High Pressure Means Trouble

Within a few weeks of retiring (finally) from the Army (27th August 1993), I was taking stock of some of the things in the military museum I ran and with which I was familiar. I looked nostalgically at the Bren machine gun and the Enfield mark 4 and 5 rifles in the armoury and the old wireless sets No. 19 and 68 in 'Signals Corner'. A suit of battle-dress and a pair of ammunition boots (with thirteen studs in the leather soles - no more, no less). A Slidex card (low level cypher) and a can of Bluebell (metal polish). Some of you have never heard of these things; I won't bother to explain. But for others of my profession and vintage, they are old friends - or enemies, as the case may be. All are well past their 'sell by date', but there was one piece of kit that was going strong when I joined the Army in 1944 and was still in front line service when I bowed out. It is officially known as 'Cooker Portable No.1' but, to its friends - the 'Number One Burner'.
This truly marvellous item of equipment has been in service since 1939; its CV states: '---designed to cook for seventy persons ... can be used to cook fresh and tinned rations, producing a multi-choice but basic menu. ADVANTAGES ... operates on petrol. It is versatile and, when used with ancillary equipment, is an efficient cooker. DISADVANTAGES ... Operating at ground level increases hygiene risks as you must dig in before use. Petrol, being corrosive, eats away the inside of the tank. Annual pressure tests are essential'.
This doesn't say much for a portable cooker that has reigned supreme for over half a century and I've never known anyone worry about the 'health and safety at work' rules when the Company Quartermaster Sergeant announces that 'all-in-stew' is ready.
Basically, the No. 1 burner is a strong container which ejects petrol, under pressure, through a perforated metal ring. Initially, the petrol will burn as a liquid, but as soon as the ring becomes hot, the petrol changes to vapour and that is when the burner roars into life. For best results, the burner should be set at the end of a line of metal stands in a trench two feet deep. The flame travels down the tunnel heating as many as five dixies (containers) set on the top. Within a short time, the contents will be bubbling away merrily.
One of the nostalgic sounds within an old soldier's memory is the 'early shift' cook getting breakfast ready. He will be going about his business as quietly as he can, trying not to wake his mates, but then comes the sound of him pumping the burner; rather like the noise a bicycle pump makes when it's inflating a tyre. Next comes the roar as the petrol vaporises. It never annoyed me, rather, it was a comforting sound bringing the promise of strong, sweet, 'sergeant major's' tea within ten minutes.
Dixies on metal frames above the trench will provide hot water or boiled food, but if you are in a semi-permanent location, you can improvise with 44 gallon drums (Royal Engineers will always provide). You can then produce a splendid variety of ovens. Under my personal direction, during the Mau Mau campaign in Kenya, King's African Rifles cooks in my company constructed a huge oven of mud, stone and wattle which cooked everything. The power source was firewood, but if this was not available, we used a No. 1 burner. The heat circulated a 44 gallon drum, which was the centre piece of the oven, before dispersing through a chimney at the top. We could fry, boil, grill. roast, bake and barbecue on this contraption and it became a prototype for a number of other, but not so efficient, ovens in the Kikuyu reserve.
But let me return to the conventional No. 1 burner and a tale about another disadvantage not specifically mentioned in its CV.
In June 1953, the 3rd Battalion King's African Rifles withdrew from Malaya where we had spent eighteen months helping to subdue a communist insurrection. Some of the rifle companies travelled to Singapore by road to embark aboard the troopship 'DILWARA' for our journey back to Kenya. Others travelled down the east coast of Malaya in landing craft.
As Adjutant of the battalion, I embarked in Kuantan with a motley collection of orderly room and officers' mess staff, the Drums platoon and half a dozen regimental policemen. The landing craft we travelled on was the smallest of the breed, about 60 feet long, known as LCI (landing craft infantry). It was like a Dinky toy version of its larger cousins which carry lorries, tanks and heavy machinery. The Skipper was the fattest Chinaman I have ever seen; when he entered the wheel house, there was no room for anyone else.
