My interest in the district grew as I travelled about and came to know it better. For variety and beauty and health Kuala Kangsar was acknowledged as one of the finest districts in Malaya. Within its boundary were wild boar, elephants, tigers, and snakes for the hunter. Sakais, the last remaining aboriginals, who lived in the inner forests and still hunted with blowpipes; and the true Malays, from whom one learned the language in its fuller and richer form, not the corrupted and Anglicised jargon of Penang or Singapore.

The pride of the district was the small island of Pangkor, lying to the south-west at the mouth of the River Dindings. This was the reader's dream of a tropical island, with silver sands and palms standing on the beaches, a native village, and small boats lying off the rough wooden jetty, where mackerel were spread to dry in the sun. Three or four European weekend bungalows were on the far side of the island, and a wooden Rest House provided by the Government for the visitors. From the house the guest could ran down to beach to swim in the warm green sea, or lie beneath the palms on a moonlit night watching the dancing phosphorescence and the clear white light flashing from the ripples. There was an emerald bay, too, its clear still waters alive with fish which came readily to the hook of the drowsy Malay as he allowed his sampan to drift silently in the quiet waters.

Meanwhile I had become thoroughly accustomed to the work of the district and had befriended the overseers and clerks, who were Indian, Chinese, and Eurasians. My chief did not, I think, approve very much of my attitude towards the Asiatic staff. He held firm to a policy of hard discipline, and was not interested in the point of view of the individuals so much as in getting the job done. His attitude was that of a man with many years' service amongst rouges and shirkers, whereas I was an outsider, fresh from a country where a workman could use his own judgment in most matters. Gradually I found that Horsley was allowing me to work unhindered, however, and as a result I drew closer towards the men working for me. I found that the educated Asiatic or Eurasian liked to feel that same personal touch which means so much to an Englishman, and I was pleased to find that sometimes one of my staff would talk of his personal affairs as he rode with me in my car to inspect a job or called at my house with a message.

Two Eurasian technical assistants, and a Malay coolie, left impressions on my mind which will never, I feel, be completely erased by time. They were William Brawn, the son of a German father and Chinese mother; Robert Partridge, whose father was an ex-Indian Army soldier and mother a Tamil; and Zakariah, a Malay of doubtful lineage.

William Brawn took up duties as Workshop Foreman in the District two days before my arrival. Horsley had transformed a few ramshackle sheds and a dump into a respectable yard, straightened out the workshop, and obtained permission for the appointment of a properly qualified mechanic to attend to the fifteen lorries and twelve road-rollers, concrete mixers and other plant which are a necessary part of the equipment for a large district. In the past a few fitters of dubious qualities had tinkered with the plant under the general supervision of a Tamil technical assistant named Chelliah, whose training had been in roadworks and buildings.

I witnessed the period of handing over from Chelliah to Brawn, and it was obvious to me that sooner or later a clash was bound to occur between these two men. Chelliah was the type of man who was happiest when he had a feeling of power and authority; he was honest and hardworking, but he held an overestimated opinion of his own importance. That was, I suppose, excusable, for he was a fine figure of Tamil manhood, standing six feet, black as coal, with large soft eyes and beautiful teeth. He controlled a labour force of some four hundred men. Brawn was as white as any European, about five-feet-nine, and as thin as a taper. Chelliah was of high caste, a true Hindu and vegetarian; Brawn was a sa-tengah of doubtful lineage and no religion. Blood, as much as jealousy, was responsible for Chelliah's attitude.

