashing about. Two columns were advancing up this narrow valley, one each side. The air-drop was about to come decend in the middle of the valley. The first to come down was a �Free� drop of heavy bales of hay for the several hundred mules. They came right at him. The brigadier was now at full gallop, for the first bale missed him by inches. Only by a great effort, nobody laughed. On another occasion, the brigade was spread out on a large treeless dusty plain. There was no cover or hiding places for miles. Though there were many hundreds of tents, large and small. In the centre of the camp, in a clear space was a large long Marquee (tent). When the regiments were not active all the rifles and other weapons were safely locked into long steel rifle racks spaced along the centre of the Marquee and each end was closely tied up. Night and day there was an armed sentry pacing up and down at each end. Despite all these precautions, one night loose wallas (bandits) got in and stole some rifles. What a fuss there was! I learnt later that they had come naked with well oiled bodies so little wonder how they slipped away! One of us, a BOR (British Other Rank) tried out a trick he had learnt. The eagles were always flying above looking for food scraps. A piece of meat was tied to a length of strong black thread. On the other end was tied several twists of paper. Thrown out, in seconds a bird had swooped down on it and was 100 feet up again. For hours on end it performed the most intricate aerobatics over our brigade, until finally the thread broke. Later, quite rightly, we the BORs were all sternly rebuked. The BORs were often given extra duties of some responsibility. I was told to supervise all our vehicles being refuelled. Knowing we were facing a long journey I insisted that tanks were full. For some reason the native drivers kept protesting. Not understanding their language I insisted on �full tanks!� Later I understood why; filling at dawn the petrol tanker was cold because night temperatures were often near freezing. When the sun was fully up and vehicles almost too hot to touch, petrol having vastly expanded was now spurting out of the filler cap breather holes. We had to spill out some petrol and quickly get started. I was told later the drivers feared being put on a charge for wasting fuel. Our camp, just outside Rawalpindi had several lines for elephants, camels, horses, and mules. These I believe, had been empty for a long while. However, a line for motor vehicles was always busy. One day with a friend, we were walking along in Rawalpindi. We saw a camel cart delivering postal parcels and boxes. The driver had just scrambled up on to the very highly built seat. As he was picking up his reins an army truck pulling in behind hit the back of the long camel cart. The cart hit the animal�s back legs. He took off like an Arab race camel and disappeared down the road, soon breaking his harness leaving the cart slewed across the way. The poor driver had performed a summersault and was lying on his back on the roadway. Moments later he was up seeing his camel fast disappearing. He danced up and down with fury calling the camel with I�m sure the most descriptive language that only Allah knows. He then turned to the grinning truck driver and used up any remaining words left to him. By now we were laughing so much that it hurt. The poor driver found a few curses for us as well, and then just stood there, hands together eyes turned to heaven muttering something. We looked at each other, reached into our pockets and gave him several rupees and went our way. In hindsight, we should not have laughed. But it was funny to see. Once, I was walking the lane behind the camp and by the open countryside. As I was approaching the back entrance of an Indian regiment I saw an Indian sentry with his rifle in the gateway. On a side, I saw a very tall wild looking fully naked man running along with just his hand trying to hide his privates. Before I could understand anything the sentry ran towards him. Risking fearful punishment, he threw down his rifle and, while running across the road, pulled out a bundle of rupee notes. Without stopping the man took the money called out something and ran on. The sentry was back at his post standing at stiff attention. It took 30 seconds. I later realised that the naked man, big and strong as he appeared; had been robbed of everything! The Indian sentry, of whatever religion, had actually risked severe punishment for deserting his post and given every rupee he had in this world; for when the note bundle came out there was no peeling off some. I, as an English soldier with no rank probably got at least twice his pay. I received 20 rupees a week, enough to support an Indian family in those days! He had, by the thickness of the wad given a lot more than that. I was ashamed, and I still regret for I, who could have done something, did nothing! 