Brian Foster got his call up papers on his 18th birthday. He trained as a RADAR mechanic in the RAF and was sent to the Far East during WWII. To mark the anniversary of VJ Day, he talks about his experiences of serving in the ‘forgotten war’: from sleeping underground to avoid snipers to saving lives with his navigation equipment.
“Quite literally on my 18th birthday I received my call-up papers; a letter from the King telling me that my country needed me and that I was to report to a depot at St John’s Wood in London on 19 December 1943 to be received into the Royal Air Force as an air-crew trainee.
“My ambition was to become a Spitfire pilot, but while we were still in the introductory stage it was made clear to us that there were no shortage of pilots and we would instead be trained for other airborne duties, mainly as air gunners. This was not at all to my liking, I sought to re-muster to an alternative ground job and my request was granted.
“As I was already a trainee accountant it seemed that the pay corps would be most suitable but I wanted to contribute more positively to the war effort and asked if I could be involved in radar – the exciting new discovery that was to play such a significant part in our eventual victory.
“As soon as I qualified as a Radar Mechanic (Air) I was told that, as the war in Europe was nearing its climax, I would be of more use in the Far East. So I was duly shipped out to India.
“When I left the UK the talk of the war out there was all about the Japanese advance in Burma to the very gateway to India – and of the fierce fighting at Imphal. On arrival in Bombay we were all allocated to various centres and I was horrified to hear that Imphal was to be mine.
“Of course, the war had moved on in the meantime; the Japanese had been beaten there and were now on the threshold of being beaten back to Rangoon and beyond. But I thought I was being thrown to the wolves!
© Brian Foster
“Letters home were censored during the war: we had to hand them in unsealed and an officer would read through them to ensure we were not giving away any secrets. It was a requirement that you indicated on the reverse of the envelope the language in which they were written. On one occasion, beside my note ‘Written in English’ the censor had written ‘That’s what you think!’
“Burma was not as bad as I feared. A three-day train journey across India was followed by a day or two in Calcutta where we saw at first-hand the effects of communal strife: bodies floating down the Hooghly river, often with vultures feeding. Then followed the rest of the journey to Assam, across the Brahmaputra River by ferry, then by truck over precipitous mountain roads to Imphal.
“In a much earlier phase of the war it had been realised that dropping supplies to the French Resistance was somewhat haphazard: if the drop was made in daylight, the Germans were as likely as the French to obtain the goods and in any case would know the location of the Resistance: if it was made in darkness there was a good chance that no-one would find it. So [the Air Ministry] developed ‘my’ radar, the Rebecca/Eureka system. This was a ground transmitter which sent signals that could be received on a small television screen by the supplying aircraft which could then home in on the signal and drop the supplies with great accuracy.
“Obviously, this was of enormous significance in the Burma campaign as the whole concept there was of infiltrating behind the enemy lines, setting up strong positions which had to be supplied by air, and then launching both frontal and rear attacks on the Japanese.
© IWM NA 18600.
“During the Battle of Meiktila we were told that the Eureka equipment held by a unit operating behind enemy lines at Meiktila had broken down and needed urgent repairs. It fell to me to service it and I was flown down in a small aircraft to join this unit deep in the jungle.
“On landing we were met by a young officer in a Jeep, my luggage and equipment was unloaded in seconds, and the little aircraft immediately took off again. When I asked where we were in relation to the Japanese the officer turned through 360°, indicating that they were all around us, and urged me to get moving fast!
“We entered the ‘box’, as the fortified area at Meiktila was known, and I was taken to a tent which was to be my home for the next few days. It appeared to have four open graves in it and when I expressed my puzzlement it was explained to me that it was necessary to sleep below ground because we would constantly be under attack by snipers, and you were only safe if you were below ground level.
“The box was quite large – perhaps a mile square – and contained trees and other shrubbery as well as open fields. It was quite common for Japanese snipers to infiltrate in the night, hide up in various vantage points, and then pick off a few of our troops the next morning. These must have been [some of] the original Japanese suicide missions, for there was no escape for them once they were discovered. I encountered this once when queuing up for breakfast; the sniper was identified as hiding in a tree a few hundred yards away, and a flame thrower made short work of him.
