Burma Star Association - B.C. Chapter
Ellis Mossley was active in possibly the most savage battle of the Burma Campaign. the horrors of which the rest of us can only try to comprehend. Nevertheless, he has always had, and still retains a strong sense of humour. Perhaps this accounts for retaining his sanity when he found himself in such a nightmare as the Battle of Kohima.
I made an error in the details of Ellis in my introduction, reporting that Ellis had actually fought on the infamous tennis court but being a stickler for the truth he informed me of his exact position in the fighting (which to my mind amounted to the same thing). Here are his words to me:
Joe Arblaster, Webmaster
“I came across the Burma Star website segment that makes reference to my fighting on the tennis court at Kohima. I am afraid I cannot claim that particular honour. Most certainly I was in the thick of it on Kohima Ridge but I believe the area I was at was the ‘Kuki Piquet’.
The fight zones were all well within shooting distance of one another and in the dark and the downpour one couldn’t give a damn as to the name of the place other than it was a place to wish you were well away from.I was with Sgt. Kit Crawford’s section and we had been sent in to help our three inch mortar troop set up a shoot. I remember Sgt. Major Dobbin giving us hell for tossing the shells to one-another instead of passing them hand to hand up the hill slope to the emplacement.
It was starting to get dark so Sgt. Crawford’s section was ordered forward for perimeter defence. Along with the dark came the rain and the Japs. It was one long night of screaming and shooting at shadowy figures. When dawn came, and the attackers withdrew, we found that Lance corporal Potter had spent the night pinned at the muddy bottom of a slit trench under a dead Jap and we accused him of association with the enemy. He replied with the usual one finger salute and we sat in the rain waiting for whatever was to come next, be it food, fighting or withdrawal – but mostly hoping for food.
Ellis
The two incidents related below are typical of the supportive humor that this man possesses.
In May of 1940 our signal troop moved from Titherington Hall in Macclesfield to the village of Penkridge for more intensive training. The signal troop at that time consisted of, Second Lieutenant Eric Moreland, a pleasant young man, who, before being called up, had worked on the editorial staff of the Bolton Evening News. A communications occupation, qualities enough for him to be assigned as signals officer with Sgt. Bridge, a home town Territorial Army veteran who's weekly abode over the years had been the Drill Hall, the cotton mill and the local pub.
Also included were Cpl. Bert Rothwell, Cpl. Grummitt (who had worked for the local radio and electronics store) and Lance Corporal Kelly, another old TA veteran who had served a term in the army in India. Altogether a motley bunch of about twenty five of us made up the rest of the troop.
Arriving at Penkridge we were happy to find that we were to be billeted in some newly constructed cottages outside the village. Although we would still be sleeping on the floor, it would be drier and warmer than on the bare ground under canvas. The cottages were small two-story dwellings, each with its toilet located in a small building at the far end of the back garden, as was usual in rural districts dependent on septic tank disposal systems.
It was this arrangement that resulted in, ‘The Night of Terror’, starting with the classic phrase, "It was a dark and stormy night". Geoff Moss, heeding the call of nature, made his way across the inert bodies of his sleeping comrades - his missteps causing grunts of displeasure as he headed through the darkness to the top of the stairs.
Reluctant to make the journey to the outhouse, and being small in stature, he knelt on the ledge of the small window at the side of the stairwell and whizzed through the window.
Why not? At two and in the morning on a dark rainy night, who was to notice?
Sammy Ink, that's who! Sam was on sentry duty and seeking shelter from the wind and rain was in the narrow pathway between the houses, leaning up against the wail, propped up by his rifle, dozing lightly but still capable of becoming instantly alert at the first suspicious sound -- such as the now heavier downpour on his helmet.
