“
Where
did you say
you are posted?” asked the Staff Officer. “Diego
Garcia”, I replied. “Never
heard of it”, came the reply.
I had been posted to
Diego Garcia as Fortress Commander and had been
advised to report to G.H.Q. Ceylon in Columbo,
where I would receive instructions and movement
orders.
I spent two hectic days moving from office to
office, asking for the same information and
receiving the same surprised replies – “never
heard of it” – “What name did you give” – “is it
a unit?” – “under our command, did you say?” No one
seemed to know anything, until eventually I
located an officer who had some brief
recollection of a sergeant who had murmured
“something about an island” at a conference the
previous week.
I found him in a stuffy office at the end of a
long corridor and was delighted at last to find
someone who admitted knowing something. I
explained for the umpteenth time the purpose of
my enquiries, that I was to take over command
and quite naturally, I wished to know how to get
there, what the island was like, how it was
defended, means of communication, supply etc. This
worried him until he remembered the old map he
remembered seeing one day in the office safe and
which he thought would assist my enquiries.
The “island” is really a large lagoon, some
eight miles long by four miles wide at parts,
enclosed by an irregular horseshoe shaped strip
of coral, varying in width from one mile to as
little as 100 yards, and having its entrance on
the west side.
The island is virtually covered with
coconut bearing palm trees and the highest point
is some 10 feet above sea level.
At the time, 1943, I was a coast artillery
officer seconded to the Indian artillery, who
were responsible for providing the main reliefs
for three island fortresses in the Indian Ocean, Adu Atoll,
Cocos and Diego Garcia. The
Laccadive Chagos Ridge forms a chain of islands
running south sown the west coast of India,
extending south into the Indian Ocean, Adu
Atoll, being the most southerly island of the
Maldive Islands on the Equator and some 700
miles S.W. of Ceylon, Diego Garcia being the
most southerly island of the Chagos Archipelago,
about 7 degrees south of the Equator and some
1,250 miles S.S.W. of Ceylon. Cocos
Island
is some 1,750 miles S.E. of Ceylon. Each were to
be denied to the enemy, the first two for
reasons of their superb lagoons which were
suitable for shelter and refuelling by shipping,
and Cocos which was a land point of the
important cable link with Australia.
All three came under the command of Ceylon
but it was abundantly clear that I must await my
arrival to learn the main details of my life
down there.
In due course I was ordered to report to a ship
in Colombo docks – a passenger/cargo vessel of
some 5,000 tons – and I found myself the only
officer in charge of some 50 Indian troops and a
large herd of live goats which latter were
housed in pens on the open deck. The goats were
to be our “rations on hoof” for some weeks
ahead. At
a later date we were to be disappointed by the
non-arrival of a further ration consignment
which set out on the deck of a destroyer due to
pass our way.
It so happened that “en route” the
destroyer Captain received orders to investigate
a reported submarine sighting and not wishing to
go into action with the possibility of a goat
stampede round his guns, he off-loaded the
animals at Adu Atoll “to be called for”. He did
not know of that Fortress Commander’s convenient
Standing Order that no live animals were to
remain live longer than 24 hours, and thus we
never received our meat ration!
We sailed S.W. from Ceylon
and called for a few hours at Adu Atoll to
unload stores for that garrison. The
entrance to the lagoon was narrow and difficult
but the lagoon within was superb – large and
peaceful – prepared to receive ships of many
sizes and in large quantities. Trees
had been cut to provide a landing strip which
has been extended in post-war years and I
believe is still in use as a staging point.
Having sailed south down the eastern side of the
Laccadive Chagos Ridge, a chain of unoccupied
islands, we moved through the Ridge and
approached Diego Garcia from the west. The
entrance to the lagoon is narrow with a fairly
shallow bar but, once inside, the lagoon is
large, deep at its western end with water so
clear that fish can be seen clearly at a great
depth. We
anchored about ¼ mile off the southern shore and
waited for the small launch to come out from the
short wooden jetty, our landing point. Men,
goats stores – all were to be loaded into the
launch and landed at the jetty.
