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We are privileged to have Ken Joyce's writings regarding his visits to Burma in 2008 and 2011.They make great reading and I'm sure many others will enjoy Ken's storytelling gift and the added touch of humour. it was such a bonus to be in touch with Ken, an Edinburgh man who was on MTB's at the Normandy landings and later chasing Japanese in similar vessels up the Irrawaddy in Burma!
Ken, as one of the only four surviving members of the Association, now lives with his wife at Ettalong Beach in New South Wales, and we are privileged to share his adventures and memories
Ken Joyce who has visited Burma several times in the last years and knows our correspondent Khine very well indeed
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Please click on the heading of the story you wish to read Burma Again 2008
Burma Again 2011
January16 2012
BURMA AGAIN. 2008 Why on earth would you want to go back to Burma (Myanmar) again? This was a question put to me by family and friends. It is an understandable question from my Burma Star army mates whose experience of the country, following long marches over the Indian border, led them into sodden paddy fields, smelly swamps and unforgiving jungles. In contrast we of the Royal Navy's gunboat flotillas sailed directly to the Arakan, to cities such as Rangoon (Yangon), towns like Bassien, Yandoon, Henzada, Pyapon, etc, etc. Other friends and well wishers were, and still are, influenced by distorted press reports and biased commentaries. Since the end of the War in Burma in 1945, I have been able to have two visits, in 2004 and 2006. On the first of these visits my wife, Heather, was able to return to the land of her birth for the first time since she and her Rubber Planter father and mother left Burma for the U.K. in 1948. She has retained a very good knowledge of the Burmese language learned from village elders and her childhood playmates throughout the war years under Japanese occupation. We were able to visit the Moulmein (Mawlamyine) area where she had started school and where her Shetland Island grandfather had been a ship's Pilot. To all who heard her speak she was treated like a returning celebrity! In 2006, I returned alone to visit areas that her health would not allow her to attempt;. I was able to see the Rubber Estate, Sookalat, where we had first met in 1945. On that trip, I was fortunate to be able to obtain the services of Khine, (khaingt@gmail.com), a Burmese lady who has helped many British and American ex-servicemen to return to remote areas of interest such as Chindit landing places, scenes of hard fought actions for them and US and Chinese forces close to Myitkyina. In my case, she had fulfilled one of my dreams in getting me to the Delta village of Kokkowa, the scene of our first gunbattles with Japanese boats. With the help of Heather and her strong support, it was not difficult to find some very good reasons to again return. There was the wonderful team of Burmese from Singapore whom Heather and her friends helped financially in their fine efforts to support the villagers hit by the cyclone, Nargis. Then she had heard of the Irish Columban Sister who was following a 25 year stint in Korea by going to the far north of Burma to nurse the many HIV / Aids patients, mostly women and babies. There had been an article in the Columban magazine about her raising pigs to help finance her work. My war service had been in the wide Delta of the Irrawaddy and up this great river to the north of Henzada. As a tourist or returning Veteran, I had also done the ferry trip from Mandalay to Bagan. Now with Sr. Dillon up in Myitkyina, I had the opportunity to go there, travel to Bhamo and see if I could cover more of the river by doing the ferry trip down the river to Mandalay. Very soon an itinerary was laid out; a few days in Rangoon that had been our base from May to December 1945. Then fly to Myitkyina, to see if I could contact this wonderful Nun, drive to Bhamo for a day or so and then join the ferry to Mandalay. Include a visit to Maymyo (Pyin-oo-win) where Heather had finished her schooling in Burma and then fly back to Rangoon. I got in touch with Khine but after a while she found that other commitments precluded her from accompanying me to the North, however her colleague Tony Yang from Baron Travel (tonyang2006@gmail.com) agreed to do the trip. A modest fee was arranged and hotel, airline and ferry bookings were made, it seemed that all would work out as required. Now however, the spanners started to fall into the works. The first of these was an attempt to alter the starting date that would mean a change to the airline ticket that had been paid for in full, with massive surcharges, some three months previously. ‘No trouble ‘ said the agent, ‘all you have to do is to stump up a further $614 to cover our costs and also the airlines charges". Absolutely no shame!. Never again would I use a travel agent but only deal directly with the airline as I had done in the past. We decided to stick to the original dates. The next problem arose through what is thought to be Burma's best private airline, Air Bagan. Just before flying out, they decided to cancel my flight to Myitkyina and then a few days later to cancel the changed flight! The only way ahead then was to fly to Mandalay and consider travel by road or ferry from there to Bhamo then organize a car trip to Myitkyina and return to the ferry to get