Now that it is possible to see the whole campaign in retrospect, when the successive scenes in the tragedy have run into a completed chapter of history, and details hitherto concealed have come to light, the reader is in a position to judge the war in Malaya, and form reasoned opinions on its conduct and results. Books have been written on the subject by soldiers and civilians. Stories of heroism, of incredible escapes, and of the Japanese occupation are still appearing in the newspapers.

A gentleman whose opinions I respect, at the end of a discussion on Malaya, described it as "a blot on our history". At the many Rotary clubs and societies where I have been honoured to tell my story, the speakers in summary have made similar comments. Almost everyone I met on my return was of the opinion that Malaya was "a bad show".

To these critics, if a boy may presume to do so, I must offer a word of advice. Without attempting to defend the blunders, the lack of foresight, and the many shortcomings of both the civilians and the military, I suggest that the critic take a map of the World and spread it on the table beside this book. First look at the British Isles and their position relative to Europe and Scandinavia. Not a mile of coast is immune from the possibility of invasion, not an area is outside the reach of the modern bomber operating from German occupied airfields.

When Malaya was attacked, Great Britain was the suffering object of intensive raids, still in a desperate plight for equipment following Dunkirk and still needed troops at home to meet the threat of invasion.

Now look at the Middle East, that great expanse of Africa in which the Italian and French Empires gave access for the enemy to the borders of our colonies in the north, south, east and west of the vast continent. In all these colonies troops must be kept, and must be fed by ships sailing round the Cape.

India and Burma, fertile lands for the Japanese influence, held troops in readiness for the attack. The long borders of Burma and Thailand needed men, for Thailand was an enigma, her country a possible "back door" to our possessions.

Lastly, look at Malaya, Borneo, Sumatra, Java, and the countless islands of the Archipelago. Every inch of the coast of each was a possible landing-point. The borders of Thailand dip deep into North Malaya, demanding defence.

Theorists wrote of the possible points of attack, and critics subsequently pointed fingers of scorn at the military for being "unprepared" when the Japanese walked through Thailand, landed at Kota Bharu, and invaded Penang. But the Thai border was manned by some of our finest troops, as were Penang and the coast. In the north they fought until they fell, outnumbered, short of ammunition, their movements given away by the inhabitants they had been sent to defend. Over Penang the secret was air power, and it may be said that air superiority turned the scale over the whole campaign.

I have studied the maps and the facts with the interest of a participant, and, in spite of my losses and my heart-breaking experiences, I cannot, even now, accuse the central powers of the gross mismanagement of which they have been accused. My round-the-world trip has opened my eyes to the tremendous task which confronted a Government well equipped for peace but ill-equipped for war against the carefully-prepared and treacherous plans of the Axis.

But my studies of the war as fought by the civilians in Malaya, and my impressions in that country during the year preceding the outbreak, do not give me much satisfaction. That is why this book has been written.

The military opened up Malaya, and left the country to the civilians for thirty years. The military smashed Malaya before the Japanese advance, laying waste the things which the science of exploitation and colonisation had given to the country and its people. The destruction was thorough. The Japanese have announced that they now have the country working as before, producing rubber and tin - more than twelve months after the capitulation. As the announcement would tend rather to anticipate the fact, for propaganda purposes, it may be assumed that a longer period will actually be necessary before they can use Malaya as we did in peace time.

But the civilians, in a less obvious manner, and by a gradual process, were destroying more valuable and fundamental assets before actual physical warfare blighted the colony.

Grehan's abbreviated term - "P.W.R." - brought the matter to my attention on my first day in Penang. That prestige is a fundamental, with an ultimate practical effect, cannot be denied, and its importance must at one time have been considerable, or the word would not have come into general use. That our prestige was declining was evidenced by the official campaign in 1941 and by the fact that the subject was repeatedly introduced into conversation.

The official campaign started when Government circulars passed through the offices inviting officials to submit articles and suggestions which would help to boost British prestige amongst the Asiatics. We were asked to give photographs of engineering works and write essays to show what the Europeans had done for Malaya. Reaction was not encouraging, by all accounts. Either a large proportion of the white population took no interest, or else were at a loss to justify their presence in the country.

Amongst the more thoughtful people I rank Ann Burgess, who replied to one of the Government circulars by observing that little could be done whilst there were in Malaya people such as the members of the new club in Taiping, who had refused admission to their membership of a talented, charming and useful Eurasian, a respected doctor of the Malayan Medical Service whose name is withheld to avoid embarrassment.

A highly-coloured, flowery-termed poetical work, carrying the grand title Birth of Malaya, appeared before the public. I am not sure who was supposed to read it, but it was laughed to ridicule by the Europeans in Kuala Kangsar at least, and there could be but few Asiatics who would understand it, or, for that matter, bother to read it. The theme was a glorified version of the British Colonisation, the story of bloody battles, and the mighty Iskandar Shah. Then came the theory that out of the threat of the day, and in the test of the battle, Malaya would be reborn and rise to new life out of the travail of its testing.