“As the army moved down towards Rangoon we followed on in comparative safety – Monywa, Meiktila, Pegu – though there was always the chance that we would come across a few isolated enemy who had been left behind when their comrades retreated. We made camp at various places on the way.
“On one occasion there were about six of us in a large, canvas covered lorry and we pulled into a small clearing for the night. We all wanted to sleep in the back of the lorry but it seemed a bit crowded to me so I said I would sleep in the driver’s cab. During the night something slithered in through the open window and I leapt out in alarm, waking every one up because a huge snake had got into the cab. In the morning we gingerly opened the door – only to find that my snake was just a branch that had fallen from an overhanging tree!
© IWM SE 3287
“I was with the RAF’s 181 Signals Wing, South East Asia Air Forces when the war in Europe ended. It meant nothing much to us, but we did realise that thousands of families all over the United Kingdom would no longer spend sleepless nights wondering about their loved ones. Our only celebration was a victory parade through Rangoon on 15 June 1945. Then we prepared for the invasion of Malaya, and sailed towards the end of July 1945 in a huge invasion fleet collected from Burma, India and Ceylon.
“On August 6 we heard of a mighty explosion at Hiroshima but it didn’t mean much to us. Three days later another huge explosion shook Nagasaki and by now it was obvious that we had a devastating new weapon. Then what really registered with us was the news of the Japanese surrender on 14 August.
“There was no point in our turning back, so we continued to Singapore which we reached in mid-September. There was much excitement, and I made a fool of myself by diving for cover when the ‘shooting’ started – not realising it was fireworks to celebrate the Chinese New Year!
“Most of us imagined that this was the end of the war for us but it was not to be. The Dutch East Indies (now Indonesia) had been promised a degree of self-government by the Japanese, and the Indonesians were not going to be put off by a little detail like Japan not winning the war. There was a bloody insurrection and British forces were sent to help the Dutch put it down.
“When the situation looked like getting out of hand the Japanese POWs were persuaded that it was the wish of their Emperor that they should assist the British forces, and this they accepted without hesitation. A small group was temporarily issued with rifles and small arms and assisted our troops and things were under control again. I had several long conversations with ‘Harry’, our Japanese interpreter, and found him to be (almost) a normal family man, happy to show me photos of his wife and family back home.
“Perhaps my most rewarding incident came in Medan, Sumatra, sometime later. A pilot came into the mess one evening and yelled “Where’s the Radar King?” Assuming that I had made some terrible mistake I rose nervously to my feet and he came over to me – to punch me on the nose I assumed – and sure enough his arm rose… but only to shake my hand. “Very pleased to know you”, he said. “I have to thank you for saving my life and, of course, the lives of the whole crew and passengers of the aircraft.”
“It transpired that he had run into very bad weather soon after taking off and decided to turn back. By that time visibility was down to nil and, without the help of our navigation equipment, he would never have found Medan again.
“It was in also Sumatra that I had one of my most terrifying experiences of the whole war. A group of us were travelling in the back of a lorry when we came to a level crossing with its gates closed – despite there being no trains running. We soon found out why when we came under fire from the signal box. We scrambled out of the lorry and took shelter as best we could until the army arrived and took control. Sadly our driver was killed, having survived the war proper.
“Naturally we were all anxious to get home and be de-mobbed, and in due course I made my way back to blighty. I arrived home in November 1947. The weather had become colder and colder as we neared home and I spent several months getting used to both the English weather and the discipline expected of peace-time RAF personnel – that was almost the hardest part of the war!
“Eventually my turn came and I was kitted out in civilian clothes, given a rail pass and off I went. That was March 1948 – and here I am still.”
Main image: The Battle of Imphal-Kohima March – July 1944: British soldiers search through long grass for Japanese snipers while covered by a Bren gun team. © IWM IND 3479
© Brian Foster
Brian Foster got his call up papers on his 18th birthday. He trained as a RADAR mechanic in the RAF and was sent to the Far East during WWII. To mark the anniversary of VJ Day, he talks about his experiences of serving in the ‘forgotten war’: from sleeping underground to avoid snipers to saving lives with his navigation equipment.
