Soldiering in the tropics had been a solo pastime for me until 1963 when my wife, Nesta, my son Richard, aged two and my daughter Gilly, aged nine months, set off for Malaysia on the last day of the year. All my previous journeys to distant parts of the world had been by troopship and I was unprepared for the dismal conditions we had to face for the next 36 hours in a propeller driven aircraft that carried us to Singapore with stops at Istanbul and Bombay. Gilly, being a babe-in-arms, was given a sky-cot, which hung from the baggage lockers above us, while Richard shared whatever room he could find between his parents.
During the long flight, when we saw the sun rise twice, Nesta and I had plenty of time to talk about what lay ahead of us. I had already spent 18 months in Malaya during the communist uprising of the early ‘50s. This time I was to be Second-in-Command of the newly raised 2nd Battalion Malaysia Rangers whose recruits came from North Borneo, or Sabah, to use its new name. The first soldiers were already being trained at the Gurkha Depot at Sungei Patani, in mainland Malaya. When they and the remainder of the battalion were fit for combat, we were destined to take our place among other Malaysian and Commonwealth forces defending Sabah and Sarawak from incursions by Indonesian armed forces. We would live in private accommodation on the island of Penang off the north west coast of Malaya for the first nine months of our two and a half year tour, but for the first 12 weeks of my time in Malaysia, I would be in Singapore and Johore learning the language and attending a Jungle Warfare course. After that, my routine would be five days and nights in Sungei Patani and the remainder at home in Penang.
The train journey from Singapore to the ferry, where we crossed to Penang, was luxurious compared with the cramped conditions on the long flight. Soon, we were settled in the Officers' Club, otherwise known as the Runnymeade Hotel.
We stayed at the club while we looked around for private accommodation. After a few days we selected a pleasant little house on the road to the airport about two miles out of Georgetown, the capital. It was a typical Chinese bungalow with three bedrooms and quarters for a 'live in' amah, who would attend to the housework, cooking and baby sitting. A small garden provided us with bananas and three towering coconut trees produced delectable nuts whenever we could obtain the services of a special 'nut plucker'. We were on our own as far as Europeans were concerned, but our neighbours were Chinese, Malay and Indian middle-class people. We made the acquaintance of our nearest neighbours, who were Malay, within an hour of moving in. They had a son about the same age as Richard and they were soon playing as if they had known each other all their lives. I asked them about security when I saw a large dog chained to a kennel in their garden. They spoke very little English but the gestures they made left me in no doubt about the importance of keeping a guard dog.
I asked our newly acquired amah - Ah Kwa, if she knew where we could get one that would not only guard the house but be a pet as well. She said she would ask her father when she next went home. As a second string to our bow, a long term British resident in Georgetown told me about two aged English ladies (sisters and spinsters) who lived nearby in a rambling old house which they shared with animals. They were self appointed, self financed and the nearest to the RSPCA to be found in Penang. I was given a grilling by one of the old girls when I rang her on the telephone and, eventually, she agreed to call me if and when she came across a suitable dog.
I was having a shower one evening when Nesta answered a ring on the door bell. I heard her talking to someone and then came an urgent call: "Bob, come quickly!" I was out of the shower in a second, wrapping a towel around my middle as I skidded through the living room to see what was wrong. "I think there's a snake in there," she said as she pointed to a sack on the door step. An old Chinese man, who had propped his bicycle against the wall, was undoing some knotted string from the mouth of the sack. I tried to speak to him in faltering Malay but he only spoke Cantonese. The sack was moving and it was clear that some sort of living creature was inside. "Tell him to take it away," said Nesta who was now convinced that a king cobra was going to crawl out. The old man finally succeeded in opening the sack, and he pulled out a black dog. Relief that it was only a dog was overtaken by a feeling of revulsion for the way the poor animal had been treated. It had been lashed to a narrow metal carrier behind the saddle of the bicycle.
The dog was cringing on the doorstep and, although I had great sympathy for it, it did not conform to my requirements. The amah, who had gone to a shop on the corner of the main road, returned as I was telling the old man to take it away. She spoke to him in his own language and he told Ah Kwa he was only responding to my request for a guard dog. There was much arm waving by the amah and the Chinaman but in the end he picked the dog up by the scruff of its neck and put it back in the sack; a pathetic moan came from the animal as it was lashed to the carrier.
"Stop him," said Nesta. "We can't allow him to treat the poor dog like that." With my towel in danger of dropping to the ground, I ran into the driveway and signalled the old man to stop. "How much does he want, Ah Kwa?" I said. "He say 50 dollars," replied the amah. "Tell him I'll give him 20," I replied. Another arm waving session between Ah Kwa and the Chinaman ensued before Ah Kwa said: "He'll take 20 dollars." Nesta handed me two crisp ten dollar bills which he stuffed into his pocket before untying the sack and letting it drop to the floor. Without a backward glance he mounted his bone-shaker and pedalled off into the night.
I unfastened the neck of the sack and once again the emaciated animal struggled to get out and sit up. The effort was too great and it slumped onto its side. While I returned to the bedroom to put on a pair of shorts, Nesta gave the dog a bowl of water and some pieces of meat. It gently lapped the water but turned away from the food.
It was hard to estimate its age as it was in such poor condition. It was jet black and stood about the height of a medium sized Labrador. Its eyes followed me wherever I went and as I carried it to a comfy bed which Nesta had made for it in the corner of the porch, its tongue came out and gently licked my hand. We made it as comfortable as we could and stayed with it until it went to sleep.
The following morning, Nesta and I rose early and found the dog still lying listlessly in the position where I had placed it the night before. We decided to take it to the Veterinary Hospital in Georgetown as soon as possible so, after we had finished breakfast, we put the dog in the car and headed downtown.
We were able to see a doctor straight away. He did not give the animal a thorough examination because it was obvious it was in an advanced state of distemper. "I'm sorry, there is no hope of saving the dog, would you like me to put it to sleep?" he said. Although we had known the animal for less than one day, we were sad when I nodded assent.
Our young son, Richard, who had been kept under strict control by Ah Kwa burst into tears when I told him what had happened. "Don't worry, he's gone to a much happier place than he's been used to - we'll find another one within a few days."