back to Mandalay. The very poor road all the way to Bhamo is thought to be out of the question so the alternative would result in a double ferry trip against the flow of the river going north but hopefully a quicker return trip! This was how things stood when I joined the Thai International flight to Bangkok to change planes for a flight to Rangoon. I left home after dinner and took the train to Sydney where I stayed overnight in my Club. A quick change over in the new Bangkok monster airport and I arrived in Rangoon, being greeted by Khine before 8pm on the same day. I had been booked into the Central Hotel where I stayed on my last visit. This time there was a definite drop in standards with none of the usual supply of coffee and tea and the lighting so poor that it was impossible to read until they dragged in a standard lamp. A pleasant dinner and drinks at the famous Strand Hotel and back to the Central Hotel for a short sleep with a 4am wake-up for the flight to Mandalay. A drive in the dark to Mingladon Airport, now modernized, to find that Air Bagan hadn't given up its little games and had now cancelled the morning flight and invited us to come back in five hours time! That was a bit of sleep I could well have done with!. Eventually reached Mandalay and as there was a day or so to spare to tie in with the Ferry service, we drove from the airport all the way to Maymyo arriving in the late afternoon. A most interesting drive up the original winding Burma Road, now with sections of dual highway, now dodging monster trucks that are a strong economic link with China. Arrived just with time for a shower and started to tour this very interesting former British Hill Station where the government retreated at the onset of the hot season. Our driver, Soe Than, really knew Maymyo. We visited the new Chinese built pagoda with its wide views and then on to the Waterfalls that are breathtaking with a series of pathways giving easy access. We then had a taste of the teaming markets, bright with masses of vegetables and flowers that grow in this cool atmosphere. Dinner at the San Franscico and a welcome bed after such a long day. In the morning I got out for a short walk in the neighbourhood. Old homes from the British days with jagged glass embedded in the top of the walls. Saw young men digging in the grass verge for what turned out to a kind of grub known as Pyet. Later had a taste when fried, very salty. Back at the hotel, there was one of the traditional horse drawn carts or gharrie. After breakfast I found that Tony had kindly ordered this for me and I was soon up in the drivers seat far a short ride around the pleasant tree lined streets. I thought I handled it quite well but the driver was taking no chances and kept himself handy. A very pleasant experience that was photographed by our car driver going ahead to suitable spots. We later did a tour of the Indawgyi Gardens with tame deer, West Australian black swans. Quite a few Burmese tourists, the most notable being very good-looking Shan girls from Lashio, maybe the prettiest girls in Burma. We then visited the replica of the old Governors House that had originally been built for the Bombay Burma Trading Company. The next gem in this area was the Waterfalls with a clever pathway allowing perfect views. I had mentioned to Tony that Heather had attended boarding school here in Maymyo and he instituted a search. We took a number of photographs of various schools that had been taken over by the government but none seemed to fit Heather's description. We then spotted a Catholic Convent and when I entered I met a beautiful Nun, Sr. Mary Flora, who knew the school I was looking for. She directed us to what was known as St Joseph's where another lovely Nun, Sr. May Myo took us a tour of her establishment that included the school Chapel Heather had attended and also the magnificent school buildings now run by government. Strangely, the Catholic statue group in front had been left in place. Heather has drooled over the photographs I have of this school with the covered walkway from the school to the Chapel. She has vivid memories of how an English Nun, who was so upset with Heather's lack of education during the Japanese Occupation, that she made her take a chair to the walkway, stand on it with a wastepaper basket on her head. The Nun meanwhile stood at the Chapel door entreating the Lord in a loud voice to put some sense into Heather's head ! We then left Maymyo with the streets full of young soldiers from the Military Academy, all looking too young and earnest to do any harm. There was a long drive down the winding mountain road in the pouring rain. The Monsoon doesn't seem to realize that it should now be over! Back in Mandalay we toured the river front,visited Paul Strachan's magnificent ferries. That evening we had a Buffet Dinner at the Mandalay Hill Resort Hotel. Very upmarket, obviously getting us ready for the coming ferry trips. Next day there was a 4.30 am call to join the ferry in the teaming rain. We were quickly ushered aboard and taken to our tight two-berth cabin. The ferry was the ‘Pyi Gyi Tagon' built in China in 1995 but sorely lacking maintenance. I have in the past served on ships more than 25 years old, even two that had been sunk for a number of years and then refloated and even they were in much better condition. All of this was well compensated by the wonderful Captain. I introduced myself and Tony explained that I was a Veteran