“Quite literally on my 18th birthday I received my call-up papers; a letter from the King telling me that my country needed me and that I was to report to a depot at St John’s Wood in London on 19 December 1943 to be received into the Royal Air Force as an air-crew trainee.
“My ambition was to become a Spitfire pilot, but while we were still in the introductory stage it was made clear to us that there were no shortage of pilots and we would instead be trained for other airborne duties, mainly as air gunners. This was not at all to my liking, I sought to re-muster to an alternative ground job and my request was granted.
“As I was already a trainee accountant it seemed that the pay corps would be most suitable but I wanted to contribute more positively to the war effort and asked if I could be involved in radar – the exciting new discovery that was to play such a significant part in our eventual victory.
“As soon as I qualified as a Radar Mechanic (Air) I was told that, as the war in Europe was nearing its climax, I would be of more use in the Far East. So I was duly shipped out to India.
“When I left the UK the talk of the war out there was all about the Japanese advance in Burma to the very gateway to India – and of the fierce fighting at Imphal. On arrival in Bombay we were all allocated to various centres and I was horrified to hear that Imphal was to be mine.
“Of course, the war had moved on in the meantime; the Japanese had been beaten there and were now on the threshold of being beaten back to Rangoon and beyond. But I thought I was being thrown to the wolves!
© Brian Foster
“Letters home were censored during the war: we had to hand them in unsealed and an officer would read through them to ensure we were not giving away any secrets. It was a requirement that you indicated on the reverse of the envelope the language in which they were written. On one occasion, beside my note ‘Written in English’ the censor had written ‘That’s what you think!’
“Burma was not as bad as I feared. A three-day train journey across India was followed by a day or two in Calcutta where we saw at first-hand the effects of communal strife: bodies floating down the Hooghly river, often with vultures feeding. Then followed the rest of the journey to Assam, across the Brahmaputra River by ferry, then by truck over precipitous mountain roads to Imphal.
“In a much earlier phase of the war it had been realised that dropping supplies to the French Resistance was somewhat haphazard: if the drop was made in daylight, the Germans were as likely as the French to obtain the goods and in any case would know the location of the Resistance: if it was made in darkness there was a good chance that no-one would find it. So [the Air Ministry] developed ‘my’ radar, the Rebecca/Eureka system. This was a ground transmitter which sent signals that could be received on a small television screen by the supplying aircraft which could then home in on the signal and drop the supplies with great accuracy.
“Obviously, this was of enormous significance in the Burma campaign as the whole concept there was of infiltrating behind the enemy lines, setting up strong positions which had to be supplied by air, and then launching both frontal and rear attacks on the Japanese.
“In a much earlier phase of the war it had been realised that dropping supplies to the French Resistance was somewhat haphazard: if the drop was made in daylight, the Germans were as likely as the French to obtain the goods and in any case would know the location of the Resistance: if it was made in darkness there was a good chance that no-one would find it. So [the Air Ministry] developed ‘my’ radar, the Rebecca/Eureka system. This was a ground transmitter which sent signals that could be received on a small television screen by the supplying aircraft which could then home in on the signal and drop the supplies with great accuracy.
“Obviously, this was of enormous significance in the Burma campaign as the whole concept there was of infiltrating behind the enemy lines, setting up strong positions which had to be supplied by air, and then launching both frontal and rear attacks on the Japanese.
© IWM NA 18600.
“During the Battle of Meiktila we were told that the Eureka equipment held by a unit operating behind enemy lines at Meiktila had broken down and needed urgent repairs. It fell to me to service it and I was flown down in a small aircraft to join this unit deep in the jungle.
“On landing we were met by a young officer in a Jeep, my luggage and equipment was unloaded in seconds, and the little aircraft immediately took off again. When I asked where we were in relation to the Japanese the officer turned through 360°, indicating that they were all around us, and urged me to get moving fast!