My optimistic words bore fruit as two days later I received a phone call from one of the Misses Jones: "I think I've got the dog you've been looking for," she said, and gave me a quick profile of the animal: "He's just an ordinary 'pye' dog - black all over with a curly tail, about two years old and quite a character!" She asked us to come around during the early evening.
We arrived at 5pm and let ourselves into their garden through a rickety gate. The place was a wilderness - a complete contrast to the neighbours' gardens which were kept in immaculate condition by native 'kebuns' (gardeners). All sorts of animals were wandering about. There were geese and ducks, peacocks and hornbills. Goats grazed alongside a young calf and an odd assortment of dogs and cats made up the menagerie. Just in front of the house was a dilapidated garden seat suspended on chains below a patched awning. Lying up against a cushion at one end of the seat was a black dog with a curly tail. Even though there were other 'pye' dogs in the garden, Nesta and I knew that this one was ours. The other dogs came running towards us and jumped about excitedly, but the one on the garden seat stayed where he was and looked at us imperiously. Quite obviously, he was leader of the pack.
The Misses Jones came down the steps from their patio and walked towards us. "This is Bobby," said Miss Alice, pointing to the dog on the garden seat. "As you can see, he likes comfort." "We thought he was the one," said Nesta. "Is he friendly?" The answer to the question was a suggestion by Miss Annie that I should extend the back of my hand for him to smell. Bobby inspected the proffered hand with a cold nose and then, with a yawn and a stretch, descended to ground level.
Richard watched the act of introduction between Bobby and myself with interest and felt confident enough to make his own overture. The rapport between dog and child was immediate and within seconds they were playing together happily. It did not take us long to make up our minds, so we accepted Miss Alice's offer to enter their house to complete details of ownership. There were more animals inside the house. Some were in cages like birds with broken wings, while kittens and puppies crawled over the floor. "How do you manage to look after all these creatures?" I asked. "With great difficulty and lots of love," said Miss Alice. "If we can find good homes for them we are pleased to hand them on but, unfortunately, many of our dear friends which cannot find a home or be returned to the wild have to be put to sleep." The Misses Jones went on to tell us they made a run in their car every morning following a regular route so that the indigenous folk of Georgetown could give them their unwanted animals. These two remarkable old ladies had spent many years in Penang devoting their lives to animals. Their concern was about who would take over from them when they became too old to carry on.
Over a cup of tea Miss Annie told us that Bobby had come from a good Chinese home and had been inoculated against rabies and distemper. She lifted the flap of his right ear and I was able to see the serial numbers which recorded the fact. We entered our names in a book they kept and I asked how much we owed. "Anything you can spare will be welcome," said Miss Alice. The Malaysian equivalent of ten pounds was a reasonable amount of money in those days, so I handed over the cash in exchange for a fine black dog which we felt sure would guard us well for the next two and a half years.
Bobby jumped into the back seat of our Humber 'Hawk', followed by Richard holding his lead. As we made our way home, it became obvious that Bobby liked being in a car. He stuck his head out of the window like an old time engine driver and barked loudly at anyone who approached.
Ah Kwa was brushing the patio when we arrived home and she looked suspiciously at Bobby when he bounced out of the car. She need not have worried as Bobby had not yet taken up residence and established his area of authority. Just to be on the safe side, Ah Kwa gave him some meat scraps which he devoured eagerly. Our small daughter, Gilly, then aged nine months, had not been allowed access to Bobby. When they were introduced, the magic chemistry of friendship was bonded at once. In the following days and weeks Bobby was subjected to a demanding variety of violations of privacy such as tail twisting, eye poking, nose pulling and ear biting. He took everything in his stride and, in return, he would give Gilly a big lick across her face which usually sent her tumbling backwards.
It was not long before Bobby knew who was family and who was not. The first person to fall foul of him was a wizened little Malay who earned his living harvesting coconuts. He was able to use his extraordinary ability to climb trees when he came face to face with Bobby in the driveway one day. By the time I arrived to see what all the noise was about, the Malay was about 20 feet above the ground and still climbing.
The coconut plucker, among other visitors and tradesmen who came to our house, soon got the idea that it was safer to rattle the large metal gates and wait for someone to come than actually set foot in the garden. The distinctive noise made by Bobby when the gates were rattled was sufficient to let Nesta and me, or Ah Kwa, know that we had to look sharp.
At that stage of Bobby's time with us, we did not always put him on a running lead as he hated being chained up. Besides, we could manage him quite well as there was a large fence around the house and we felt sure he could not get out. We were wrong of course as we had not considered the 'sex' factor.
The first time he felt the urge to 'go forth and multiply' I saw him clear the wire fence with a few inches to spare. Over the next four or five days we saw nothing of him until one evening when he dragged himself into the garden through the gates we had left open for him. He was in an appalling state and it was obvious he had been engaged in a number of fights. The fur and flesh above his right eye had been ripped open and congealed blood covered one side of his face. He just managed to give Nesta one of his big slobbering licks before he sank to the ground in front of us completely exhausted. The kids were crawling all over him but the energy he had expended over the previous few days had used up his store of adrenaline and he was quite impervious to them.
Nesta went inside to get the first aid box and returned a few minutes later with a selection of powders and liniments. A liberal sprinkling of penicillin powder was applied to the raw flesh and an adhesive plaster kept the flap of flesh and fur in position above the eye. It was her intention to take Bobby to the vet the following morning but, after two hours sleep followed by a full bowl of meat, he sailed over the fence and went off for another two days procreation.
As far as the female of the species were concerned, Bobby loved them all, but for those of his own sex it was a different matter. Providing there was not a female around, Bobby would co-exist with black and white dogs, but the sight of a brown dog would send him into a paroxysm of rage.
One such animal lived with a Chinese family a few hundred yards down the road from where we lived. The master of the household was in the habit of taking his dog for a walk in the cool of the evening - until we arrived. Bobby had made a hole under the fence for such purposes as launching himself at brown dogs, and this he did one evening as the Chinaman and his dog walked past our house.
Bobby's attack was noisy and violent as he hurled himself at the brown dog. His upper mandibles clamped hard on the victim's cheek while the lower set were fixed firmly behind one ear. The poor little dog was held in a vice-like grip and nothing the Chinaman did made any impression upon Bobby.
