The Ford Files - Singapore as was, part 1

Singapore, as was – Part 1

These are recollections of a young Craftsman, Bob Ford, at the commencement of his career in the mid 1950’s, recalling the good fortune of a posting to Singapore.

It was February 1954 and I had completed a three-year apprenticeship at the Army School (Chepstow 51A) and like all of us, I square – eerie. After fifteen months of sheer bliss, never to be repeated, I was posted. One morning the OC Captain was allocated a posting and this was to 2 Ack Victor Charlton Snow said quietly in Ack Command Workshop, Dorchester. It held passing, “LCpl Ford, you lucky lad, you are no mystery for me, as a boy growing up in posted to Singapore.” (Coincidentally, so the war I had three relatives in the Royal was he). From then all I heard from one Artillery based at gun batteries in Ack Ack and all was “you lucky so and so”. Command. I now spent a few tedious and

Knowing where you are going and actually frustrating weeks at the REME depot, arriving are two different things – a culture Arborfield, where I met up with many of shock in so many ways. First shock was an ex my peers from Chepstow 51A. After guards RSM called Atkins (nick name Split Pin numerous painful injections for every due to long legs), whose objective seem to disease plus issue of large bundles of be keeping everybody moving by tropical kit, plus, multiple unnecessary kit continuous ‘barking’ (I met him twenty years lay outs we finally departed for later when he was a civilian clerk in Southampton for embarkation. Arborfield Garrison, absolute gentleman, This narrative is about Singapore, kind and friendly, helpful – called me Sir— however it’s almost impossible to continue Wow!). Second shock was, “This is the Army without relating life on a troop ship in the Mr Jones” – only thing was – National 1950’s as it’s the experience which no Serviceman Army. Different culture, different young soldier (Craftsman) will have to attitude, almost to a man – I don’t want to be endure today. With the advent of Troop here especially after the manic regime of movement entirely by our today’s soldiers Barton Stacey. Thankfully, I was to be should, without knowing it, consider detached to a radar training unit LAD in a themselves fortunate to have escaped the mystical place called Storrington – never rigours of a troop ship which, without heard of it! But my goodness what a blessing, exaggeration, is not far removed from unique like no other unit in the Army. Berns ‘slave ship’ accommodation. Due to the Farm Camp provided radar training for the unpleasant experience the memory of this whole of Ack Ack Command across Europe. seems to be well buried in the shadows of The gift was it consisted of a nucleus of my mind, only the most unpleasant ones permanent staff of which some eleven were come to the fore. We left Southampton military REME and the remaining were sailing past Netley foreshore where I spent civilians, ranging from labourers to radar so much of my childhood and was able to boffins. A brilliant team of friendly, wave cheerio to my Sister who stood on supportive and helpful guys many of whom 'The Author, Robin ‘Bob’ Ford the beach. Little did we know we were to were ex-military. Added to this was the be stuck on the troopship ‘Fowey’ for the uniqueness of a unit that was without strict discipline or regimental next five weeks until reaching Colombo – Ceylon (Sri Lanka). rigidity, where there were no extra general duties, parades or an RSM So, into ship board routine where at least a thousand rank and file chasing everybody (he was a gentle war time served friendly men were being transported. Long boring days and restless stifling ‘Daddy’). In my time there I never saw a boot tread on the parade nights. Sleeping was done in three tier bunks in blocks of eighteen. Looking down the deck as far as the eye could see. A thousand bodies in extremely poor ventilation, showers when you were allowed one was salt water with salt water soap being issued. Catering of course was on a strict rotary basis with sometimes long intervals between one meal and the next. I can clearly remember being constantly hungry throughout the journey especially when you did get a meal it was, to say the least, little better than unrecognisable swill. The catering and conditions were so bad that it caused a Member of Parliament to visit the ship, on its return to Southampton, which resulted in him raising the matter in the House of Commons. (Look up ‘Empire Fowey on Google). We were at sea, across the Bay of Biscay and the Mediterranean before we had our first stop at Port Said. I was expecting my first glimpse of the exotic place, (geography was my forte), but to my amazement the first thing one saw was a Singapore “go downs” (warehouses) massive neon sign dominating the dock – “Coca-

Cola” – exotic image destroyed. We were under the illusion that we would all get a run ashore – No! All we had at Port Said was local “bum boats” as old soldiers called them, when I witnessed my first example of extremely bad behaviour by British Soldiers. These boats contained local merchants selling Egyptian souvenirs – the ‘sweats’ told us the fun was to find something heavy, drop it over the side, a drop of forty feet, and make a hole in the boat that would sink it – mindless vandalism, shameful but considered funny by a few brainless idiots or simple frustration.