It was unfortunate that Horsley omitted to make clear to Chelliah that the running of the workshop was no longer in his hands, for the latter attempted to exercise his authority over the new foreman. After a few days I saw the trouble and asked Brawn about it. He said that his position in relation to Chelliah had not been defined and he did not wish to have any interference with his work. I agreed privately, and spoke to my chief. Brawn was, however, on probation only, and was undergoing the hard criticism which I had luckily survived. Horsley wanted to wait and see how the workshop improved. Brawn had many confidential talks with me, and I could see that he was very upset. Chelliah, on the other hand, was taking advantage of is long standing to influence the chief's mind against the man who threatened his authority. Whenever a lorry broke down Chelliah reported it in great detail with hints of faulty workmanship. An accident to a lorry on a trial run following overhaul gave Chelliah an opportunity to strengthen his position, and made me fear that Brawn might face dismissal. The engine broke down and had to be stripped for inspection. It was found that a connecting-rod had come loose and had pushed clean through the piston side and the cylinder wall. Brawn explained that he had been at lunch when that particular piston was fitted, and had not examined it. I warned him that it was a serious offence, and the man was almost in tears. Chelliah, naturally, was delighted. However, I was able to persuade Horsley to give Brawn another chance, realising also that my own reputation was involved should further trouble occur.

I risked being badly let down by taking Brawn into my confidence, but I felt that I knew him well enough to experiment. Pointing out my own rather precarious position, I told him of Chelliah's treachery, and made him promise not to take any action or to provoke the man. To Horsley I dropped occasional words of praise on Brawn's efficiency, of which I was in no doubt, and at last I felt that the time was ripe to obtain a clear ruling on Brawn's position. A list of foreman's duties was drafted and Chelliah and Brawn were given copies.

Brawn was overjoyed. He brightened up noticeably, and it was gratifying to observe the more confident manner in which he addressed Horsley when the latter inspected the workshop. Soon this had its effect on the chief, who softened his attitude and actually indicated his appreciation of Brawn's good work by many a chance word. Chelliah took the transfer of duties as a personal affront, and my next task was to convince him that he was wrong. It was necessary to be hard with him at times, until at last he saw that innuendoes against other staff were undesirable. But I never really solved the problem of Chelliah, and we were to have more trouble from him later.

June was upon us before the workshop had got into its stride under the new organisation, and the Japanese were becoming a source of worry. Our Civil Defence work increased, and the workshop was called upon to do a great deal of work. As the threat of war came nearer, Government offices prepared their Emergency Organisation Schemes. Horsley and I worked out a comprehensive scheme for road repairs, bridge repairs, demolition and rescue works. The workshop was a vital factor, for transport and repairs were essential. Brawn co-operated splendidly, and when the full scheme was posted up he showed a keen interest. He confessed to me that he had applied for another job a week after he came to Kuala Kangsar. "If you hadn't been patient with me when all the trouble was on, I shouldn't have stayed," he said. "I'm staying now, sir; but when you go, I'm going too. If there's anything you ever want me to do for you, and you can trust me, I'd do it. I've never had many friends - because I was brought up in a Home, and out here a Eurasian is neither one thing nor another. But I want you to accept my friendship, and call on me whenever you feel you need me." I ordered Hussein to start the car, to cover my embarrassment; Brawn's confidence was heartening to me.

I needed his loyalty later, as you will come to know.

Within a few days of my taking up duties in Kuala Kangsar, I had occasion to visit Sungei Siput, on the eastern side of my district. The Overseer in charge of this small section was Robert Partridge, a lad of twenty-four, but recently passed out of technical training. He was of medium build, with a dark skin, black-haired with a thin moustache, and large soft eyes with long lashes; very handsome and rather the type that would excite the imagination of the average flapper if he were on the stage or screen. As he was only a trifle younger than myself, I sympathised with the enthusiasm which he showed in his work, and encouraged him to seek my advice on points of construction and policy. Soon he lost his initial reticence, and I found that he wanted to marry a pretty Eurasian girl, but could not as he only received eighty dollars a month gaji. He explained that Eurasians have to eat and live like Europeans, but only get the salaries of Asiatics. Partridge, a thoughtful lad who read a little, was very worried about what he called 'The Problem of the Eurasian'. In his circle of friends were a number of lovely girls who literally 'ran around' after any European who was susceptible. The Eurasian, for the most part, tries to forget his lineage, apes the European, and considers it a triumph if he or she can marry a white. The white man who is not so white as he is painted, and who appreciates the dark eyes and full figure of the sa-tengah girl, plays on this to his benefit and for has entertainment; and when he has done with the girl's body he discards it. In Penang and Singapore you can dance with the most beautiful Eurasian girls you could wish for, with seductive figures and eyes and lips that speak even more than words. It costs you twenty-five cents a dance, which is sevenpence. Most of the girls are prostitutes, and in the majority of cases their loss of self-respect can be traced to the lust in the eyes of a European.