Nesta, alerted by the noise, rushed outside and tried to pull Bobby away, but she failed as well. Ah Kwa, leaning on the gatepost thoroughly enjoying the unexpected entertainment, was somewhat disappointed when Nesta told her to fetch a bucket of water; she waddled slowly back to the house and a few minutes later appeared with a large bucket. "Quickly, quickly, Ah Kwa," shrieked Nesta, "throw the water over them." Ah Kwa spread her legs, took aim and swung the bucket. She missed Bobby and the brown dog but the poor Chinaman took the full force of water on his chest, knocking him to the ground. Nesta yelled at the amah to fetch another bucket of water but, before she could waddle off for the second time, the Chinaman commandeered the bucket and began beating Bobby around his head until he let go. Although Nesta spoke none of the Chinese dialects, she did not need Ah Kwa to interpret the words of the owner of the brown dog. It was quite obvious to her that the old man's long dead ancestors had been exhorted to even the score with the Smith family and the black 'devil dog' that lived with them.
Another of Bobby's aversions was motor bikes. The sound of a 750cc Kawasaki would set his muscles twitching and he had to be restrained when even a small two-stroke machine passed by.
The road in front of our house went up a hill to the transmitting station of Radio Malaysia. It was about a 1 in 10 incline and offered a reasonable challenge to any driver of a high powered machine. One such bike, driven by an Indian with his hair streaming behind him, roared up the hill one evening as Nesta and I were going for a stroll. Bobby was a good sport and he let the Indian get about 30 yards ahead of him before he set off in pursuit. Over short distances he had a good turn of speed and he quickly caught up with the motor bike. He locked on to the Indian's ankle and held tight. With his balance impaired, the driver lost control and zig-zagged across the road until he hit a concrete bollard and flew over the handlebars - with Bobby still attached to his ankle. We watched all this with horror and were about to go to the Indian's assistance when we saw him climb out of the ditch and start beating Bobby with a stick. Having satisfied ourselves that the driver had not been injured, we spun on our heels and walked off nonchalantly in the opposite direction - away from the Indian, his motor bike, Bobby and any claim for damages.
Some of the most beautiful beaches in the Far East are to be found in Penang. We often drove to our favourite place - Lone Pine Beach, on the north coast of the island a few miles west of Georgetown. There we would sunbathe and swim in the warm waters of the Straits of Malacca to our hearts' content. Bobby loved to come with us and so did Ah Kwa, providing she could stay in the shade as no self-respecting Chinese woman could have a sun tan. While we were swimming, Bobby would be absorbed with a particular kind of crab which is found on most Malaysian beaches. They measure about three inches across the top of their shells and stand on stalk-like legs. They always seem to be on the move and when danger threatens, they scurry away to the nearest burrow in the sand. They move like greased lightning and, as there are always scores of crabs about with numerous burrows, they produce a bewildering pattern of movement as they criss-cross each others' tracks. Bobby could never be single-minded enough to select one crab and ignore the others. The result was that he never caught anything as he weaved and twisted through the scampering crustaceans. They seemed to know just how far to keep in front of his nose before disappearing down a hole. The digging process would then begin and before long the area of beach we had selected would be turned into something like a battlefield.
You can never tell by the expression on a crab's face what it is thinking but, after long periods of observing them on Lone Pine Beach, I am sure they enjoyed the sport just as much as Bobby.
At this stage of our tour in Malaysia, we adopted a kitten. I pulled into a garage one day for some petrol and, as I was paying the bill, I saw a cat with a litter of kittens in a corner of the shop. Richard had been pestering me for some time to get a cat so I asked the man behind the counter if I could have one of the kittens. The towkay (boss) was called and he was only too delighted to give me one. In fact, he tried his best to give me all six, but I selected a cute little 'tabby' and put it on the back seat.
Bobby and cats mixed as easily as oil and water. A one time domesticated cat, which had reverted to the wild, had taken up residence with its babies at the back of the garage, but it had been forced to move by Bobby's unwelcome attention. Poor little defenceless 'Friday', as we called her, carried the obnoxious 'cat' smell and this set Bobby's nose twitching. We had to be on constant guard for the first few days in case Bobby followed his instinct and had her for a snack.
During the cool evenings when the cicadas were singing in the coconut palms, we would watch Bobby and Friday as they developed their relationship. It was all one-sided at first. Bobby appeared disdainful towards the small furry animal which had the patronage of his master and mistress, but could not remain completely detached when the tip of his tail was such an object of attention. Friday would stalk it through the jungle of chairs and table legs before pouncing.
There is a certain time of year in Malaysia, just before the monsoon, when a large type of flying beetle makes sitting out of doors in the evening a dangerous business. These beetles are attracted by light and they come flying towards lamps at great speed. If you happen to be sitting in their flight path, you can receive a painful blow if they hit you. Friday would amuse herself for hours during the beetle season as she leapt and spun in her attempts to catch these noisy and troublesome pests.
As she grew from a kitten into a lean, graceful and very good looking cat, she became more expert in catching all sorts of flying and crawling things. She would deposit a wide variety of birds, lizards and beetles at the side of our bed for inspection.
Every household in Malaysia has its chi-chas. These are small lizards about four of five inches long from nose to tail with sucker pads on their feet. They spend the daylight hours behind pictures and cupboards but at night time they come out and scamper around the walls and ceilings in search of flies. They are delightful creatures and I have yet to meet anyone who does not have affection for them. In fact, among the ethnic population, a house without chi-chas is considered an unlucky place.
We had the usual number of chi-chas in Penang, but they differed from those in some of our friends' houses in that many were minus their tails, having ventured too far down the walls and been caught by Friday. Chi-chas have lived on this planet far longer than human beings and this is most probably due to their ability to jettison their tails if they are caught. They waddle around in an ungainly way for a few days while they are growing a new one, and then the whole business starts again.
Bobby would watch Friday's nocturnal activities with interest and eventually he accepted her as a fully paid up member of the family union. When she became tired of catching beetles and depriving chi-chas of their tails, she would curl up inside Bobby's legs and go to sleep.