of the Japanese war and I showed some photographs of my boat on the Irrawaddy back in 1945. The Captain straight away pointed to a very good wooden deck chair forward of the Bridge and announced that this was for my sole use. In the Bridge I was given the Captain's high chair and invited to be there whenever I wished. He came to our cabin two or three times each day, giving the latest news regarding where we would stop for cargo, our speed, etc. Where we had prolonged stops loading cargoes of rice and other goods, he insisted we come ashore with him to see the town and also see him being greeted by many people. "When you are with the Captain, you can't miss the ship" All of the passengers on this deck were very friendly and doing all they could to help this old man who may have been better of at home before a warm fire. Our nearest neighbours were two sisters-in-law taking their elderly mother home to Bhamo. We had a bit of fun with my use of my limited Burmese vocabulary. It seems that great care must be taken less a change in inflection results in a quite different meaning. These fun loving people are quick to identify any mistakes that could be construed as sexual! You have to be careful in handing out sweets to other than children as they do try to give you a gift in exchange.. I quite often took my seat on the Bridge watching the passing scenes and also the modern steering without the use of the traditional steering wheel. I only wished I had some command of the language to be able to enter into the banter. I had a small photo album with pictures of my grandchildren, home, garden and car but these seamen were more interested in the armament on our gunboat. We were pushing up river against a strong current and barely doing 5 knots. Poor visibility with mist and rain. After 58 hours we crawled into Bhamo, quick shower and limited sleep as we had to leave for Myitkyina at dawn. With Bagan Air and its antics, I had lost much time as instead of 58 hours, we should have been here under two hours. The drive north to Myitkyina is on a terrible bit of road for thirty miles and then on a new Chinese built road for about 100 miles. It is through dense jungle close to the road bringing memories of the kind of territory my Chindit and Army comrades had to endure. We stopped at a Monastery built by descendants of a Japanese general in honour of him and his troops who had all perished in this area. There were a number of army checkpoints and it seems that foreign visitors should have a permit to travel by road. However, they realized the trouble being caused by Air Bagan, even telling us that a number of tourists were stranded north of Myitkyina in Pateo. When reaching the town, we drove directly to the Catholic Cathedral where we were given news of Sr. Mary Dillon. It seems that she was on her rounds of homes of patients with HIV/Aids. Someone went hunting for her and she soon turned up in an old car that she was driving. Tony went to make peace with Immigration, whilst I was taken to the house that was a refuge for these people. It seems that the husbands or partners were infected through needle and prostitute use and when they died they left behind pregnant women, who with their child have the disease. All very sad and moving but uplifting to see this Nun, plus others from the Philippines giving such loving care.One of their remarks was, "we are not Nurses, we don't shout at patients" Our next move was to drive nearly thirty miles north on a hopeless road to reach the Confluence. This is the point where the rivers N'mai kha and Mali kha meet to form the mighty Irrawaddy. We arrived at the top of a cliff to look down on this magnificent scene. To me who had first sampled the Irrawaddy so many miles south when we had powered up its tributary, the Rangoon River in May 1945 to retake this Capital City, this was a wonderful sight. Against my guide and carers wishes I was determined to get right down to the bottom and so slithered and slid to the river bank where I jumped in to the cooling water. Tony came with me and we both collected some river stones as momentos and stood for a while taking in the scene. It took a lot longer and much puffing on my part to get back to the top. It is very moving watching this River come to life before setting on its journey for a thousand miles down gorges and over plains, giving life to this country and its people. Soon it will be pushing rafts of enormous teak logs or even bigger, more spread out, rafts of bamboo with its working family living on top, down to their destination. A river to doff your hat to. We then had to turn around and make our way back to Bhamo. We had left at 5.10 am and arrived back at our hotel at 7.30 pm. It had been a memorable day, passing through areas of terrible warfare back in 1944, seeing the goodness of the Nuns and then the source of the Irrawaddy. Hadn't had any proper meals during the day, in fact only dry biscuits. Now called for a few slices of fresh toast to take with my supply of cheeses, a long hot shower and bed until early morning. Up again in the dark and having a tour of the early morning markets. Streets jammed with stalls but motorbikes still pushing through! Taxi to the wharf and pleased to find it was the same Ferry with our same Captain. He took us to our cabin and checked all was well. Tony had bought an electric kettle freeing us from the dodgy boiled water available on board. I had brought my bright red cross-country