“We entered the ‘box’, as the fortified area at Meiktila was known, and I was taken to a tent which was to be my home for the next few days. It appeared to have four open graves in it and when I expressed my puzzlement it was explained to me that it was necessary to sleep below ground because we would constantly be under attack by snipers, and you were only safe if you were below ground level.
“The box was quite large – perhaps a mile square – and contained trees and other shrubbery as well as open fields. It was quite common for Japanese snipers to infiltrate in the night, hide up in various vantage points, and then pick off a few of our troops the next morning. These must have been [some of] the original Japanese suicide missions, for there was no escape for them once they were discovered. I encountered this once when queuing up for breakfast; the sniper was identified as hiding in a tree a few hundred yards away, and a flame thrower made short work of him.
“As the army moved down towards Rangoon we followed on in comparative safety – Monywa, Meiktila, Pegu – though there was always the chance that we would come across a few isolated enemy who had been left behind when their comrades retreated. We made camp at various places on the way.
“On one occasion there were about six of us in a large, canvas covered lorry and we pulled into a small clearing for the night. We all wanted to sleep in the back of the lorry but it seemed a bit crowded to me so I said I would sleep in the driver’s cab. During the night something slithered in through the open window and I leapt out in alarm, waking every one up because a huge snake had got into the cab. In the morning we gingerly opened the door – only to find that my snake was just a branch that had fallen from an overhanging tree!
© IWM SE 3287
“I was with the RAF’s 181 Signals Wing, South East Asia Air Forces when the war in Europe ended. It meant nothing much to us, but we did realise that thousands of families all over the United Kingdom would no longer spend sleepless nights wondering about their loved ones. Our only celebration was a victory parade through Rangoon on 15 June 1945. Then we prepared for the invasion of Malaya, and sailed towards the end of July 1945 in a huge invasion fleet collected from Burma, India and Ceylon.
“On August 6 we heard of a mighty explosion at Hiroshima but it didn’t mean much to us. Three days later another huge explosion shook Nagasaki and by now it was obvious that we had a devastating new weapon. Then what really registered with us was the news of the Japanese surrender on 14 August.
“There was no point in our turning back, so we continued to Singapore which we reached in mid-September. There was much excitement, and I made a fool of myself by diving for cover when the ‘shooting’ started – not realising it was fireworks to celebrate the Chinese New Year!
“Most of us imagined that this was the end of the war for us but it was not to be. The Dutch East Indies (now Indonesia) had been promised a degree of self-government by the Japanese, and the Indonesians were not going to be put off by a little detail like Japan not winning the war. There was a bloody insurrection and British forces were sent to help the Dutch put it down.
“When the situation looked like getting out of hand the Japanese POWs were persuaded that it was the wish of their Emperor that they should assist the British forces, and this they accepted without hesitation. A small group was temporarily issued with rifles and small arms and assisted our troops and things were under control again. I had several long conversations with ‘Harry’, our Japanese interpreter, and found him to be (almost) a normal family man, happy to show me photos of his wife and family back home.
“Perhaps my most rewarding incident came in Medan, Sumatra, sometime later. A pilot came into the mess one evening and yelled “Where’s the Radar King?” Assuming that I had made some terrible mistake I rose nervously to my feet and he came over to me – to punch me on the nose I assumed – and sure enough his arm rose… but only to shake my hand. “Very pleased to know you”, he said. “I have to thank you for saving my life and, of course, the lives of the whole crew and passengers of the aircraft.”
“It transpired that he had run into very bad weather soon after taking off and decided to turn back. By that time visibility was down to nil and, without the help of our navigation equipment, he would never have found Medan again.
© Brian Foster
“Naturally we were all anxious to get home and be de-mobbed, and in due course I made my way back to blighty. I arrived home in November 1947. The weather had become colder and colder as we neared home and I spent several months getting used to both the English weather and the discipline expected of peace-time RAF personnel – that was almost the hardest part of the war!
“Eventually my turn came and I was kitted out in civilian clothes, given a rail pass and off I went. That was March 1948.”
Main image: The Battle of Imphal-Kohima March – July 1944: British soldiers search through long grass for Japanese snipers while covered by a Bren gun team. © IWM IND 3479
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