Burma Star Association - B.C. Chapter
The naval authorities don’t let the Luling stay long in Singapore after our return from Bangkok. We’re ordered to Surabaya, Java, with supplies for the naval task force. The assassination of Brigadier Mallaby in Surabaya has led to the occupation of the city, and the deployment of Gurkha troops along a thirty mile perimeter around it. It is early January, 1946, and the Luling is in the bay just outside the harbour.
The heavy crack of gunfire echoes across the bay where we are anchored. Long plumes of smoke wreath the destroyer’s for’ard guns. She fires another salvo at the beach, and smoke again erupts from the recoiling barrels of her heavy guns. The blast follows an instant later, and thuds against our ears because she’s less than half a mile away.
Christ,” I say to Jim as we stand on the bridge watching the action. “I thought the bloody war was over. Now look at this lot.”
"Remember the refugee ships in Bangkok, Gord?” he says. “They were from ports like this. Java was a Dutch colony before the war. Now we’re helping them try and get it back. The destroyer’s firing at the Indonesian Liberation Army.”
I nod my head. “Yes, I remember them. Mainly Dutch women and children on the ships coming into the anchorage. I wonder where they ended up?”
Jim shrugs his shoulders, “In a refugee camp somewhere, I guess. They were probably sent back to Holland. A lot of them have been here for several generations. There’s not much future for them in Java if the Indonesians have any say in the matter.”
I’m silent a moment, groping for words. “You know, it’s funny how the odd one stands out, isn’t it. There was a young woman on board one of the ships. She was beautiful. I couldn’t help feeling sorry for her. It doesn’t do to stand out in a crowd. It draws attention to you.” My voice tails off as I mutter, “The Japanese did such awful things.”
We have a grandstand view as we watch the sleek, powerful looking naval vessel; it passes close to us as it sails through the anchorage. Now shells continue to pound the village. The beach is deserted; there is no sign of life. I scan the shoreline with the binoculars. Exploding shells hurl thatched roofs into the air and flatten the white-washed adobe huts and houses. There is no return fire. I doubt if there is anybody left alive in the smoking ruins. The destroyer has carried out its support role and retires as quietly and quickly as it came.
* *
Jim’s with me as the naval bus hurtles down the tree-lined road en route to downtown Surabaya. The road from the docks is still damaged from the fighting, and we hang on to our seats as the bus bumps over potholes and detours. There’s a bang and clatter as the vehicle swerves violently; the force deposits us on the floor. The driver’s cursing. “Goddamned fucking pot hole,” he swears as he brings the bus back onto the road. We both laugh as we untangle ourselves. The bus seems okay; it’s still going, somewhat slower, but it’s going.
“Think we’ll get there, at least in one piece?” I gasp, recovering my breath.
“Many more holes like that one, and we’ll break a bloody axle,” Jim replies, then nods towards a little row of Cape Dutch houses. “I bet those old houses could tell a tale.” The once picturesque villas are ruined, the gardens overgrown and untended. Large holes gape in the walls, and roofs tilt at crazy angles. They stand in mute testimony to the fierceness of past fighting. “I wonder what happened to the people in them,” he adds.
“Well, as you said before, probably in refugee camps, or dead, poor bastards.” I stretch my legs out in front of me, and resettle my body in the seat before continuing. “The end of the war didn’t solve their problems, did it?. Now they’re caught in the fighting between the Indonesian Liberation Army and the returning Dutch forces. They can’t win.”
The city is like an armed camp; the military and checkpoints are everywhere. We’re stopped from entering certain streets by military police with the curt explanation: Sorry, sir, there’s fighting going on up there.
It’s hot and humid in Surabaya; after all, it is January and we’re just south of the equator. My khaki shirt is damp with sweat, and so is Jim’s. We’ve spotted a small sidewalk cafe on one of the main streets. It’s pleasant sitting here with a cold beer under the shade of a canopy. I feel revitalized. Jim’s removed his cap, leaving a red mark round his forehead.
Too bloody hot and humid,” he says, mopping his brow. “God, it’s nice to sit down.”
I yawn and stretch back, then slouch down in the chair. “Yeah, the trouble with towns is they’re too closed in. Any breeze is trapped by the buildings. It’s not like this in the countryside.”