We slipped our moorings at about 4pm and I took a long last look at the Nan Yang Hotel on the waterfront, which had been my home for the previous twelve months. It was the only hotel in Kuantan at that time and the top floor had been a brothel before we requisitioned it as the officers' mess. I have no doubt that it quickly reverted to its former usage when we left.
We sailed down the broad estuary of the Sungei Kuantan to the open sea and then turned south. After proceeding a few miles, the landing craft stopped and the anchor went down. Using a mixture of Malay and English, I gathered from the Captain that he could only travel during daylight hours as he did not have any maps; scores of offshore islands inhibited movement by night.
Content that the Captain's decision was in everyone's interest, I took out my fishing rod, attached a lure in the shape of a small wooden sprat and cast it into the water. After about ten minutes, I felt a bite. I struck and then enjoyed another ten minutes of action with whatever was on the end of my line. Some of the crew showed interest in what I was doing, but when the head of my quarry broke surface, there were cries of horror. Two African askaris came to see what was going on and they also gave shouts of alarm: "Angalia, effendi. Iko nyoka mkubwa!" (Watch out, sir. That's a big snake!). I had been told about the danger of sea snakes when we arrived in Malaya, but as I had never seen one and the swimming had been so marvellous in the South China Sea at Kuantan, I never gave them a thought. The Captain waddled down the ladder from the wheel house and joined the chorus of dissent when he saw the snake, which was now squirming around on the surface. He made it quite clear that he was not going to allow the thing to be brought aboard his ship. Chinese will eat most things, including land based poisonous snakes, but those that live in the sea, are definitely not to their taste. In this, they had full support from their African passengers who considered any snake, from land or sea, was something to be avoided at all times. I was the odd one out, but only because I did not want to lose my sprat which had served me well over the years and which was now sticking head first out of the snake's mouth. The snake eventually settled the matter by spitting it out.
Corporal Macheru, the officers' mess cook, watched the drama and when things were sorted out, he went back to the bows of the ship where the No. 1 burner was in place to cook curry for our evening meal. The Captain made it plain he did not want any more trouble with snakes, so I dismantled my rod and packed my sprat. As I was doing this, Corporal Macheru told me he thought there was something wrong with the burner. When I went to investigate, I found that the indicator on the pressure gauge was well into the 'red'. As I stepped back to consider the matter, there was a sound like a pistol being fired and a huge jet of flame shot about thirty feet into the air. The instinct of self preservation has always been one of my strong points; I wheeled around and, from a standing start, cleared a six-foot table upon which sat an assortment of cooking utensils. Later, I found that a brass stud on the top of the burner blows out if the pressure gets too high. It could have been lethal if I had been standing over it.
The Captain was back in the wheel house mopping his brow after the exertion of climbing up and down his ladder when suddenly the front of his ship erupted in flame. For the second time in thirty minutes, he hurled his massive frame down the ladder and scrambled over piles of baggage to find out what had gone wrong this time. When he eventually reached me, the fire had gone out and I hastened to assure him there would be no repetition. He was not easily pacified and relations between us took another plunge when I asked him if we could use his cooking facilities, as ours did not work any more. We managed to reach Singapore two days later without any more disasters.
Since then, I have been wary of anything that operates with petrol under pressure; but there was one other occasion when I had a similar experience.
It happened when I visited one of the volunteer battalions of my Regiment at camp in Scotland. The Commanding Officer and I went to see one of the rifle companies at their camp in the Trossachs. The midges were biting like mad, so the CO suggested we stand near a No.1 burner. Instinctively, I looked at the pressure gauge and saw that the indicator was in the 'red'. "Stand clear!" I shouted and then dived for cover. The others thought I had taken leave of my senses but they joined me when a 'pistol shot' preceded a spectacular pillar of flame as the safety plug blew out.

Now that I am well and truly retired, I have plenty of memories to remind me of nearly half a century of soldiering. One of my favourites is the rattle of dixies and the No.1 burner roaring into life at the start of a new day.