Seeking the source, he made the mistake of looking up. He located the source and the fight was on as he pounded up the stairs. Geoff made a rush back into the dark bedroom, seeking the cover of his far corner, stepping on the bodies he had missed on his way out, evoking curses and threats which rose in volume since the abuse was repeated by Sam's boots as he chased after Geoff’s shadowy figure. It was bedlam, brought to a halt by the appearance of Sergeant Bridge, flashlight in hand, from the room down below. He threatened to put us all on a Charge,
Us for 'Disorderly Conduct', Sammy for 'Dereliction of Duty' and Geoff for --- ? He ran into a bit of a problem here, as peeing on a comrade was not specifically covered under Kings Rules and Regulations. Conduct Unbecoming an Officer and a Gentleman, did not apply since Geoff was not an officer and as recent events had proved, certainly no gentleman. In an effort to bring closure, and rescue what was left of the night's slumber, suggestions were put forward from the floor, ranging from Indecent Exposure, to Hazardous Conduct, to Reckless Discharge of a Weapon Causing Endangerment. Most certainly there was endangerment to Geoff by an irate Sam. Sgt. Bridge then left, taking the damp distraught Sam with him. Then peace reigned, until muffled laughter from one corner started a chain reaction, ended only by the thudding of a broom handle on the ceiling of the room below.
Whatever infraction of KRR's Sgt. Bridge finally settled on, it did not proceed any further than Lieutenant Moreland who allowed the charges to wither on the vine; being reluctant to have his command identified as a bunch of Rangi Tangs. Geoff appeased Sammy with a couple of free beers the next pay day and an offer to reverse roles whenever the opportunity presented itself.
I was rejoining my unit after a number of weeks in hospital due to a close encounter with a Jap mortar bomb. I was dropped off at "B" Echelon awaiting transfer to a squadron some miles further down the road to Imphal.
Following the victory at Kohima, the small "B" Echelon unit under the command of a pleasant Quartermaster Captain, having finally got to stay in one place for a few days, had created for themselves a little oasis of comfort.
The Captain in his travels had acquired a "Thunderbox, which is best described as a bottomless box with a derriere sized hole cut in the lid. This, when situated over latrine pit and surrounded by a privacy screen of sacking, made a little area wherein one could find a brief period of relief and respite from the daily conflict. Not the Waldorf Astoria by any means, but still a far cry from, a precarious perch on a rough spar suspended over an open pit. It was the Captain's ultimate comfort zone in a world gone mad.
It would be few days before I could rejoin the Squadron, so I was detailed to help the pioneer section, which consisted of Big Ernie List and a pick and shovel. We were to dig a grease pit for the cookhouse area, which was situated uphill and upwind from the QM's place of worship. To save digging in the sun baked mountain side, we scraped out a small channel to the latrine pit, down which we could dump kitchen slops. One problem with this disposal system was that the residue attracted millions of insects.
The Pioneer section quickly solved this with a daily sprinkle of petrol, which when ignited provided instant sanitation. On the day of the incident Big Ernie sloshed a little too much petrol down the groove. We watched as a small fire eased its way down, then under the screen into the latrine pit. When an open flame contacts an accumulation of methane gas, combustion can occur - and so it did!
There was a soft" whoomph" which I thought had blown up the Captain's thunder box. Fortunately for us, the thunderbox held firmly to the ground. But unfortunately for us, this was due to the weight of the Quartermaster sitting blissfully smoking his pipe, defecating, cogitating, pondering all the things that Q,M's are prone to ponder at such times.
Then, almost instantly, propelled by panic and petrol, he appeared from behind the screen, hastily hitching up his trousers, head craned upwards, anxiously searching the skies for Jap Zeros or incoming shells.
Finding nothing, his gaze fell on us and he shouted "WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT"?
Before I could respond with a reasonable excuse, Big Ernie, with a reply born of watching too many Lancashire comedians, said "Eeeh I, it musta been sumat you et".
This incident was never mentioned in dispatches, nor even rate a line or two in Bill Slim's epic "Defeat into Victory", but Big Ernie and I were appointed permanent latrine diggers for the remainder of the trip down the road to Imphal.