He laughs as he takes a cigarette out of a pack in his pocket, and lights it. “You’d be in a bloody fine mess out in the countryside here, wouldn’t you! The bloody Indonesians would have you for breakfast.”
“Hmmm, that’s true,” I say sleepily, because I must admit I’m tired, too. I shake myself and sit upright. “Well, what d’you think of Surabaya? Bit different to Bangkok isn’t it?”
“Gotta give it a chance. We haven’t seen the night life here yet, now have we. There’s probably a lot of little dives and pubs in the docks and here downtown. The problem is we’re not going to be here more than two or three weeks before returning to Singapore. The cargo’s half unloaded already.”
He sits back, a cigarette in his mouth and admires the passing scenery. “See that young piece passing by. Now I could go for that.” His deep set eyes twinkle in amusement as he glances at me, then back at the form of the young Indonesian woman walking away from us.
“Nice bit of stuff, aye, Gord? Do you like that?” he says.
I laugh, because I know the Second Mate’s reputation. Maybe, my imagination is not so vivid as Jim’s, but she is nice. I like the swing of her hips and the way she carries herself. Besides she’s wearing a light, white summer frock with black patterns on it. It goes with her hair and light brown complexion. “Yes,” I say, “I like her hair.”
Jim chokes on his beer. “F***ing liar,” he says. “I saw you admiring her rear end. That dress is so thin you can see the outline of her panties beneath it.” He pauses a moment and continues, “Nice legs, too. You see, Gord, if you met her at one of the local night clubs you’d see Surabaya in a different light, like Bangkok, now wouldn’t you?”
“Yes,” I say with a grin, “you’re probably right. However, there’s not much chance of that if we’re only here a short time. Bangkok was different, you must admit. This is just a large straggling port on the shores of a bay with hills in the background. The town is a town, bricks and mortar. Bangkok was quaint, a city of canals and the river running through it to the sea. With a war going on here, it’s probably unfair to compare the two cities.”
We leave the cafe a little later, and head back to the ship. The naval bus is waiting at its terminal point, and moves off with us aboard at its scheduled time. Jim is right, our stay is short, about three weeks in all. February sees the Luling heading out of the harbour and setting a course for our home base in Singapore.
Excerpt from Dangerous Waters: Tales of the Sea. (2008)
* * *
In 1986-87, I took leave of absence from Communications Canada in Vancouver, and took a contract position with the Bukit-Aswan project, in Indonesia, as part of the CNCP team. I was an Electronics Instructor and developed courses for their Training School in Bandung, situated in West Java..Bandung is the capital of Java, and is about 180 miles southeast of Jakarta. The city is situated on a plateau 768 meters above sea level with a cool climate throughout the year. Although it has a population of over two million the pace of city life is slower than in Jakarta.
While I was living in Bandung, the watchtowers of the old jail were restored. Sukamiskin Prison was located to the east of Bandung, During the Japanese occupation Sukamiskin was a prison for Dutch civil servants, until February 1944. When Gordon was working in the Pacific Region headquarters of Communications Canada in Vancouver, one of his co-workers had been imprisoned there as a child along with his mother.The watchtower and guard post are all that remains of the Prisoner of War camp used in 1940-44.
Watchtower of jail |
Another view of watchtower |
Restored watchtower, 1987 |
Restored guardhouse, 1987 |
Kuburan Cikadut is a large Chinese Cemetery in the hills overlooking Bandung. Some of the tombs are spectacular and are said to be very expensive.
Chinese cemetery, Bandung |
Tomb in Chinese cemetery |
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View of tombs |
Another tomb |
Indonesia has very large expanses of forests and jungles. The highland forest park of Juanda is not far from the city of Bandung. Here you can see a number of caves and tunnels that were dug out by the Japanese durng the occupation of Indonesia during World War II. These tunnels are located in a relatively remote part of the park. Originally cut by the Dutch to carry water for a power station, in World War Two the Japanese used these caves to store ammunition.
Entrance to tunnel |
Inside the tunnel |
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The volcano, Gunung Tangkuban Perahu, is not far from the tunnels. The volcano resembles an overturned boat. Many visitors climb the volcano, and descend into the 12 craters.
Market stalls on the Crater's Rim |
View of Crater |
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Steam Risng from Lava Pool |
On the Crater's floor |