By September 1964 sufficient numbers of our soldiers from Sabah had been trained at the Gurkha Depot in Sungei Patani to allow the 2nd Battalion Malaysia Rangers to embark on the second stage of its evolution. This meant a move into barracks of our own in the tin mining town of Ipoh in the state of Perak (about 100 miles away). We had to pack our belongings and hand back our pleasant little house at Bukit Glugor to our Chinese landlord. We had to say farewell to our neighbours and both Richard and Gilly were quite tearful about leaving their Malay playmates. Parting from Ah Kwa was a wrench for all of us. Not only was she an excellent amah, but she had become a good friend as well. The children adored her while Nesta and I were grateful to her for teaching us so much about the Malaysian way of life. She would have loved to come to Ipoh with us, but her father said she was too young to go so far away from home.
When everything was packed and we were ready to leave, an Army truck arrived to take our belongings to Ipoh. My Sabahan orderly, Ibrahim, was detailed to ride in the front of the vehicle while Bobby was tied by his lead to one of the packing cases in the back of the truck. I felt sure that with Bobby guarding our kit there would be no danger of prying hands coming over the tailboard. We had a special rotan (cane) basket made for Friday and she travelled with us in the car.
I had already spent a few days in Ipoh supervising the take-over from the 8th Hussars, the outgoing unit. I had checked all the items in our new quarter and had satisfied myself that everything was in order for my family. It was, therefore, a pleasant experience to introduce them to the new home we would occupy for the following 14 months.
Our bungalow in Gopeng Lane was much larger than the one in Penang. It comprised a sitting room, a dining room, a study, three bedrooms and two bathrooms. Adjoining the dining room was the kitchen and beyond were the amah's quarters. Surrounding the house was about half an acre of lawns and flower beds. The backdrop was jungle and towering limestone rock which stretched to the sky and onwards to the Cameron Highlands. The scene was really beautiful.
Ah Ying, our new amah, and her husband, Lee with their two children Pen and Tan skidded into line on the driveway when they heard our car coming down the lane. They had occupied the servants' quarters for about two years so Ah Ying and Lee were thoroughly experienced in looking after a British Army officer and his family. Within a few minutes of arriving, tea and cucumber sandwiches were served on the patio.
About an hour later, after we had off-loaded the car and freshened ourselves, the whine from the engine of an Army truck could be heard as it approached the house. Ibrahim was in the front wearing a grin like an oriental Cheshire cat and in the back was Bobby looking fed up after being on his own for so long.
All the old problems about relationships between Bobby and servants had to be sorted out again, so we took good care to keep hold of his collar when we introduced him to Ah Ying and her family. They all made a fuss of him and a few titbits of food from their own kitchen helped with an entry to his affection. Friday was removed from her basket as soon as we arrived and had already made an inspection of her new home.
Richard, now three years of age and Gilly, 15 months, were old and mobile enough to enjoy the experience of living in a new house with a new amah and the novelty of two ready-made playmates. None were more than three years old and, even though they could not speak each other's language, it hardly seemed to matter as they exchanged toys and played happily with each other.
We thought it wise to tether Bobby when we arose the following morning so he could take his time to get to know the other people who would assist in running the household. The first to arrive was Raslan, the Malay kebun (gardener). Malays are Moslems and consider dogs unclean. Although they keep them in their kampongs (villages), they are never touched or allowed to enter their houses. Raslan knew he would be working for another British officer but he was not aware that his new master kept a dog and that it was tied to a running lead which ran from one end of the patio to the other. He collected his bucket and spade from the amah's quarters and was heading for one of the flower beds when Bobby spotted him. It was fortunate for the kebun that the route he took was about six feet beyond the length of the lead. Bobby came to a sudden halt as the tether tightened like a bow string - and Raslan had the fright of his life; he had to go around the corner, sit on his bucket and compose himself for a few minutes before he got on with his work.
Raslan was a malingerer. The only reason he turned up early on his first day was because he wished to make a good impression. Thereafter, his performance went rapidly downhill. Bobby looked upon him with suspicion from the start. Despite being given scraps of meat each morning when Raslan arrived, it did not do much good for dog/kebun relations and the gardener distanced himself from Bobby at every opportunity.
During the afternoons throughout the year, the heat in Ipoh is almost unbearable (it has the reputation of being the hottest place in Malaysia), and it is customary for Europeans to take a siesta. The franchise does not extend to the lower strata of the ethnic population who are expected to work until the shadows lengthen in the late afternoon. Raslan must have thought he was a few rungs up from the bottom level of society as he had become used to taking a nap in some bushes at the far end of the garden during the hottest part of the day. Bobby soon put a stop to that for as soon as the kebun made a move for the bushes, he would find Bobby guarding the hole at the entrance. His performance became more desultory when he was denied a siesta, so he had to go.
The people next door were a friendly couple; the man was Chinese and his wife English. At the entrance to their drive was a tree and from its branches hung various strips of cotton material. One day, Nesta asked our neighbour what they were for. The explanation she received was that they were part of the secret world of superstition which rules the life of most Chinese. We noticed that their amah would spend time each day tying bits of cloth to the tree and removing others. She would light candles and joss sticks at the base of the trunk, spray incense and distribute fake money for the spirits of her ancestors. At the end of her devotions, she would place small bowls of food alongside the candles which contained strange things like: chickens' gizzards, ducks' feet, pigs' intestines, nuts and fish heads - Chinese people believe in looking after their dead.
Soon after we were told about the amah's daily ritual, we discovered that her routine was being aborted. Richard and Gilly, along with Bobby, also had a daily routine. This involved watching the movements of our neighbours' amah as she busied herself at the base of the pokok hantu (ghost tree). When she had finished and returned to the house, the trio would creep, under cover of a hedge, to the tree and devour the food. As the children were fond of nuts and Bobby was particularly partial to fish heads and guts of pigs and chickens, very little - if anything, was left for the dearly departed. Eventually, the penny dropped and the amah placed the bowls of food in a fork of the tree, out of reach of those who lived the good life on earth.
Bobby was in the prime of life when we lived in Ipoh and seemed to fear nothing. One evening though, when we were going for a walk around the edge of the golf course, a large cobra slithered through the grass in front of us. Bobby's reaction was immediate: he jumped sideways and took refuge behind Nesta. I did not upbraid him for being a coward, he knew his limitations and cobras were not in his class.
