In the previous episode, the missionary found himself chasing small comforts as though they could mend the wider fear, fretting over the lack of an organist for Christmas while soldiers laughed and played on, oblivious to his need. Yet the effort came to nothing, as the army’s grip tightened and even Midnight Mass fell silent. Cut off and restless, he slipped out one dark night, drawn by worry for the sisters, only to find fear waiting in every shadow and kindness behind the convent door. By morning, with nerves frayed and judgement wavering, he stepped back into the road—straight into the hands of a watchful stranger—realising too late that in such times, even the smallest decision could carry him further from safety than the rebellion ever had.
Just opposite our school, a young man skidded to a halt on his motor-bicycle. Dressed in a lovely green uniform, with gold braid and shoulder flash, TNK, which stood for Tentera Nasional Kalimantan, (the Kalimantan National Army) this being the Indonesian word for Borneo, Abdul Hassan grinned out at me. He was the star winger of our great school team which I had “guested” for a few times. Now he was Lieutenant Hassan. “Father, how are you? Are you in any kind of trouble?” Malays are infinitely kind and courteous. I admitted vaguely to a certain restriction of movement. He turned from me and slapped my guard, with words to the effect that I was his school principal, that I was a Father, that I was a man of peace, not like the Sultan. In the way that I have often seen among the Malays, he just as quickly switched on a beautiful smile. In a floundering effort at making conversation I asked him was he playing football that afternoon. “Sorry, Father,” he grinned, “I have other things to do.” He conducted me inside the school compound and bid goodbye.
I never saw him again. Many of these people made their escape afterwards to the neighbouring territories; if they were captured they were kept locked up for differing periods. Some were still in prison until the time that Nelson Mandela was released from captivity in South Africa. In fact, their release was conditioned by the bad publicity that would have come the way of Brunei for having the longest-serving political prisoners. Back home I recounted my adventures to Leo to the accompaniment of much head-shaking. Now he had proof positive that I was mad. Truth to tell, I was glad that I had been able to break the boredom of the house which had begun to get to me -me who had never experienced a dull moment since I set foot in Borneo.
Radio Australia still gave out increasingly optimistic reports about the rebels being mopped up and that everything was slowly coming back to normal. In real terms, this turned out to be, that the oil-field was secure. It was simply a matter of getting priorities right! Next morning, it was quite clear that the sentries had gone from opposite the house, but there was still no movement from the surrounding houses nor even the slightest far-of sound of vehicles. The day following I was in the garden and to my utter amazement there was a single file of British soldiers, Sten guns cradled in their arms, moving very cautiously, peering round every corner. Our liberators! But I was not about to do anything foolish. The soldiers, brave men though they were, looked decidedly nervous. I let them be and went inside to tell the good news. At about mid-day, there was this ear-splitting roar. I cannot describe it. It just paralysed all sensation and feeling. It was a flight of Hawker Hunters “diving-bombing” the town, with loud-speakers calling on the rebels to give up. If I had been one, I would not have hesitated. It was a tremendous exhibition of power. One shudders to think of the situation if these planes had been dropping bombs instead.
Soon the place became inhabited again; little groups began to gather and talk of the past week. It seems that the British had now formed three sides of a square to round up the rebels leaving the fourth side opening into the jungle, which is very thick and would not offer a refuge. After all that we had gone through, it was scarcely comforting to hear that we were now in the line of the rebels’ retreat. In fact, they melted away and found their own way out. This part of the Army’s plan was not a success. Still we all rejoiced that the Brunei Rebellion had fizzled out.
The sequence of events had gone like this. Whitehall had consistently ignored all the danger signs, but when it finally came alive (the great British week-end had just begun, Friday 6th December) the thought of Shell oil being filched from under their nose concentrated their minds. They reacted quickly. The Queen’s Own Highlanders stationed in Malacca were loaded on to a destroyer at Singapore and by Saturday afternoon, they were on their way to Brunei. A Gurkha battalion was at the same time despatched from their base in Hong Kong. The British battalion landed at the Shell Golf Course and made their way with little opposition to capture the Shell landing strip at Anduki just up the road from the mission. And we were oblivious to all the excitement going on around us. The whole military operation is regarded as a classic by army historians.
The rebels had brow-beaten the civilian population and had softened up the police but confronted by a disciplined force, albeit quite small, they collapsed. It was different for the Gurkhas who had the long journey from Brunei Town to make and through the most hostile of all the tribes, namely the Kedayan. These are the black magic people, the most aggressive even today in religion and politics, the descendants of the feared Brunei pirates. They formed the backbone of any group that put up a fight. The Gurkhas suffered several casualties but inflicted much damage.
In Brunei Town the capital, the mob had surrounded the police station where the Commissioner of Police had his headquarters. He came out, waving his swagger cane and told them that they were behaving like small children. They accepted the rebuke and went home, presumably to behave like adults. That was more or less all the action there. Tom Delaney the parish priest was a very reserved person who did not welcome visitors, with the excuse that he did not know they were coming, that the cook was not prepared for them and that he had no suitable accommodation. His welcoming words were; “You can’t stay here” to any one misguided enough to drop in. Which was precisely what the chief chaplain did. He landed in the school compound by helicopter and advanced with outstretched hand to greet his fellow priest, who was standing transfixed by the noise and appearance of a monster of a machine in his compound. He soon recovered however, to meet his liberator. “You can’t stay here, y’know”. The chaplain himself told us.
The action had of course spread into the neighbouring part of Sarawak, Limbang, about an hour’s journey on the river. The Royal Marines had gone to relieve the town and rescue the police. They were met by the most aggressive fighting force in the whole of Borneo, a combined group of Kedayans and Ibans, the descendants of the head-hunters. Perhaps the Marines underestimated the opposition, but they lost several men in the action. Today there is a little war memorial to them near our mission where I was parish priest. Unfortunately, it has not been cared for and will probably crumble in the next few years.
The poor people had suffered a severe shock. For months they had heard all the rumours but had taken them in their stride. No doubt, they told themselves, the government could somehow be relied on if anything bad happened. And here they were, completely unprotected by the Sultan and his family. It was unbelievable that this had happened Admittedly, there was little bloodshed among the population. But the complete silence of the Sultan whose people had maintained control of Radio Brunei right through the trouble and his disregard for the welfare of the people in other parts of the state left a sour taste. Many had suffered hardship, such as the families of the Shell employees who had been locked up. In the Abode of Peace there was little of that to be seen.
