THE COVENANTER
Taking A Chance
excitement.
Their chattering gave us the reason for the
The car eased forward like a slug in its
activity at the barrier before one said in
slime. The night was dark, damply chill.
singing English: “Telephone lines down,
And as the headlights sought out the road
Tuan. Between here and Chaah. Dangerous
it reflected wet in their glare: looking like
maybe to go further.” Morgan and I knew
a river stretching before us between the
that if communication wires were down it
high banks of waving lallang grass. Where
meant one of two things:
the road curved the headlights shone out
a tree or an animal had fouled them, or
across the lallang to be blanketed by the
Communist terrorists in the area were
jungle. The tangle of trees and creeper had
laying on an ambush. What had started as
been cut back thirty yards on each side of
a pleasant evening jaunt was turning nastily
the road as an ambush precaution, and at
sour. The area ahead was the hunting – and
that distance our lights showed the jungle
killing – ground of 7 Independent Platoon,
edge as a mysterious, patterned wall. In
a group of terrorists about thirty strong that
the car we were tired but tense. Neither the
was led by the notorious Goh Peng Tuan.
damp nor the depressing night smell of the
Like his men Goh Peng Tuan was a fully-
jungle did anything to lessen the strain.
trained Chinese jungle fighter. He carried out
Outside the beam of the headlights we
more ambushes than any other Communist
could see nothing and imagine everything.
terrorist in Malaya.
I drove slowly in low gear, my head and
The men in the Straits Times van lost no
right arm outside the window. My right
time at all on their decision. They were
hand clutched a pistol. Glancing inside and
staying put for the night; they were wise.
across the car I could see Charles Morgan
But I had to be back at my duties as second-
silhouetted, white-shirted, in the passenger
incommand of the Company, and Charles
seat. He too was head and shoulders out
was required to attend muster parade. We
of the window, cuddling a carbine close
knew we were taking a chance, but decided
against the side of the car, trained down the
to press on.
yellow shaft of our lights. My carbine lay
The danger spot was the fourth mile where
near to hand on the front seat between us.
the road cleaved through high cuttings –
We were ready for ambush but never more
glorious ground for ambushes. Now we were
vulnerable than in this civilian vehicle, a
on the second mile. Our plan in the event of
green Morris Oxford saloon. And we had
ambush was simple: directly we were fired
reason to fear that an ambush was likely. At
on I would stop the car and we would bail
nine o’clock that morning, Sunday, 7th July,
out running zig-zag into the comparative
1952, I had returned to base after a tenday
safeness of the jungle, where we could lose
jungle patrol with men from C Company,
ourselves till morning light.
1st Battalion The Cameronians (Scottish
Still leaning out of our respective windows
Rifles). Charles Morgan, the assistant
we drove on, into the third mile. It was
manager of the Voules Rubber Estate where
cold now, but that was hardly noticed in
the Company was established, had asked me
our tense anticipation as our eyes fought
to lunch with him, and later we had decided
to probe the darkness on either side of the
to drive the 120 miles south to Johore Bahru,
road. Still there was nothing; and nothing
the town just north of the causeway leading
even throughout that taut fourth mile; just
to Singapore. It was midnight before we
the night and the lights of the car and the
started for home.
low throb of the engine. For six miles we
I drove back fast, finding myself following
sweated, then decided it was a false alarm. I
the Straits Times van, a Dodge shooting
whipped the Oxford through the gears and
brake. The van was “terrorist conscious”,
we roared off in top. We were doing sixty
and wasted no time on what was for it a
and screaming over a rise in a cutting about
daily journey: not at any rate on the first 63
eleven miles north of Yong Peng when I saw
miles. Then we reached the village of Yong
it. The lights, dipping back to the road from
Peng, and here we parted company.
the sky, showed a log, thick-gnarled and
We were stopped at the north gate in the
sinister, lying across the road just fifty yards
protective wire, wire that stretched round
ahead. As I shouted “ambush!” and stamped
the thatched, bamboo-walled huts of the
my feet on everything to try and stop, they
sleeping community. As our passes were
opened fire on the car.
inspected the Malay police guard gathered
The jungle was a cacophony of shattered
round the car, their long eyes wide with
sound. Bullets from machine guns and rifles
58
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