58 years on, I remember. Illness? Well like everyone at times I had prickly heat. Have a cold shower and you think it has gone? Wrong. Minutes later and it is back. Dysentery, that was different. It did not go away easily. One night at the Rawalpindi camp I walked the 50 yards to the toilet block maybe 20 times. Finally I could not find the strength to walk back. It must have taken nearly an hour to crawl back on hands and knees. This and a touch of malaria found me in the nearby military hospital. But these troubles were just the �normal part of life� then. On one occasion I was lent to one of our regiments. We travelled through the Frontier�s trouble areas. Lying quiet during the day, then swooping down on villages during the night searching for hidden weapons. Little was found; they had always known we were coming. The army was trying to stop the inter-religious and tribal slaughter. We passed through one village in the morning, all at peace, village life proceeding normally. Coming back through the same place the next day the whole village was in ruins with dead villagers everywhere. Many bodies had been thrown down into the village well. These were bad times indeed. We the BORs, received no outside news. We knew little of what was to come - the division of India. Many of us rented bicycles. Often with a friend I would cycle out into the countryside, against all advice and regulations. But I wanted to get to know the people and the country. We saw dried mud-bricks in the making, a water buffalo pulling a wooden plough across the small fields - simple peaceful village life. We finally entered the village that we had first seen from our camp. Coming to the little village mosque we stopped to look. The priest came out to greet us. Smiling, he beckoned us into his entrance. Pointing to our shoes he then waved us forward to enter bare foot. We did not enter but just looked in. It was simple yet beautifully fashioned. We thanked him with bows and hands. I took some photos and we moved on. Months later, I was told that a night raid from bandits of another religion had burnt the village and this beautiful little mosque! In 1947, I was with the Irish Fusiliers regiment based in Rawalpindi Cantonment. There were terrible riots in the Old City and utter murder going on in the countryside. For over a week all personnel were confined to barracks. Only the army units were out trying to stop it. Again we heard of whole villages being burned, people being murdered and bodies thrown into village wells. But still we, the few English lads knew nothing of what was really happening -politically, that is. We saw no newspapers, had no short-wave radio to pick up the BBC, All India Radio, or even the �SEAC� Forces� Radio at that time. 15 Aug 1947 - Partition of India - in my personal view was a very great pity. We all know why it happened, and the terrible things that happened with it as vast populations had to move. In our own British Isles in Northern Ireland religious divisions and hatred persist, ideas of hate being passed down from father to son. When will we all learn! Education can help but - now in 2005 India and Pakistan, having come near the final disaster will perhaps - cricket helps! RETURN TO ENGLAND: A few weeks after the All India Radio�s famed broadcast that the British were leaving India, there was a great speeding up of Indian Officers for filling up all the remaining positions. We the BORs were brought together in Rawalpindi. Then by train via Delhi, a huge central Indian holding camp, then Dulali, Bombay and finally to the battered old ship M V Georgic. Later, Suez Canal, a day at Port Suez picking up troops going home from Palestine, a day at Gibraltar and finally Liverpool UK. I got a week�s leave. Spent some months with a Royal Signal�s demonstration team getting new recruits. Then my release Group 63 came. Documentation was done on Dec 1947. After four weeks final leave I was a civilian again! Got back into Industry and back to my childhood sport of rowing. 11 Jul 1953 saw my marriage to my beloved Barbara with whom I have 3 children. My wife is now a schoolteacher. In 1962-1984 I was running a Teaching workshop in the Department of Engineering at The University of Reading in Berkshire. I retired 5 years early aged 60 in Feb 1984. My wife and I have had over 20 years of happy and busy retirement. Our 3 children have been married for many years now and they have 2 children each. All our children have University degrees and fine jobs. Four grand children have good jobs, two still at school. Me and my wife have just ourselves and our lovely garden by the sea in Dawlish in Devon to look after. Our work is done. End of Story. Best Wishes from Jesse Bridge |
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