Ellis Mossley. Ellis enlisted at Bolton in Aug./39. His basic training was at Catterick, with advanced training at York. He served with the 6th. Btn. Loyal Lancs. and with the 2nd. Recce. Regt. of the 14th. Army. On arrival in India in April 1942, his unit was in camp just outside Poona. Alongside the Ahmadnagar road. Nearby, appearing like an oasis in the surrounding scrubland, was a palatial estate, with landscaped grounds. It had a large red tiled roof, a main residence, and even a large oval track for exercising horses. There were some security personnel around it's perimeter. At that time the only residence appeared to be a few older Hindu gentlemen strolling around the grounds in their white dhotis.Ellis asked the guard at the gate why such a harmless looking group would need to be under guard? The guard replied that they were not so much under house arrest, as under protection. Pointing out the oldest and smallest figure he said "That man might be the future leader of India, unless somebody shoots him before then". "What's his name " asked Ellis. "Mahatma Gandi" said the Guard.
Winter 1941. Our unit was stationed near Lambourn Downs, an area noted for it's numerous racehorse training farms. We were located in one such establishment, being billeted in the horse stalls that ringed the courtyard adjoining the main residence. The estate had it's own power plant of limited capacity and to ensure that the elite, who occupied the main residence, could enjoy sufficient light; as befitted their rank as officers and gentlemen; the connection to the stables was cut off at night. This left us commoners with whatever means of illumination we could scrape up. Usually the stub end of a candle, which at that time were in very short supply.
It is said that; All the darkness in the world is not sufficient to put out the light of one small candle. On the other hand the light of one small candle is hardly conducive to the orderly operation of an eight member cutthroat card game. It leads to too many mis-deals, false calls, and downright cheating. Therefore action was needed to put us on an even footing with the officers; light wise. We noticed that the power lines from the generator shed passed over the stables on it's way to the main building, and our ringleader, Ted Hughes, decided to light up our lives by tapping into them. So one dark moonless night a small group of us boosted Ted , equipped with copper hooks and connecting wire, up the pole. We lurked in conspiratorial silence as he disappeared up into the darkness.
Suddenly; high up in the inky heavens; a brilliant flash of light silhouetted Ted like the Archangel over the watching shepherds at Bethlehem, and like them, we were sore afraid. I can only presume that at that moment he had a vision; for his next words from somewhere ten feet behind us were 'Good God Almighty'.
The little generator, struggling to absorb such a shock to its system, feebly wavered up and down a few times then perished . As we skulked hastily back to our horse stalls I could see the occasional flare of a match through the windows of the now dark main house.
We had achieved parity with the officers.
One of the comforts provided for our mental and spiritual well being, was the mobile cinema which consisted of a truck, an NCO, a couple of OR’s, and of course a projector and screen.
When we were lucky enough to be back behind lines and in a rest area, the movie unit would arrive and set up shop by searching out a clearing and erecting a portable screen. Then, when darkness fell, with the audience squatting on the ground and the projector set up behind, on the deck of the truck, they presented whatever movie they had been able to scrounge.
These were not your first run blockbusters by any means, but after weeks of nothing but bullets, bugs, and bush, we treated them as such. More so, since the visits by the unit were few and far between. Having only one projector required a long pause between reels. Sometimes, due to the lack of light in the 'projection room', the wrong reel would be shown. This resulted in seeing the victims killed in the first scenes, being suddenly alive again, or great confusion as to who the strange new characters were, who had put in an appearance.
Sometimes the only indication that the movie was over was when King George appeared with the playing of the National Anthem. At this display we were all compelled to spring to attention, for to do otherwise was to display contempt. Then, some Sergeant, anxious to assert his authority, would bear down and accuse you of insubordination. Although we all knew that his Majesty was not completely aware of any disrespect being shown in this far-flung corner of his empire; nor that he could care less.
It was this adherence to protocol, coupled with the mismanagement of reels that caused us to leap to our feet three times during the showing of "Reveille with Beverley". This was audience participation of the worst kind. Future movies would never be as memorable.