Friday would often bring snakes and lizards into the house. None were very big: she knew her limitations as well. As far as we were concerned, all snakes in Malaysia were treated with respect and whoever found one of Friday's play-things raised the alarm immediately.
Nesta was particularly concerned about snakes, and for good reason. The previous occupants of our house in Ipoh had left the door from the veranda to the main bedroom open one night and had not noticed that one of their children had placed a wooden plank from the ground to the veranda. The plank allowed a cobra to enter the bedroom and they came face to face with it when they went to bed. Needless to say, we kept that door closed while we lived there.
Ramillies Lines, Ipoh - the temporary home of 2nd Battalion Malaysia Rangers, was about a mile away from where we lived and Nesta used to drive me in each morning at 7am. Our route took us along Tiger Lane, which should really have been called Cobra Lane on account of the dead snakes that littered the carriageway every morning. Snakes like warmth and are attracted to the heat retaining properties of tar macadam. The continuous depletion of their numbers seemed to make no difference to the new crop of squashed snakes we saw every day. It gave one an eerie feeling to know that these highly venomous reptiles lived so close to our house.
The transit from daylight to darkness in Malaysia is sudden. Each day we arranged a playtime period for the children and the animals to take place during the last half hour of daylight. We had a large garden with plenty of room for all of us to scamper around. Bobby was the most energetic member of the family and he used this playtime period to burn up excess energy. Cats do not normally feel the need to exercise, but every evening as the sun dipped below the green horizon, Friday would join us. She would rub her sides against our legs with her tail held high and she would arch her back and raise a paw menacingly when Bobby approached - but with good humour, although Bobby was never quite sure. When the time came to go indoors to bathe the children, Friday would usually bolt across the lawn with Bobby in pursuit. She had an amazing turn of speed and, like a good rugby scrum half, could spin on her axis and change direction without slowing down. She always tied Bobby up in knots and he never managed to get within three feet of her. The chase always ended with Friday climbing a tree where, from the topmost branches, she could look down on Bobby - giving a good impression of a dog who had not eaten for a week. Then it was Friday's turn to feel unsure.
Friday found a boy friend soon after we arrived in Ipoh and we became aware of the increasing size of her girth. She gave birth to the first of five kittens one evening just as the children were getting ready for their story before going to bed. This was the only time I can remember when I was let off my evening duty - the arrival of Friday's babies was far more fun.
Up until that time, Bobby and Friday got on well with each other, but those tiny bundles of fur put a new edge to their relationship. Gone was the romp in the garden and so was their close companionship on the patio in the cool of the evening. Friday's duty lay with her babies and she was a good mother.
One day I saw Bobby come flying out of the garage with Friday on his shoulders. He had made the mistake of going too near the basket which Friday used as a nest for her kittens. Thereafter, he kept away from the garage but, as the kittens grew up and became adventurous, he could not always avoid them. He used to look appealingly at us when Friday boxed his ears. Fortunately, our new kebun was able to find homes for them when they were six weeks old. We were sorry to see them go, but Bobby was delighted to resume his normal relationship with Friday.
The area in which we lived mustered about eight or nine houses, some of which were occupied by British officers and their families, but we were the only ones to keep a dog. During the 14 months we lived in Ipoh, almost every other house in the patch was burgled. We felt sure that our good fortune was due to Bobby's visual and audible presence. He really was the terror of the neighbourhood as far as the indigenous people were concerned. The NAAFI boy was forbidden by the manager of the Army's general store to take his van down our drive after Bobby had bitten lumps of rubber off one of the tyres in an attempt to get at the driver. Nesta and I were pleased with his performance as a guard dog, although we were always concerned about the danger of causing injury to someone.
In early 1965 I felt confident enough with my ability to speak Malay fluently that I applied to take the national language examination. I flew to Singapore and took the test in Nee Soon barracks. There were no problems and I qualified for the £150 grant for passing the test. I promised Nesta and the children that if I was successful we would go on leave to the east coast of Malaya. It is not difficult to imagine the delight my good news caused when I returned to Penang on the evening flight of Malaysian Airways.
We arranged with our neighbours for Bobby and Friday to be given food each day and for Bobby to be tied up whenever Chandra, the new kebun came to attend to the garden. For the rest of the day and night he was allowed to run free and we only hoped he would not feel the urge to go off with one of his girl friends while we were away.
We had a marvellous time on the east coast and I was able introduce Nesta and the children to some old friends of mine whom I had not seen for 12 years since I was stationed in Kuantan with the King's African Rifles during the communist insurgency. All too soon it was time to return and when we arrived home we received a great welcome from all those who had now become dependent upon us - Chinese, Indian and Malay (car wash boy), as well as Bobby and Friday. Chandra greeted us in the fashion of his race, with palms pressed together as in prayer. "Everything is in good order sahib," he said. I could see that this was true as I cast my eyes over the well tended flower beds and freshly cut grass. Bobby, who was prancing about with excitement, suddenly transferred his attention to Chandra and leapt playfully into his arms. "He is my friend now," said the kebun. "He's a good dog and he looked after the house very well while you were away." Bobby knew he was getting a good report and he positively beamed with pride.
We very nearly lost Bobby one day when the dog catchers came around. Stray dogs are a menace in Malaysia and they cause great concern to the public health authorities. Teams of 'catchers' travelling in vans are employed to round up such animals. They can always be recognised by their bright yellow jackets, the .22 rifles they carry and the long claw-like implements they put around a cornered dog's head at a range of about ten feet. As they are only concerned with dogs that are not wearing collars, and Bobby always wore a stout rivet-studded collar with his name and address clearly marked on it, we were not unduly worried about him when we saw the 'catchers' in our area.