Small wonder that Partridge was worried. He wanted to marry the girl before she was noticed by another man.

The opportunity for Partridge to prove his worth came at Grik, most northerly section of my district, following the death of an overseer. The section is remote from Kuala Kangsar, full seventy miles away, and required a man who could be trusted to work hard and to keep honest. I chose Partridge, and he was overjoyed at the chance given to him to make good.

On my fortnightly inspections Partridge would meet me in Lenggong and come with me in my car; we had many talks on private matters whilst travelling from job to job, and I found that he was able to save money in Grik better than in Sungei Siput. He asked me if he should take the chance and marry. I said, "Yes, certainly," and gave him a day off to buy the ring. He went to Ipoh, but discovered that he did not know the size required; and must wait until he could hear from the girl, who lived in Malacca.

I have often wondered since if he ever bought the ring.

I was inspecting the work being carried out by a road gang one day when I noticed a coolie idling by the roadside. He was picking and scratching at the pile of stones with his changkol , scooping the road metal into the shallow basket at his feet, and taking two or three times as long as his fellows.

"Who's that man?" I asked the Sub-overseer.

The Tamil laughed. "Oh, he's Zakariah, sir; he's a little soft in the head."

"Better tell him to get a move on; he's a bad effect on the others," I suggested, and the matter was left at that.

A few evenings later, as I was lounging in my chair after tea, I heard a scuffing noise in the drive, and a nervous voice calling, " Tuan, tuan."

I went to the door, wondering who it was disturbing me at that time. Zakariah stood at the foot of- the steps, nervously clasping and unclasping his hands. He saluted, tipping his black velvet songkok lightly, and I asked him what he wanted.

"The work, tuan, it is very hard. Perhaps the tuan will find me something easy." He clasped his hands, cracking the knuckles, then pulled on his fingers, so that the joints crunched like bits of dried stick being trodden underfoot. I cringed, for I have always had a dislike of this habit.

" Baik, to-morrow I shall speak to the Head Overseers," I promised, and Zakariah departed.

On the following day I sent for Zakariah's record card, and its data so surprised me that I opened up a series of inquiries to obtain information on the coolie.

In the section describing the man's race, I found the words, 'Chinese turned Mohammedan'. Chinese! He wore the sarong and songkok of a Malay, spoke as a Malay, and looked like a Malay.

Chelliah was able to throw a little light on the matter, I found. Zakariah was something of a sensation in his way. Many times the coolies had been surprised to see the car belonging to the Sultan or one of the Royal Household draw up, and Zakariah drop his changkol to talk to the prince. Many stories went around about the reasons for the Royal patronage, and I learned that Zakariah lived in a dwelling on the edge of the Istana grounds. It was believed that he was half Malay, half Chinese.

When I told Chelliah of Zakariah's visit to my quarters on the previous evening, the overseer laughed, and said: "Always he is like that; he complains of a weak neck, and says he cannot carry the basket on his head."

When I mentioned the strange case to Horsley, my chief smiled.

"Oh, old Zakariah," he said; "yes, he's well-known. Better try to find him a light job. We set him on at the Sultan's request."

"The Sultan's request?" I echoed incredulously. "Why should he interest himself in a coolie?"

"It pays not to ask too much," my chief advised "Just find him something easier, that's all."

