Borneo days

My adventure in Borneo started by volunteering for convoy escort and was commonly referred to as 'riding shotgun'.

The OC of 98 Ordnance Maintenance Park, Major Dick Owen thought that some of us base dwellers should get out more and volunteered us for some more arduous duties since we were supposed to be on 'active duty'. Most of us thought that meant having a drink in Kuching Market on a Saturday night and getting back to camp before curfew.

Riding shotgun seemed an appropriate pastime so I duly volunteered.

So the morning of my excursion, knowing nothing about it whatsoever except I had to draw out a SMG and two full magazines and report to the Gurkha Transport office at 7:00 am.

We waited around for half an hour or so and eventually a Captain came out and said to me 'Corporal, the convoy commander is sick', 'you're in charge', 'take the convoy to 4 (or was it 1?) Royal Tank Regiment at Wong Padong'!

I think it was 'Wong Padong' I have never since found it on a map. I only know it was a forward position on the Indonesian border. It may well have been the name of a nearby kampong and no longer in existence. Or was it Simmangang ? Some information on the Internet quotes 4 RTR being near Sri Aman in the Wak Area of Sarawak. Problem is that Wong Padong Camp was probably built near a kampong in the jungle since abandoned. It is after all over 50 years ago and maps never mind memories are not quite the same ...

So without any further ado and with complete authority and as much bluff I could muster I ordered the escorts to mount, got into the lead truck and off we went with about 6 RLs driven by Gurkha drivers.

As we drove out Taneh Puteh gates and headed towards the border I found a map and the Gurkha driver pointed to a place on the map. I started to realise what I had let myself into.

In Borneo the roads had milestones and rules for convoys and patrols at certain points as we left civilisation towards the border.

We passed the Airfield and started to head out towards the border along a long road of cleared jungle on either side. Soon we prepared our weapons with magazine on, and made safe.

The roads were crude, dry but rocky and plenty of bounce so we couldn't drive that fast.

I knew the next point we would be inching towards the border and where all soft skinned vehicles would be escorted with Saladins, front and back.

So I casually said to my driver, 'Watch out for the armoured escort', to which he replied, with little concern, 'We’ve passed it!'.

So I asked why he had not stopped and he nonchalantly replied. 'They weren’t there', 'So I carried on'!

Well, having taken a few deep breaths I decided that there wasn't much point making much out of it so accepted the situation and said nothing but a shrug of my shoulders. Okay, I might have uttered an odd word like 'Shit!'

It wouldn't be half an hour later when the jungle closed in a little on both sides and my vehicle started making struggling noises and eventually stopped. I looked at the driver and he looked at me and I involuntarily said 'What's up'! His look told me he didn’t know.

So here I was on a operational 'Black' road at the closest point to the border with a convoy of six vehicles with very large crates of refrigeration equipment and a dozen or so base walla’s. And I was 21, an acting Corporal and learning rabidly.

At that point, my two little stripes grew decidedly heavy as I realised the gravity of the situation.

So I deployed 'my men' in some form of defensive position as I could imagine was needed, and the drivers worked on my vehicle.

Fortunately, the fault was soon identified. The battery leads were shortened out from the bouncing of the vehicle and hitting the underside of the drivers seat.

So with great relief we remounted and tried to make up some time before dusk which at that time of the year was probably about 4:30 pm and still some miles to go.

We managed to get into 'Wong Padong' (?) Camp just after 2:00 pm and we parked up in the only space we could find. There was a row of Saladins, Ferrets and a Saracen neatly parked up nearby but very few soldiers.

Now the Camp was laid out with the usual administration and accommodation huts made from attap and each with an open veranda. And even though it was situated in the fore front of the battle area and overlooking the border, each hut still displayed the title of the occupants complete with the name and regimental colours. It was in fact located with views down onto a heavily jungled canopy with the odd sparkle of a small river passing through and locating the border.

I eventually found the Quartermaster who without thanking me, took the paperwork and started to walk away. I made a bit of a humph and pointing towards the loaded vehicles asked, half heartedly what I was to do with it?

'Oh just unload it here and we'll get the Engineers to install them later.

"Er, excuse me sir but have you got any labour or ..." trying to look nonplussed and matter of fact. "Ill get some men for you" he volunteered.

Well, feeling pleased with myself, well at least momentarily because eventually about a dozen local Ibans eventually turned up and circled around me awaiting my instructions!

No, they didn’t speak English, No, there was no mechanical lifting equipment, and there was no ramp or any form of platform I could unload to.

Those stripes were certainly getting very heavy. Here's me with loaded crates and a foreign workforce and no other assistance. All the camp inhabitants seemed to have disappeared including the Quartermaster.

I did manage to find some heavy wooden beams and some rope and I did discover my Ibans did understand British Army expletives and some rudimentary signs such as push, pull, and stop. The rest was communicated via my very red neck and strained voice.

We managed to get the convoy unloaded by dusk, time to get an evening meal but far too late to return to Kuching.

So we were bedded down in a hut near the guardroom; I say bed down, we got a bit of a floor, a blanket and a pillow. Soon we drifted off. But not for long because there was an almighty clang of a bell ringing and the camp was under fire from the Indonesia side of the border.
We spent the rest of the night in a slit trench and soon tired of listening of the odd fire fight and woke to the glistening sun.

And so came to the end of baptism of responsibility and the closest I got to enemy fire.

I learnt a lot that day.