Nesta had driven me to work one morning and had returned home for breakfast. As she was sitting at the dining table, she heard Bobby barking in the garden. Ah Ying appeared and said: "Come quickly, mem (short for memsahib), the dog catchers are here and Bobby is not on his lead." Corn flakes flew over the table as Nesta sped from the dining room, through the kitchen to the back garden where she saw Bobby jumping up against the fence - minus his collar. Somehow he had wrenched it off and thus had put himself in the category of 'fair game' for the dog catchers. One of them was actually walking towards the fence with a rifle and was about to take aim when Nesta put herself in the line of fire. The dog catcher lowered his rifle while Nesta put her arms around Bobby's head to shield and control him. Ah Ying had no such idea of standing between Bobby and the trigger-happy dog catcher, but she was most impressed with Nesta's dedication to Bobby's welfare. After that, we made sure that Bobby's collar was tightened to another hole.
Although Pen and Tan, Ah Ying's children, played happily with Richard and Gilly in the garden, their mother made it quite clear to them that our quarters were out of bounds. This rule was strictly observed until the 16th August 1965 - Richard's fourth birthday. It was easy to round up a dozen extremely willing three and four year olds from the battalion's British families to attend the party; we asked Ah Ying if her children would like to come as well. This was an opportunity for us to repay Ah Ying's and Lee's hospitality to our children a few weeks before when they were invited to attend the Moon Festival at Ah Ying's mother's house. It was just about the most exciting thing that had ever happened to our kids and when they returned home they told us all about the strange food they had eaten and the lantern procession in which they had taken part. Ah Ying's mother had given them some rice cakes for us to eat and their beautifully painted bamboo lanterns sat on their bedside tables for the rest of the time we lived in Malaysia.
The day of the party arrived and during the afternoon the local soft drink manufacturers, Frazer and Neave, delivered the swings, slides and roundabouts which were common features at all children's parties. While they were being set up in the garden, Ah Ying and Lee were busy preparing the table on the patio to bear a mass of sandwiches, cakes, jelly and trifle they had been making since daybreak.
At about 4pm the first of our young visitors arrived and soon the garden became a noisy playground as the kids made the most of the soft drink firm's fun machines. When all was going well, Ah Ying went off to her quarters and returned a few minutes later with her two children bearing their birthday gifts. They approached Richard very formally and, with a curtsy from Pen and a bow from Tan, the presents were handed over. Like all well brought up Chinese children they were immaculately dressed. Pen had her jet black hair tied in plaits, with ribbons to match her crisp white dress with tiered skirt. Eye shadow, rouge, powder and lipstick are used by Chinese mothers on their children from an early age and Ah Ying had made Pen into a most beautiful painted doll. Tan, although not 'made up', had been well prepared to attend this most prestigious function.
By this time, our children had picked up a few words of Malay, which most Chinese understood, and Richard was able to say: "Terima kasi" (thank you), to Pen and Tan for their gifts.
Bobby had been lying on the mat between the living room and the patio, waking up occasionally when he was trodden on or hit by a flying squeaker. Suddenly he raised himself and, to his amazement saw, inside the living room, the amah's children playing happily with the other party goers. Bobby must have been aware of Ah Ying's rules about where and where not her children could go in our house, so he went across to Pen and nosed her towards the door. Then with ever so gentle nips on her bottom, he pushed her towards her mother who was attending to the food on the patio. Nesta realised what was in Bobby's mind so she caught hold of him, took him outside and tied him up in the garage. After the party, when all of us were cleaning up, we had a laugh about Bobby's action. Ah Ying said that our children, when they visited her mother's home for the Moon Festival, had prompted the same action from their dog, and he had to be tied up as well.
To give Bobby a change of scenery and some exercise, I would occasionally take him with me when I went into the jungle to see our soldiers training. I was making an early start one morning and, when Bobby saw me in jungle kit, he pranced around and made it quite clear that he wanted to come. When I opened the door of the Land Rover he was in like a shot.
Ibrahim, my orderly, and I set off to follow the the course of the Sungei Kenas which flows into the Sungei Perak at Kuala Kangsar. It was an easy route and there were well worn paths on each side of the river. The jungle had been designated a 'big game reserve' and we were quite happy to have Bobby with us to give warning if he scented an animal of the same species as Friday, but much larger. Even after the passing of 40 years, I can remember the first time I walked the Sungei Kenas. It is one of the most beautiful regions in Malaysia and the lower reaches of the river became a favourite place of ours to swim and have picnics.
After about one and a half hours we came upon our soldiers in their jungle camp. I was impressed by the way they had built their bashas (temporary huts made from saplings and palm fronds) and by the way they had sited shallow trenches nearby - to afford them interlocking fields of fire in an emergency. Our young men from Sabah (North Borneo) were quite at home in jungle, but it was necessary to tune their natural skills into the Army way of doing things.
I visited another group of soldiers a short distance from the main camp. They had been practising ambush drills all morning and were having a rest when we arrived. Tiny portable stoves that used hexamine blocks of fuel were bringing rice to the boil in mess tins and askars (to use the Malay name for 'soldiers') were opening those marvellous little tins of food from, what the Army calls, 'individual ration packs'. Sabahan soldiers, even though they liked this highly nutritious food, would supplement their rations with dried fish. Even though the smell was obnoxious, it became quite tasty when cooked. This particular platoon of soldiers had brought with them a large bag of the stuff and Bobby, who had been nosing around, found it. At home in Ipoh, he would have turned up his nose if Ah Ying had put dried fish in his bowl in place of his usual pound of kangaroo meat but, on his day out in the jungle, he ripped open the bag and ate the lot. He was busy searching for the next course when the platoon sergeant discovered what had happened and placed a size eight jungle boot under his tail. The gentle and courteous manners of Malaysian folk is one of the pleasant features of serving in that part of the world. Those hungry soldiers did their best to convince me that they did not want any dried fish that day anyway, but their efforts to appease my embarrassment was of no avail.
In October 1965, the 2nd Battalion Malaysia Rangers was fully trained and ready to take its place alongside other units of Commonwealth security forces defending the borders of Sarawak and Sabah against Indonesian aggression. Many of the British wives decided to return to UK, but Nesta preferred to return to Penang and await my return in seven months time. Her reasoning was that life would be better in that idyllic island than spending a cold winter in an Army quarter in UK.
A month before I was due to leave for Sabah, we took a week's leave and went house hunting in Penang. We stayed at the government chalets, a delightful little compound of holiday homes reserved for the use of Malaysian civil servants and officers of the armed forces. We knew the island well and, although we had been very happy in our previous home in Bukit Glugor, Nesta wanted to be closer to the sea and nearer the centre of Georgetown.