I transferred Zakariah to a lorry-loading gang, so that most of his time would be spent riding on the lorry, and only when loading or emptying would he be working. I thought then that I could forget him.

But only a week had passed when the coolie caused a scene at a quarry. I was talking to the crusher driver when I noticed a scuffling amongst a gang of coolies near a lorry. From the midst of the group came Zakariah. He shuffled over to me with his strange ambling, half-hopping, splay-footed gait, and saluted nervously, then stood cracking and crunching his long fingers, his body shaking as he stood before me.

"What's wrong, Zakariah?" I asked him, rather irritated that one coolie could cause so much disturbance.

"The work, tuan, it is too hard," he explained. "When I carry on my head, it is weak here," and he lowered his head and half-turned to show me the back of his neck.

The other coolies were standing watching the show, amused at the poor half-wit's exhibition. I told him to go back to his work and I would see what I could arrange with Chelliah.

The Head Overseer had only one alternative to offer the coolie. Zakariah could work as cleaner on a small lorry which we used for carrying stores about the town.

I instructed Chelliah to effect the transfer and forgot the troublesome coolie again.

A few mornings later I was speaking to Brawn in the workshop yard when I noticed the small lorry under a shed. On my inquiry, Brawn explained that it had just changed a tyre, and I walked over to the vehicle.

From behind the lorry came Zakariah, and he saluted with a smart " Tabek, tuan ," his face lighting up in a broad grin. I returned his greeting and turned away to talk to Brawn. Zakariah, however, was determined to demonstrate his efficiency in his new appointment, for he fussed around, filling the radiator, pumping the tyres, making a great show of his work. I could not withhold a smile, though I had turned my back on the coolie and Brawn laughed.

"Old Zakariah seems to like his new job," he said.

And Old Zakariah stuck to his job; in fact, he was the last man to work for the P.W.D. in Kuala Kangsar.

The clouds of war were deepening, and Indian and Gurkha poured into the country. Convoys of lorries wound along the roads, and the inexperienced drivers came to grief on many occasions in the deep roadside ditches, on the sharper bends, and at the narrow bridges.

The Main Trunk Road was only eighteen feet wide for the most part, and proved inadequate for the heavy and bulky traffic. We had to construct loop turning-points along the important routes and a number of diversion roads were made, cutting through semi-jungle to by-pass important bridges which might be bombed.

In July the Vichy Government of France agreed to the occupation by the Japanese of vital strategic parts of French Indo-China.

Officers of the 2nd and 9th Gurkha Regiments made inspections of the aerodrome at Sitiawan, and I had to trudge round in the spiky grass siting pill-boxes and gun-pits and barbed wire for the defence of the area.

Australians invaded the country by the thousands, and intensive training in the semi-jungle began almost as soon as they reached Malaya. The European clubs became centres of hospitality for the A.I.F., and the women thronged round the new arrivals, entertaining, treating, admiring, whilst their husbands put in another two months camp with the Volunteers, the second within the year.

I had my Medical at Taiping, and was awaiting call-up, but a week before the camp was to begin, Headquarters informed me that I was reserved until 31st December owing to the nature of my duties.

Whilst returning from an inspection in the Grik area one day I met a long convoy of lorries laden with Indian and Gurkha troops heading north towards the Thai border.

Camps were being thrown up in the rubber estates and it seemed as if the country was alive with troops.

I had to push on with the construction of air-raid shelters, blast protection to essential buildings, and elaborate schemes of black-out for hospitals. Practice brown-outs and black-outs were held, and I turned my thoughts to the days of 1939 when the same process of change had preceded the outbreak of war over England.

And in Malaya, as in England, A.R.P. was a bit of a joke, a new game. A middle-aged man fussed around our town concocting weird and wonderful schemes of organisation. A wealthy Asiatic gentleman presented a mobile canteen to the District, and this was the subject of a formal, pompous ceremony outside the Court House.