ski-ing plate, good for digging a snow shelter or calling in a helicopter in emergency. This I took down to the kitchen when ordering food but had a hard job explaining its wintertime use in sunny Australia! The lady who had the franchise for the food and drink store is quite a character, offering me strange foods, that I wouldn't touch.. She also sleeps behind her counter. She sells beer but only bottles and there is only one cold one available at a time as the ‘fridge is full of other foodstuffs. I find it not possible to drink more than a small glass before it becomes too warm. Had a strange episode in that on two occasions I tripped whilst climbing up from the shop, probably due to me wearing a longyi. Next thing the Captain arrives at cabin, telling Tony what happened and giving instructions to be careful. How did he know? Another impressionable character on board was the Manager, I believe responsible for cargo. He had been an army captain who had lost his leg in battle and it seems that as well as a generous pension, he was helped to get this position on the ferry. He had a cabin separate from the other officers and spent quite a bit of time talking with us. I asked if he kept contact with his previous comrades and his answer was that they were now all Lt. Colonels! Quite soon after leaving Bhamo, the Captain came to let me know to be on the Bridge for when we entered the Defiles. This is like sailing along a corkscrew with massive cliffs towering over us. Mostly you have the impression that you could land up on the bank but deft steering keeps the boat on course. Now that we are going downstream, the flow of the river is giving us a good turn of speed. The Captain points out a grave where is buried the captain of a ferry attacked and sunk by Kachins in 1975 before they made peace with the government. Another example of the difficulties faced by the rulers of this country. There are two seamen in the bow groping ahead with long polls and calling out the depths. On passing other boats the same chant can be heard. There is now one other tourist on board, Michael, an English lawyer. He had been unable to get a cabin as they were all booked and now had his small bit of deck marked out! He left the boat at the port for Shwebo and we gave him a cheer when he negotiated the slippery plank to the shore. He earned a bigger cheer when he took his place climbing on top of the old bus. Many of the Burmese joined in our acclamation for him. At this stop, Tony and I had a feast of fried chicken and sticky rice cooked in a bamboo tube. At all the stopping places, the villagers are ready with their trays of various foodstuff, the very smart ones get a jump on the others by boarding the ferry from a boat while we are still coming alongside. Whilst on the Bridge on one occasion, there was a bit of a stir when a country boat, motor driven, appeared to be heading to cross ahead of us. The Officer of the Watch spotted that he had a long towline, mostly under water, back to a barge that would have been a problem. He immediately grabbed the lanyard of the ships whistle and gave an unholy long series of blasts. This soon stopped the problem and it was followed by everyone giving the pedigree of the errant boatman by a long stream of curses! During this period we had fine sunny weather and were able to appreciate the heavy traffic on the river. There were little powerful tugs pulling massive barges loaded with logs, fishing boats, a few sampans getting a passenger over to the other side also other ferries exchanging greetings. Before finishing with the river ferries, I would like to include some tips for foreign travelers, especially the good people of Lonely Planet. Bring an electric jug so that you can prepare drinks such as tea or coffee, cup a soups, and the like. They are quite cheap and can be given away to a family. There is hand basin with poor plumbing so a container to wash from is handy. No towels are supplied. Using the toilet can be a problem. You need to be wearing a longyi that can be hung around your neck out of the way of flooded floors. Be sure you know how to crouch. Fly spray and aerogard can be handy. If you like ice-cold beer, maybe you should bring a few cans that may be more easily brought to a suitable temperature by being poked into a corner of the fridge. Be nice to the shop lady. In the war days we could get cold beer by sinking a sack of bottles to the silt at the bottom, but now there is not likely to be enough time. After about 32 hours, a day early, we reach our destination, the former royal capital, Mandalay. There were a string of farewells from many passengers, much hugging and handshaking, sincere thanks to the Captain who had made both the trips so memorable. Now we would have a couple of days to again explore Mandalay. Had a tour of the pagoda that has the Arakan Budha, worth a visit if only to see the locals and their devotion. Now was the time to buy T-shirts for grandchildren, once again I misfired with the sizes. Better job with jade bangles. I have an order for Shan Bags large enough to stow sheet music. Went out to eat Chinese, have to get used to having smokers in the dining room. My hotel room looked down on a neat building with the Christian cross over its doorway. At 4am I found that this building was the Priests home and the rest of the compound, that I couldn't see was the grounds of the Cathedral with the church bells competing with Buddhist early morning