The place she set her sights on was an apartment situated between the Runnymeade (Hotel) Officers' Club and the Eastern and Oriental Hotel (shortened to 'E & O'). The place turned out to be ideal for her and the children. A number of families were already living there, it was within easy reach of the shops and the view from the garden over the sea to Kedah Peak was superb. We went to see the administrator who told us that a flat would be available just at the time I was due to leave for Sabah. We signed up there and then.
The last few weeks in Ipoh passed quickly. There was much packing of boxes and disposing of rubbish and we were mystified by the way our possessions increased 100% every time we made a move.
It seemed familiar when an Army 3 ton truck arrived at our house in Ipoh to take aboard our packing cases for the return to Penang. Ah Ying, Lee and their children, now over a year older than when we arrived were standing in a tearful line to say 'good-bye'. Chandra and the car wash boy had also come to see us off and all of them received an enhanced payment for looking after us so well. Bobby was put in the back of the truck where, once again, he was detailed to look after our possessions. With Friday in her wicker basket inside the car and with Richard and Gilly nearly falling out of the windows waving their farewells, we set off for Penang.
Nesta and I were quiet with our own thoughts as we drove north. We knew that in a few days I would be returning to Ipoh on my own to take the advance party of the battalion to Sabah. We sped along the road which twisted and turned through the Kinta Valley wherein lies the world's greatest deposits of tin. We saw the turn-off to the Chior Big Game reserve where only a few weeks before we found the pug marks of a fully grown tiger. Kuala Kangsar came into view on the banks of the Sungei Perak and we were reminded of an unforgettable evening when we attended the Sultan of Perak's birthday party in his fairy tale pink palace. Onwards to Taiping which brought back unhappy memories for both of us. I was taken to the British Military Hospital there with the dreaded swamp disease called Leptospirosis which I caught at the Jungle Warfare School in Kota Tinggi. Nesta drove thousands of miles when she visited me each day for four weeks while she was living in Penang.
At last, we drove out of the vast forest of rubber trees and saw the sea and the island of Penang in the distance; we felt we were on our way home.
One advantage of the new apartment was the close proximity of a beach, which was less than a hundred yards away. We had been confined in the car for about three hours, so we felt the need for a swim.
When we returned about 30 minutes later, we had just had time to make a pot of tea before the truck, with our kit, arrived. Ibrahim unleashed Bobby who, within a very short time had made a note of all the smells in the garden and contributed a few of his own. The following two days were spent unpacking some of our boxes and putting others aside for our return to UK in eight months time.
We tried to get Ah Kwa to be our amah again but she had found another job with a long term future and she quite sensibly, but regretfully, declined our request to come and work for us. She made a great fuss of the children, but the interval of over a year had made them shy. It was not until she left that the children implored us to let them see her again. Thereafter, Richard and Gilly had to be retrained from hi-jacking her from her new mistress whenever we went near the house where she worked.
Nesta interviewed some potential amahs and finally settled on a middle aged Burmese lady who, surprisingly, had the same name as my mother - Elsie.
Bobby had to be introduced to a new bunch of Malays, Chinese and Indians. The first commotion occurred during the first morning we spent in our new home. The Indian postman came face to face with Bobby as he was about to put an envelope through the letter box. Fortunately, the postman's bicycle was only a few feet away and he was able to hold it in front of his body to stop Bobby tearing him limb from limb. I flew to the postman's rescue and caught hold of Bobby's collar before he could do any harm. The Indian was speechless with fright and looked at me incredulously when I approached, still holding Bobby, and asked him to give me his left hand. He shut his eyes as I placed his hand on Bobby's head and then worked it around until I inserted his fingers into Bobby's mouth. Someone once told me that this was the way to forge friendship between man and dog. It seemed to work as the Indian was able to withdraw his hand and assure himself that he was still in possession of all his fingers. "You will have no trouble from now on," I said, and he voluntarily offered his other hand to Bobby who graciously sniffed it.
The last few days with Nesta and the children flew past but I was happy with the thought that after seven months in Sabah, I would return to Penang and spend four weeks leave there before returning to UK. Nesta had got the flat she wanted, an amah who seemed to be excellent - certainly as far as Burmese curries were concerned, and a dog that would stand no nonsense from anyone.
A Land Rover arrived and Ibrahim put my kit aboard. I kissed Nesta and the children and gave a last and somewhat choked instruction to Bobby about 'being in charge', and then I was on my way. I hardly noticed the familiar streets and buildings in Georgetown and my eyes did not clear until I was on the ferry heading for the mainland.
All the time we had been in mainland Malaya, we had communicated with our parents in UK through the medium of a tape recorder. We seemed to be the only British family in the battalion to do this and I could never understand why others did not follow our example. From an early age Richard and Gilly used to trot off with a tape recorder and announce they were going to talk to Grandpa and Grandma. Richard was able to operate the buttons and both would chat quite easily to both sets of grandparents who lived on the opposite side of the world.
Before I left Penang, I bought two new tape recorders; one for Nesta and the children and one for me. I was eager, therefore, to receive my first audio message when I arrived in Sabah. After five days watching every Fokker 'Friendship' aircraft of Malaysian Airways arrive on the airstrip adjacent to our camp in Tawau, the one carrying my first tape finally arrived. I was delighted to hear news of the family but appalled to hear what Nesta had to say about Bobby. It appeared he abrogated the postman's trust by nearly ripping his trousers off on his second visit to the flat. Nesta hoped he would not take the matter further, but thoughts about compensation were uppermost in the postman's mind and he reported the incident to his boss. From then on bureaucracy took over and the saga of Bobby and the postman accounted for many yards of magnetic tape.
Nesta was summoned to appear at the Magistrates' Court in Georgetown, When she arrived she was advised by her Chinese counsel to plead guilty. One look at the magistrate, a Malay, convinced her that this was a good idea.
