In the previous episode of his long missionary journey, he had barely caught his breath after the trouble of the rebellion before Brunei was hit by the worst floods anyone could remember. Still, he did what he had always done: pulled on his boots, went out among the parishioners, and tried to bring a bit of comfort where the water, the hunger, and the worry had made ordinary life feel impossible. It was a grim, muddy stretch of the road, but for him it was simply another part of the calling.
There were many heroes in the Rebellion. The rebels had tried to take over the Shell hospital, but the redoubtable Matron, Kitty MacPherson from Armadale in Sutherland, was not standing for any nonsense, just as she would not allow any doctor to get ideas above his station. She stood at the door, with arms folded and a steely glint, told them to go away and not come back, especially them with their muddy boots.
It was a great relief to get back to ordinary life again- to hear the tales of heroism and especially the humour that people managed to find in the situation of the ordinary next-door Malay neighbour strutting around in uniform and gun. But things were not the same again; we had an army in our midst.
The senior army chaplain paid us a visit- he who had received less than a hero’s welcome from Tom Delaney the parish priest in Brunei Town. We gave him a more civilised Mill Hill one. He asked me to show him round the various billets of the soldiers, mostly Shell buildings. His approach was simple. “Hey, any RC men here? I have come to hear your confessions. Come along now.” And it worked. They came forward to be shriven. I was amazed. I have thought about this many times in connection with the parable of the feast- the servant being sent to “compel” them to come in.
He held the rank of colonel; no doubt this makes his path smooth. He tried this direct approach with Leo. He wanted me to go into the jungle with the troops as their chaplain. I was tingling with excitement. Leo’s famous expression to signify complete and utter disagreement was “Over my dead body!” The chaplain recognising an equal when he saw one dropped the subject. Still it was nice to know that these two clerics, each eminent in his own sphere, acknowledged my value to society.
Surprisingly, the Queen’s Own Highlanders, a recent amalgamation of the Seaforths and the Cameron Highlanders, contained a lot of men from the West of Scotland. We saw this in the numbers who came to mass the first Sunday, in full war kit, helmets and guns clattering on our parquet floor. No matter what we might think, their caution told us that peace had not yet returned to the State.
After mass Leo invited them for a cup of tea. Seria is always hot- and getting hotter. I nudged him to see if we could provide our liberators with a more fitting refreshment. He brought out some cans of beer, which, if I might say so, went down well! The word must have got round. We had many more the following Sunday. Leo, the most kind of hosts, began to wilt under this strain on his reputation. His honour was saved when the army imposed full alerts over the weekends leading to Christmas. It was reckoned that the rebels would chose that time if they wished to make a counter-attack. Later in Vietnam the Americans were caught of-guard during the Lunar New Year celebrations in the so-called Tet Ofensive.
This battalion had only recently arrived in the Far East and were just settling into their barracks in Malacca when they were called to Brunei. They did not know the people nor the local situation. One day they set up a road-block near the mission, checking cars and generally looking as soldiers do when called on to deal with civilians. I had already become acquainted with some of them. I spotted this big lad from my home town. I asked him what was happening. He told me they were checking for rebels. I explained to him that the harassed car drivers with kids in the back were Chinese, who had no part whatsoever in the Rebellion but that the men in sarongs quietly wheeling their bicycles through the road blocks were Malays and more worthy of their scrutiny. He told me that he did not know the difference. So it always is. It seems that the Chinese always have the dice loaded against them.
Now with a semblance of peace and quiet, I decided to pay a visit to my colleagues in Miri to hear their stories and persuade them to listen to mine. I organised a lift on a jeep but to my surprise we were stopped by the army at the Belait River and told to return. It is true that before us lay 25 miles of thick jungle and anything could have happened. I returned to the mission crest-fallen. Leo quoted “the best-laid schemes of mice and men”. I am writing this on 25th January. But I was not put of so easily. I rode over to the airstrip and asked if there was any chance of a plane to Miri. A casual question and a casual answer. We were living in the good times-the army was here and everything was possible. “Yes”, they told me. “There is one going of shortly. Hurry and you will get it!” Just like that. I clambered into this tiny Auster behind the pilot in a bucket seat. We took of unsteadily but soon we were soaring over the oil-field. It was a wonderful experience flying as the pioneers (well not quite!) did. All too soon we were ready to land. The army pilot as he rose to get out had this huge revolver strapped to his leg. It must have been the heaviest piece of equipment in the whole plane.
The Miri fathers greeted me respectfully. I had been there. All had been quiet there apart from all the frightening rumours. I basked in the glory of the hour. At the end of that month, the army put on a great show of strength and marched through the bazaar behind their pipers. It was a most re-assuring sight for us and at the same time an intimidating one for any rebels still around. It was by nature of a farewell for from that time the various units began to disappear from the streets. The Highlanders were replaced with the Yorkshire Light Infantry, and they by the Green Jackets. The latter are memorable for their high proportion of Catholic officers. Wherever they were based, they would request mass and the sacraments. In this way I came to know Major David Mostyn. As a child, I had a voracious appetite for reading-anything, even the Catholic press. In those the Archbishop of Cardiff was very high profile. I asked David was he related. It was his great-uncle… and did I know him? I hid my mortification. Considering that this prelate had blessed an airship before its flight to the US, I could hardly be an exact contemporary. Years later I spotted in the Daily Telegraph that our David was now Sir David Mostyn, Adjutant- General to the Army. I suppose in the profession of arms nothing helps promotion more than the actual involvement in war. According to official army sources, the Brunei Rebellion was the most successful of all its post-World War II campaigns.
The colonel of the Green Jackets was himself a Catholic from Northumberland, as was Lieutenant- General Festing, the colonel-in-chief of the regiment. He freely acknowledged the connection. We Catholics see Free-Masonry everywhere, but we are secretly pleased when we hear of one Catholic being in a position to help another. According to army talk, the general never made any decisions without consulting his chaplain Father Bob Woods who hailed from the tiny village of Longriggend just outside Airdrie. Like myself, Bob was caught up in the vast Higgins connection, my mother being one.
These officers were practising Catholics and genuinely cared for the spiritual welfare of their men. They were in great contrast to the new generation I met in the 80s. These were punctilious in attending the ecumenical service which I held regularly in the camp but would never come to mass in our church. I suppose they were reflecting the attitudes and values of their contemporaries back home. The army makes heavy demands on domestic life; a marriage has to be strong to endure. Remarkably I was the chaplain for all denominations, although there was an Anglican priest in Seria. But he was Chinese.
We civilians tend to see the army either as blundering into the Valley of Death or just clowning around like Dad’s Army. We tended to the latter view when we heard that Tom Delaney had been handsomely remunerated for his services to the army during the Rebellion. He was the one who got his word in first when the chaplain came looking for a bed. The Lord uses our human dilemma to highlight the old truths-“and the last shall be first”. But we felt this was stretching things too far.
We had lived in exciting days. God had protected us all. It was a great experience for us. No matter what the history books of Brunei tell us, the British battalion are still there to remind us of “The rebellion that never was”.