Unloading started immediately while I went
ashore to see my new home and prepare to take
over command.
The main part of the garrison (some 450 of the
Indian Army and about 20 naval personnel) were
located on the inner lagoon shore of the S.W. end of
the “horse shoe”.
Accommodation was mainly in tin Nissen
huts (without ends for ventilation) built so
that any prevailing breezes would pass through
them. There
were the Army barracks, the Naval group of
buildings, Officers Mess, Office block, Stores,
hospital, motor transport garage, power station
and farm – all conveniently planned and sited in
the welcome shade of coconut palms. On the
shore, to the west and overlooking the southern
entrance to the lagoon stood the coast artillery
and search lights, our main island defence.
Across the lagoon and about halfway along the
north part of the “horse shoe” there was the
R.A.F. unit ( about 15 strong under the command
of one officer) whose duty it was to man our
powerful radio (the only means of communication
with the outside world) and refuel any long
range flying boats which might stray in our
direction (an unusual event). Theirs
was a lonely life.
They relied upon a most unreliable
telephone link and the occasional launch for
communication with us at headquarters.
Unloading took about 2 days during which I
toured my command and “Took over”. It was
a peculiar sensation to see our supply ship set
sail on the evening and slowly pass from our
sight into the western sky – the last tangible contact
with “civilisation” for many weeks to come.
I quickly realised the reasons for the routine
set by previous Fortress Commanders. Being
a self contained community, with virtually no
outside contacts, each day could be the same
unless an effort was made otherwise. It
was paramount to maintain discipline. Therefore,
we maintained a normal working week – the days
used for the normal parades, inspections,
training periods, guard duties etc. – and
throughout the 24 hours a proportion of the
troops maintained a watch system manning the
main armament, plus search lights at night. Periodic
exercises, small arms practice and major
armament firing practice – both by day and by
night – were arranged. During
the weekdays a normal busy life was maintained.
Saturday afternoons and Sundays were marked by
an absence of all but the necessary parades of
those on guard or manning duties, and those not
on duty engaged in a variety of non-military
activities.
These took many forms but perhaps the
more popular amongst the troops (Punjabi) was
football and hockey – played in bare feet. Extremely
fast and remarkably good they were – and
sometimes they would “take on” a team consisting
of white officers and N.C.O’s. – the white team
wearing boots or shoes of course. At
first the latter tended to be conscious of the
bare feet of their opponents but soon realised
the troops were so fast in their movements that
there was no risk whatsoever that feet or toes
would be injured.
The Officers and British N.C.O’s. also engaged
in fishing – usually on Sundays. These
were organised expeditions for which we used one
of the 30 ft. launches into which we had
installed a large tank (a 500-gallon electric
generator cooling tank, with pipe work and
pumps) which was filled with sea water
(periodically changed during the day) and in
which we kept our catch alive until we came
ashore. We
would cruise about the lagoon, looking over the
side into the crystal-clear depths, until we saw
a shoal of suitable size and type of fish to
catch. We
then parked over them and started to fish.
Our equipment was crude, and self-made. Don 8
telephone cable (breaking strain about 200 lbs)
provided with a bent nail fashioned into a hook
shape with suitable barb and baited with any
fish meat was all we required. Really
the fish did not have a chance! However, we had
much enjoyment and exercise in gathering a good
catch of fish in the weight range of 2 – 6 lbs
each, and our activities usually resulted in a
catch of sufficient size to provide a good fish
supper for the whole garrison of 500.
Occasionally additional excitement was
experienced when a line was taken
unintentionally by a shark. These were usually
of the 6 – 8 feet size – weighing 100 lbs or
more – and did they fight! The
owner of the line first knew he had a shark when
the line received a gigantic jerk and started to
rush through his hands at a quite uncontrollable
speed. We
soon learnt that the only solution was to shout,
wrap the line round one’s waist and lie on the
flooring of the boat until someone came to the
persons assistance. Then
it was s slow 2 man battle to bring in the long
line and eventually bring along side the lashing
streamlined grey monster of the deep. We
never liked the idea of a conscious large shark
inboard with us so we carried a suitable short
length of lead piping with which to stun it
prior to removing the hook. On one
occasion we thought we would sample shark steak
– but only once!