The magistrate listened to the evidence of the postman, who by now had developed a limp and had to be assisted in and out of the witness box. He looked severely at Nesta and asked her how she wanted to plead. "Guilty!" she squeaked. Another severe look from the magistrate was followed by the pronouncement that she would have to pay a fine of Malaysian 200 Malaysian dollars - which was about £20 in those days, and a lot of money. More was to come, and the second arrow from the magistrate's bow was an order that Bobby would be put in quarantine to see if he carried the dreaded rabies virus. Despite Nesta's protestations that he had been vaccinated - and had a tattoo in his ear to prove it, he was duly impounded and taken away to the approved place for dogs who bite postmen. After 14 days he was returned to Nesta's ownership, but only after she had handed over another $200 for his keep and another rabies jab. While all this was going on, he was 'absent from duty' – which was the main reason for having him. I was none too pleased.
Indians come in all shapes and sizes, but the one who decided to adopt Nesta and the children - or rather, the place where they lived, was called in Malay, 'orang gila' (mad-man). During daytime, this weird, bearded and wild-eyed fellow spent his time on the padang (open grassy area in the centre of the town, rather like a park in British terms). At night, he took up residence in the passage way leading to the front door of our flat and there he slept until morning. At dawn he would pick up his meagre possessions, clean up whatever mess he had made - very little really, and return to the padang.
Nesta nearly had a fit the first night she saw him. She was returning from a supper party and fell over the Indian who was asleep on the floor in front of the door. The orang gila, who was most probably used to being kicked during the night, did not move, but Nesta's agitation set off a chain reaction which caused Bobby to wake up the entire community. She opened the door as fast as she could, stepped over the somnolent Indian, at the same time keeping hold of Bobby's collar lest he attack him and cause another trip to the magistrate's court. She need not have worried as Bobby, instead of attacking, shrank into the shadows and spent the rest of the night barking in unison with the snores of the orang gila.
The strange fellow used to arrive every night at about ten o'clock and was quite unconcerned about Bobby who, even though he barked long and loud, would not approach him. Nesta was concerned at Bobby's failure to deter the Indian from trespassing on our property, but it was obvious to her that the orang gila had some sort of mental hold over the dog, so she resorted to other means.
The administrator of the flats, a Chinaman, considered that his responsibilities lay only with collecting rent and attending to matters of maintenance. She then tried the local police, but the jaundiced eye of the sergeant in charge, who recognised her from the postman affair, convinced her that she could not expect any sympathy from that quarter. In desperation she called at the headquarters of the resident British infantry battalion in Penang and asked the Adjutant if he could help. "Leave it to me," he said.
When the orang gila arrived at the flat that night, he came face to face with two burly regimental policemen. They turned him round and very firmly led him to their Land Rover, put him in the back and drove off. Nesta saw him most days on the padang, but he did not visit our flat any more.
That is the end of the story as far as the orang gila is concerned, but a big question mark was entered against Bobby's effectiveness towards such people.
In one of Nesta's tapes she told me that Friday had brought a small snake into the house. Elsie inspected the reptile and said it was a baby cobra. It was dead, so she tossed it over the sea wall. The worrying thing was, if there was one baby snake it was more than likely there were others close by. A search was made of the garden, but nothing was found. Elsie told Nesta that when she was a young girl she had been bitten by a cobra and she showed her the mark on her leg. Whether it had been caused solely by the snake or by someone being too heavy handed with a knife when sucking out the poison, could not be established but, whatever the reason, she was badly scarred.
The amah lived about half a mile from the flat and one day soon after Friday caught the baby snake, she burst in through the kitchen door, slammed it behind her and said: "Do not open the door, mem, there's a snake in the monsoon drain." It seemed that as she was crossing the forecourt she looked into the six foot deep drain and saw a huge cobra. The open drain went around the block of flats and the snake was obviously trying to find a way out. Nesta made sure that all members of the family, including Bobby and Friday, were inside the flat and then closed all the doors and windows. She then telephoned the administrator and asked him to get rid of the reptile. He was, as usual, quite useless and, by a strange coincidence, everyone else who lived in the flats decided it was a great day to go out for a picnic. After spending an hour cooped up in the flat, Nesta and Elsie tip-toed through the garden and searched the whole length of the monsoon drain. The snake had disappeared and was not seen again.
After seven months of active service in Sabah, it was time for me to return to my family. The final chapter of a fascinating part of our life was to end with four weeks leave in Penang.
Nesta and the two children, Richard now five years of age and Gilly, three and a half, were at the airport when I flew in. Bobby had been left in the car in the car park and his welcome was as enthusiastic as ever. By the time we arrived home we were all in tune with each other and it was hard to believe that I had been away for so long.
We had a marvellous holiday but all too soon it was time for us to pack our boxes and switch our minds to the business of returning to UK. Two and a half years previously we had not given thought to the matter of handing on our animals but now, when the sands of time were running out, we had to take action. Elsie wanted to keep Friday but her benevolence did not extend to Bobby, with whom she had always had an uneasy relationship. We decided to ask the Misses Jones, from whom we had obtained Bobby, if they could find someone suitable. They said they would try.
A week before we were due to fly home, Miss Alice rang to say she had found someone who would like to have Bobby. If we agreed, he would start the next chapter of his life with a Chinese 'dollar' multi millionaire who lived with his family in one of the huge houses on the coast road leading to Lone Pine Beach. We were delighted with the arrangement but I emphasised that we wanted Bobby to remain with us until our last day in Penang.
Two hours before we vacated our flat and started the long journey home to UK, a large white Mercedes limousine drew up on the forecourt. A uniformed Chinese chauffeur announced that he had come to collect a dog for his master. Nesta took out his two bowls, one for water and the other for his kangaroo meat, his wicker basket (chewed at one end), his cushion, his rubber bone and his special toy - a squashy football. Bobby needed no prompting as I am sure he knew it was time to move on. He jumped into the back seat of the limousine, reclined against a cushion and, without a backward glance, sped off to the home of his new family.
Bobby was just an oriental 'pye' dog, one of thousands which scavenge, fight, procreate and generally make nuisances of themselves. But to us he was a friend and a character whose personality enriched our lives to such an extent that we still talk about him forty years later.
We often wonder if there were any more chapters in his life or if he ended his days happily in the home of the wealthy Chinese family. Of one thing we are sure, his standards would have remained high until the day he died.