There is little worth recording of the long tedious experience except, perhaps, coming up on deck early next morning to find we were half way down the Suez Canal. This was one of the most memorable sights of Singapore skyline 1955 – only one tall building! my life, brilliant blue sky, burning sunlight and brilliant yellow dunes at eye level as far as you could the job I did repeat the same again – unbelievable, causing several see. The moment was imprinted on my mind forever. We never got hundred pounds of damage. The Senior Electrician suggested he off the ship until we reached Colombo – Ceylon, (Sri Lanka). could manage without my help. I was not asked back, just as well as However, it is worth recording two incidences in the Indian Ocean potentially I was close to serious injury. where the weather caused so much discomfort. At one stage we had Colombo was the one and only place we stopped where we were a boat drill, (one amongst so many), in the middle of a force nine allowed ashore. I have little memory or no memory of this except the gale. My drill station was in the charge of an overzealous signals chaotic street culture which, fortunately, cost nothing. Just as well as Corporal who seemed to think we were on the parade ground. He we had little money those days which made a joke of local demanded we all stood rigid, kept quiet and hold your dressing. The merchants accosting us to buy precious stones which were probably inevitable happened in the ten-foot swell, one grey and sickly soldier worthless anyway. The final memory I have was returning to the ship could not hold his stomach and projectile vomited into the ripping and getting a strip down examination for venereal disease wind. I luckily ducked but the majority including the Corporal caught contagion. Unfortunately, I had a bite where one didn’t want it a bucket of vomit fair and square as it whistled freely through the air causing me to desperately convince a young RAMC Lieutenant – I corpsed with laughter. Doctor that I had never visited an ‘establishment of ill repute’, just

The second incident was not so funny. There was an having the money to do so would have be a bonus, never mind the announcement over the tannoy that the ships Chief Engineer was desire. asking for a qualified Electrician to assist in the ship maintenance. I So, the end of a journey no soldier today would relish, boring, eagerly volunteered to break the tedious monotony and more so to hungry and even some deprivation. One could write a book if you give me freedom of movement through the ship. My application was had not confined the memories to the deep foggy past. Apart from accepted and I was taken several decks down to the bowels of the nautical mile competitions about daily distance travelled we were ship to a workshop. This was the size of a small galley and felt like I also very ill informed so it was with stunning amazement that I came was working in a biscuit tin. My first job was to skim and undercut up on deck once more into a still almost silent morning. The air was the commutator of a DC motor armature, put the forty-pound crystal clear having no industrial pollution but in addition was armature on the bench and turned to the tool rack on the opposite washed almost daily by a tropical downpour. We were in, what I wall. There was a sickening thud, I had forgotten that at sea a ship know now as Singapore sea roads, stemming the tide until we were rolls and so does everything else. The item had rolled off the bench, given permission to enter the harbour to an allocated berth. had I been there it would have crushed at least one of my feet. I got a I was mesmerised by the deep green where, in places, the jungle gentle ticking off for not using a cradle. The next morning continuing came down to the shore line, frequently dotted with colonial architecture. I believe now that area was, Blakang Mati, now a major tourist playground, and the island of Pulau Brani, later to become a naval base of the Republic of Singapore Navy. We were immediately brought back to reality by bellowed orders to pack our, “to hand kit”, ready for disembarkation. Tying up alongside the Singapore berthing revealed a work scene out of a film set. The whole deck was entirely labour intensive, chaos even. However, the microcosm of the usual military control ‘under the heel’, of the Movement Forwarding Officer, (MFO), was easily identifiable and we disembarked with calm organisation. We were ushered into areas, (known as go-dons), and assigned to transportation, we had arrived. Blakang Mati and Pulau Brani as was To be continued…