The events of the war made the work look a little foolish, to say the least. For the men who bled and died for Malaya were the Gurkhas, the Indians, the British Volunteers and Regulars, and the Anzacs. The bulk of Malaya's Asiatic population did nothing to fight for their country, whilst a disturbing proportion were known to have assisted the Japanese by feeding, clothing, guiding and informing them in the kampongs.

I am not speaking without authority. The British Army Officer who called on the District Officer in Kuala Kangsar early in December 1941 knew the danger. He asked for an order to be issued stating that all Malays found on the Japanese side of the British front line would be shot. Later in the campaign the military confiscated all bicycles as they withdrew, for these were being used by the enemy as transport.

The Chinese were not, generally speaking, inclined to treachery, but the change in their attitude towards us was very marked as time went on. The words of the Sitiawan Chinese have lingered painfully in my memory ever since they were uttered.

The Tamils, imported by British policy to work as coolies and clerks, had come to regard Malaya as their home, their chance of freedom from caste oppression, and their source of prosperity. Their loyalty to us was unquestionable, and in no case can I remember anything but faithfulness, reliability, and devotion amongst these timid, emotional, and kindhearted folk.

The Sikhs, fighters by nature, Aryan, and similar to ourselves in stature, would have made a fine, loyal regiment had we chosen to train them. Their code of living was loyalty, and to win the Sikh's loyalty was to win it for ever.

But these faithful souls were few compared with the total population. What, then, were the reasons for the decline in British prestige prior to the war?

The Malayan who has been resident in the East for many years even if he has no qualms of conscience on reading this chapter, may feel justified in considering me presumptuous in advancing a few reasons after so short a period in the colony. But an outsider can see without bias, and the longer he stays in Rome, doing as the Romans do, the more Latin his outlook becomes. Furthermore, my views are shared by many people and are not individual.

The principal and most disturbing fault was the behaviour of the Europeans. A pedestal had been created in the East, a false status protected by the whole British policy, and to this unaccustomed height clambered the large and small alike, the lofty and the lowly, the big pots and the small fry. Women who, back in old England, would have scrubbed their back doorstep weekly, and travelled by bus or gone afoot, found themselves sitting beside members of Society, mixing with Malay Royalty, driving round in fine cars and giving orders to servants. Small wonder that they were dizzy at the giddy height. The reactions varied from arrogance and snobbery to ill-treatment of servants, over-indulgence and adultery. In Malaya, it was easy, incredibly easy, to pick out the types, especially amongst the women.

I had an amusing time on many occasions at Penang Swimming Club, Taiping Swimming Club, on board ship and at various social functions, watching the world go by. A lady possesses an eloquence in her walk, her style, her behaviour when amongst men, and in dramatic contrast could be seen the butterflies, the dish-washers, the trollopes, busily emulating her, clutching the male friends they could not hold, snapping at and scandalising the younger, or more attractive, giving themselves airs to cover their ungainliness.

There were too few white women in Malaya. A consequence of this was that a girl in her teens became fair game for the many bachelors, and even older married men. She became over-sophisticated, and took part in conversations which should not have been for her ears. She was in great demand at dances, and at informal evenings she sat in a comfortable chair surrounded by starved males who pressed their attentions on her, buying drinks, offering cigarettes, telling stories. When I first danced with one of these super-spoilt girls in Penang I found myself being talked at, silly, immature nonsense, and I had a great desire to drop my partner and seek shelter and sanity.

And all the while, moving silently between the revellers, taking away empty glasses, bringing in the trays of drinks, Asiatic servants were listening, observing, and forming their opinons.

Malaya is a hot country. Its constant high temperature and humidity produces a feeling of irritation when trifling upsets occur, and an impatience close to bad temper at the apparent slowness of the Asiatic servant or clerk or coolie. The irritation and impatience are most frequently the mental reaction to physical discomfort, which may be caused by lack of exercise, impaired digestion, or a variety of small ailments. To indulge in exercise meant effort, and effort in the tropical heat had to be determined and deliberate. The most companionable men I met were keen tennis-players, gardeners, swimmers, and walkers. They played squash and badminton, football and hockey, and revelled in the resulting bath of perspiration. But too many spent their leisure hours in the Club, or sitting in their lounge at home, growing fat and flabby, their minds becoming stuffy, their bodies soft.

These men were well known for their bad treatment of the Asiatics, and it is a great pity that they could not see the reason for their tempers and outbursts. Dr. Brain and Dr. Burgess, the first a fine swimmer and gardener, the second a hard tennis player, and both medical men with high reputations, were deeply respected by the local Asiatic population. They were, incidentally, both Scotsmen, and each possessed a keen sense of humour.

Nature was to blame for another flaw in the European, but he must accept responsibility for his shortcomings, as he is supposed to be civilised, trained socially to control himself and restrain his instincts. And those instincts were powerful, terribly assertive, especially in the virile male. Here again, the heat, the climate, had a stirring effect which a man in England cannot fully appreciate. Add to that the sight of a graceful brown form with full breasts scantily covered, a perfect figure, a moon-like face and sensual mouth, framed in a jet-black head of hair, illuminated by dark, soft eyes, and the bachelor would not be human if he did not set his thoughts agoing.