I have never tasted a more uninteresting
leathery fishy piece of meat!
The presence of sharks made it unnecessary to
make any standing orders concerning bathing! No
one had any real desire to take the obvious
risk. Most
of us, at one time or another, saw the warning
sight of dorsal fins cutting the surface of the
shallows as sharks moved up and down the
shoreline on their continuous patrol in search
of food.
The beach was not sand but gleaming particles of
ground coral.
A pleasant place for a stroll in the cool
of the evening – once one had become accustomed
to the small pale coloured crabs past whose
front doors one was walking. They
lived there in their thousands. As one
approached they would rush for cover and as soon
as one had passed on some 10 yards, out they
popped again.
The result, at first, was one of alarm at
the impression that the beach was alive and
moving!
The lager hermit crabs – also land based – were
less timid and did not live below ground. They
are incapable of growing a more normal hard
shell for their protection and therefore nature
had taught them the habit of backing into any
suitable container which would fit their body
size. As
they grew they find a larger article and change
“houses”. Without
the presence of the Army, these houses usually
took the form of empty shells or coconuts, but
by the time I was living on the island, it was
not unusual to see trotting past an empty tin
which had preciously housed Heinz Baked Beans!
I quickly began to understand the difficulties
and delays associated with our lengthy and
unusual supply lines. Each
week we reported by radio – in code – our
remaining stocks of essential items. Someone
in Ceylon kept a record of these stocks and the
rate of their use, and presumably calculated
what we would require as rations in our next
delivery. In
the same weekly messages, we ordered items we
required for our canteen – beer, cigarettes,
stamps and other usual items – and any equipment
– ranging from uniforms to fuel, medical
supplies, lorries, ammunition in fact anything
the garrison might require. At
first it was rather alarming to order items
which did not arrive. However,
someone at the other end did obtain the items
ordered and apparently despatched them to “a
shed in Colombo docks” where they awaited
transport.
The latter was arranged either when
available or when necessary, and we suddenly
received warning that a supply ship could be
expected – usually about once every two or three
months. Its’
arrival was a red-letter day when all activities
(except essential guards and manning) ceased and
everyone gave a hand to unload our supplies –
live goats, lorries, beer – and the welcome bags
of mail. I
remember one occasion when I had a mail bag full
to myself including no less than 98 letters from
my fiancée!!
Reading them was a marathon – relations
had colds got better, had more colds and got
better again – letters written over months but
read in hours or a few days!
Our visiting transport also brought new films
for our cinema.
This was a full cinema size talkie
machine which we projected onto a screen
suspended between two convenient palm trees out
in the open.
Saturday night was cinema night, when we
had two houses – 0ne for the Indian troops, an
Indian film, and one for the British troops. Due to
the infrequent change of films and our small
library, we saw certain films a number of times
and even watched each other for variety. At one
point in my stay on the island there was a very
long gap between supply visits and I took it
upon myself to complain forcibly to my General
in Ceylon
that the morale of my troops was suffering –
could he not divert a passing ship? Within
a matter of days, a destroyer “dropped in” with
some cans of film.
It was “en route” between Ceylon
and an unspecified destination.
We were duly grateful for a change of programme
but the presence of this connection with the
outside world seemed to be an opportunity not to
be missed to post our mail which had been
accumulation for weeks. The
Captain of the destroyer could not divulge his
destination but agreed to carry a bag of mail
containing a note “to the Chief Postmaster
wherever he may be”, asking him to despatch the
mail, enclosing Ceylonese money for what I hoped
would be the cost of postage and requesting a
radio message that despatch had been made. About
a week later we received a message from Madagascar
that the mail was on its way. Little
did we know or anticipate the unnecessary
excitement our actions caused to the recipients
at home – who received letters bearing stamps of
Madagascar
and understandable assumed we had called there
on our way home from India
via the Cape!