chanting! Had a good morning walk and got back for breakfast just in time to get a telephone call from home. One of my very smart grand-daughters had found the hotels phone number on the internet! A further tour of the city enabled me to see the finished, 3 arched bridge that I had glimpsed in the mist when heading to Bagan a couple of years ago. Now very impressive. We drove over to Sagaing and climbed the hilltop to enjoy the wide views. Back on the riverside in Mandalay, we met one of the intrepid young travelling ladies you can read about on the internet. This was Lourdes from Madrid, who on hearing what is left of my Scottish accent, fell into wide praise of Edinburgh. I haven't been propositioned for a longtime, but before long, Lourdes had arranged that we go out to dinner that evening. She turned up promptly at our hotel, taking Tony, my guide and diligent carer by surprise, and whisked me of to the Golden Duck, overlooking the Palace. Very enjoyable Duck with rice and ‘Dos cervessa, por favor' from a hidden corner of my mind, brought some really cold beer. It must have gotten past my bedtime, as my anxious carer dispatched our driver to bring me home! One of the highlights of this day in Mandalay was to come across a long procession of elephants, horses and decorated carts taking young boys, dressed as Princes, to a monastery to commence their stints as monks. The procession was broken up by groups of finely dressed ladies, an excellent Karen dancing troupe, and music from decorated stages. In the morning we visited some of the oldest pagodas and also the Royal Palace. Was able to get the Shan Bags, being a poor shopper, I arrived home with some of these being quite unsuitable. Later in the afternoon we got on the flight to Rangoon, via Heho, and reached the hotel in time to again meet Khine and enjoy her company at the Savoy. Also met Heather's Nuns, Srs. Helen and Bridget, who do so much work for the community. In the morning it was up at a reasonable hour for a change and enjoy the usual limited breakfast for Europeans, sweet bread toast and fried eggs! Then getting dressed in Burma Star shirt and wearing Medals; it was off to the Rangoon War Cemetery. This is distinct from the magnificent Taukyan War Graves, having been opened in 1945 for those who fell in the Landings and retaking of southern Burma, plus the unfortunates who died in Japanese custody. Tony had produced two fine bunches of flowers that I laid at the Memorial and distributed among the graves .I have a friend who lives in a nearby suburb, whose uncle is almost certainly buried here but is not recorded. He was in the Royal Australian Air Force but was in a crew of an RAF plane that was downed by the Japanese near to Pyapon in the Delta area. He was probably fortunate in dying at the crash as the rest of the crew, except for two who were transferred to Rangoon for interrogation, suffered badly at the hands of the Japanese. They were all executed only a few weeks before this area was again in British hands. The evidence at the trial of the Japanese, led to the posthumous award of the George Cross to one of them. This was my third visit here to graves of men who were within a few months of my age at the time of the Rangoon Landings. Our boats had been chosen for this task after being the Navigation Leaders at Normandy, only eleven months previously. This time the landings were in the main unopposed, the Japanese by then on the way to their ally, Siam, now Thailand. Still, of course, there were sufficient casualties to justify having these new graves of British, Australian, Gurkha, African, Hindu and Moslem servicemen. The Moslems buried facing towards Mecca. If there really is a hereafter, surely I just might meet these fellows. Whilst still dressed with medals, etc., we went to the Defence Forces Museum where I was royally treated by the young serving Soldiers and Sailors. For a time I concentrated on the Naval displays, helped by a couple of friendly young sailors. We had heard that there were relics of our gunboats but this was not so but it was good to see photographs of the class of boats on which I served. There have been stories of the boats that we had passed over to the Burma Navy in October 1945, being seized by Karens and then involved in actions against Aung San, but of this we have no definite information. At this stage, the hectic trip and likely the dodgy water, was catching up on me and I had to call off any further activity, return to the hotel and sleep until called to get ready to leave for my plane to Bangkok and Sydney. Khine and Tony were waiting in the lounge area and took me out to the new International Terminal. Tony had been my guide throughout, it wasn't easy for him as of course he is a Rangoon business man, surely not used to roughing it on a ferry. He had done everything he could for me, including obtaining medication that Heather is looking at with suspicion! There is now at last a new International Terminal with bridges from planes instead of climbing down long stairways and being loaded into buses for a trip to the buildings where, if your luggage didn't arrive quickly, your porter would climb through with your docket and search for it. It is still quite a shock to find that after just a few steps, you are separated from your dear friends and herded into large lounges waiting to be called. So once again, it is goodbye to Burma. Ken Joyce.
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