An A.R.P. exercise was held, but it was a fiasco. My part was the rescue and demolition organisation, and a fake burst in a water main provided the test for a repair gang. The local population stood watching this new form of free entertainment as the P.W.D. lorries rushed up and discharged their cargoes of men and tools, and flares were lit at the working spot. A pile of rotten wood and straw was set ablaze, and the new auxiliary fire engine dashed to the scene, to find its way blocked by an excited crowd. Eventually a way was created and the engine got to work. Unfortunately it broke down, and the fire burned itself out. Asiatics were rushing everywhere flashing torches and fussing among the spectators. I asked the A.R.P. Controller if he had special duties outlined for these men, and he hadn't. His idea of a warden was to keep the traffic in order, stopping cars to check their lamps, or clearing the streets.

I returned home that night in a very worried frame of mind, for I had seen A.R.P. in its infancy in England - watched it grow from nobody's baby to a vital service. I had seen the sterling work of the Civil Defence personnel in the London blitz and knew the risks and dangers of careless or inefficient organisation.

The problem was, of course, different in Malaya. The Asiatic is emotional, easily shaken, and panics readily. He could not be expected to be able to visualise war in its modern, European form. That is where we should have put more energy and interest - in training, not only the Civil Defence Workers, but the general public, to be ready for bombs and fire.

All Government offices were supplied with stirrup-pumps, and Brawn made fire-buckets, sand-bins, and scoops at the P.W.D. workshop. I decided that, however little was done elsewhere, my own men at least were going to have as good a training as I knew how to give them. Imitation incendiary bombs were made from dry coconut husks soaked in kerosene, filled with bitumen and sugar and salt. A practice was held outside the office one afternoon, the 'bombs' being lit and thrown on to the parking area clear of buildings. For over an hour I grovelled on the ground, demonstrating the use of the stirrup-pump and switching the teams so that each man took his turn with the jet, the pump, and the water-carrying. We were all dirty, wet, and very hot when the exercise was over, but I felt that we had achieved a little. Short talks were given on fire-fighting methods, on the duties of fire-watchers, and on the Department's system of repairs, rescue, and demolition. I knew I was going beyond the scope of my duties, as an A.R.P. organization was supposed to exist, but its leaders were obviously at a loss as to how to start their work, and had no idea of the importance of training.

But then the idea of war in Malaya seemed so far away. Although the troops were there, and there were all the outward signs of preparation, few thought that the Japanese would strike. "They're afraid of America"; "They've too much on with China"; "We're too strongly defended", were typical observations at the Club.

In this Fools' Paradise life went on very sweetly in Kuala Kangsar. The Sultan's birthday was celebrated with the same pomp and ceremony as in peace time, the two mosques being floodlit by means of coloured lights, and all the paths and approach roads to the Istana were edged with tiny flickering wick-lamps on bamboo poles. It was my duty to design the decoration, and I spent a pleasant evening fitting the large flood lamps with the electrical contractor, changing the colour slides to my fancy until I was satisfied. The effect as one drove up to the Central Mosque was as if a pink and blue castle was floating in the sky, changing colour as the bends in the approach road showed different sides of the Mosque. Very beautiful, very entertaining, and very far from war. It was the 14th of November, 1941.

Of course we knew it was going to happen, bound to happen. But nobody dared to conjecture when, or how, the Japanese would strike.

The local Japanese were under constant watch, day and night, for weeks before war broke out. I often wonder if the boast of a photographer named Suzuki ever came true. Speaking to the Police Superintendent he declared: "I shall be leaving Kuala Kangsar soon, and when I return I shall be District Officer." Then he disappeared; probably it was he who led his countrymen through from Thailand into my district, for he was a keen rambler and knew all the jungle paths.

The news reported that a convoy was seen sailing up the Gulf of Siam; the Volunteers were mobilised; urgent messages came through for us to commence the defence works at Sitiawan, amd Horsley went down, leaving me in charge of the District.

On the 8th of December the Japanese bombed Singapore, and the face of Malaya changed overnight.