Once is enough, for then there is no end to it. I know of a young man, brilliant in his profession, with a splendid physique and a passion for football, who, within eighteen months of setting foot in Malaya, was taken, raving mad, to a Singapore asylum. He started as I started - by going to the Cabaret because he was lonely. He went too far. The last I heard of him was that the Medical Service were trying to sober him sufficiently to send him home; but no ship's master would take him as he was.

I know of a young man - on his first tour also - who kept a Siamese woman. She had such a destructive effect on him that he was transferred to one of the small British-controlled islands out of her way. He has never been heard of since, for that island was one of the first to be occupied by the Japanese.

It is to be regretted that young men are not encouraged to take their wives with them on their first tour. My own feelings, interpreted by the foregoing paragraphs, were typical, and I well remember Ann Burgess's words to me at a party one evening.

"When are you going to marry, Douglas?" she asked.

I was surprised, rather taken aback, for I had no idea she knew I was engaged.

"When the war's over, or on my first leave, whichever is sooner," I replied.

"Well, take my advice,'' she said, very sincerely and quietly, "and don't wait too long."

We said no more, but I took to heart those kindly and sympathetic words from the Lady Medical Officer, herself a wife and mother who had spent her life in Malaya and knew the pitfalls.

The effect of this personal, physical, instinctive hunger was to plunge the weaker men into intrigues with the wives of other Europeans, or into secretive affairs and dealings with Asiatic women. That would not have mattered so much had it been possible to maintain secrecy. But everyone had servants, and even the Asiatic "keeps" could not be trusted to maintain the confidence.

A particularly spiteful woman made a great song about her discovery one day, and broadcast the news far and wide to the dismay of the bachelor concerned. He lived alone, but she saw two mattresses airing on the line.

We, the Europeans in Malaya, wasted a great opportunity for prestige in our unreasonable attitude towards the Eurasian. It has been said that the Eurasian is unreliable, liable to go off at a tangent, and not to be trusted. It may be, then, that my experiences were unusual, that I saw only the best, and not the worst. But the loyalty of Brawn and Partridge, of the Eurasian engine-driver named Mac Riel who offered to go to one of my quarries to smash the engines, knowing that the Japanese were almost there, and of the many Eurasian workmen and overseers with whom I came in contact, remain in my memory as outstanding experiences of my life. The picture of that car-load of Eurasians on the Kota Tinggi Road in Johore is still clear in my mind. There were educated Eurasians in every Government department, in every large British company, efficient, hard-working, asking for little, only the chance of a place in the community. But they were banned from European circles because they were only half European; banned by the Asiatics because they were only half Asiatic and their birth bore a stigma which they had no choice but to suffer.

The Dutch can teach us many lessons by their attitude to inter-marriage, and in Java the Dutch had made the country their home, marrying and mixing with the inhabitants for their mutual benefit.

We shall return to Singapore - we must return - to rebuild all we have destroyed. With us must go a new army, an army of doctors and nurses, of engineers and architects, of planters and miners and business men. But the army should be one of picked men - and their wives.

I should like to know that my sais, Hussein, has been brought from the jungle where he went into hiding, and given a job to do that Ah Chang, who came to Malaya from China twenty years ago with his parents, thinking that he would be happier there, has been found, and that his new master will befriend him, make amends for his misfortune, and help his work-worn wife and her two children to take their places in life.

I should like to find Brawn, to put him in our service, to use his skill and will to serve in rebuilding the torn-down workshops in Kuala Kangsar, where he won my admiration by his industry and loyalty.

Perhaps someone will meet Partridge - and maybe he married the girl after all. There is a place he can fill in the work of reconstruction.

There is a job for those coolies who worked night and day on Iskandar Bridge, with a Japanese reconnaissance aircraft watching overhead; they must be found, and I like to think that they will be employed in re-erecting the bridge they helped to demolish.

Karnail Singh, the Sikh Technical Assistant, old Victor, even Muttiali the rogue, will be waiting for us there. Weedy little Ramasamy, if his lungs have not let him down, is peering through his spectacles somewhere, probably swindling the Japanese P.W.D. as he swindled ours. But he offered the hospitality of his overcrowded shack when I thought I was going to be left in Kuala Kangsar with the enemy.

And the men who go to find out the faithful souls who are waiting for our return must be men who can command respect by their qualities, not mere obedience prompted by fear. They must be men whose mental and physical constitution can stand not only the heat and the humidity but the responsibility for washing away the poison of the Japanese influence. They must be humble men whose one desire is service, not profit.

The pedestal has been smashed. When we return there will be no time to spare in building platforms on which to place the white man. The swampy land must be cleared and new foundations laid to take the greater things our colony requires. These foundations must be deep and sound, sitting on bed rock, anchored to the very heart of the people by bonds of goodwill and tolerance and mutual respect. Then there will be no need to advertise the benefits of British rule to the Malays, the Chinese, the Tamils, the Eurasians, and the countless races living in Malaya.

In two inglorious months the work of decades came crashing about our ears. No matter how long it takes, or how much it costs, we must go down on our knees and build again.