Our hospital was well planned for almost any
eventuality and was under the command of a
charming Indian Officer, a fully qualified
surgeon, assisted by a small staff. Medical
parades were almost non-existent except for
those suffering from coral sores. These resulted
from abrasions or cuts into which minute
particles of coral became dodged, each of which
resulted in an enlarging sore which had no
urgent wish to heal. Eventually these left scars
we shall carry for the rest of out lives.
However, our worst enemy was termed “scrub
typhus” – a strain of typhus obtained as the
result of a bite from the small bug which lived
below the foliage of local plants and which
could be scrubbed off the leaves onto one’s
clothes and person. Prior to my arrival there
had been a few deaths from this disease and
there had been a visit by a small team of
doctors who were investigating the disease. During
my stay we had one case but fortunately it was
not fatal.
For some days the man was very seriously
ill but our Indian doctor did not spare himself
in literally nursing the man personally day and
night through the crisis – for we had no
sophisticated drugs to assist him – and I formed
the opinion that the patient owed his life to
the superb care of our doctor.
One would imagine that such an example would
cause us all to be most careful and keep out of
the jungle. Nevertheless, cravings can overcome
the sense of ones better judgement and can cause
even the most rational person to cast reason to
the four winds.
Our diet was completely devoid of the
normal fresh vegetables and, although we were
issued with and consumed our appointed daily
dose of ascorbic acid tablets, we developed a
craving for a fresh vegetable. One
night in the mess, this turned itself into the
main topic of conversation and led to a sortie
the next day by truck to a part of the jungle
where we had noted a profuse crop of ferns. Another
officer and I picked a large quantity of the
young curled shoots which, when cooked like
spinach and served with butter, were delicious. Our
doctor advised us upon our return to strip naked
have a bath and leave our clothes to bake in the
mid-day sun.
Although we did this many time, we never
came to any harm.
Another delicacy, locally grown, was
hearts of young coconut palms. It
means the complete destruction of a young tree
for one eats the centre near to the ground, but
the resultant food is very reminiscent of crisp
celery. I
have recently bought it in tins at a
world-renowned grocery establishment in London.
The climate was completely tropical, hot and
humid; with the result that one’s body required
a regular replacement of salt lost by
perspiration.
Looking back, it is remarkable to think
that we were able to drink a tumbler of water
into which had been placed one or more
tablespoonfuls of salt – and barely tasted it!
Another favourite was Marmite, which I ate in
large quantities.
We had vast stocks of it, for the Indian
troops refused to accept the fact that, in spite
of its meaty taste, it was make from vegetable
matter. Their
religious teachings demanded that any meat must
come from animals killed according to a
recognised ritual.
Our Indian doctor, who came from farming stock,
was the ideal person to look after our farm. The
farm had been started a year or two earlier, no
doubt with the idea of supplementing the diet of
hospital patients and it included pigs, goats,
hens, rabbits and some 3 cows. The
latter always surprised me by their presence,
even when I learnt to my surprise that we had a
bull on the island and which was owned by the
only civilian resident, a man from Mauritius
responsible for farming the coconuts for soap
production.
Perhaps the bull had been his iron
rations in case of need prior to occupation of
the island by the Services.
The hens gave us much concern when, one day, the
doctor reported they were losing their eyes for
some unknown reason and he had had to carry out
amputations.
This peculiarity requirement further
investigation so we despatched a coded radio
enquiry to Ceylon G.H.Q. requesting advice from
a hen expert.
To our surprise back came a coded message
requesting full details of their diet. In due
course we were advised the reason for the eye
trouble which apparently was caused by an
absence of crushed oyster shells in their diet. We had
plenty of fish but no oysters. So
back went an order for “oyster shells crushed,
hens for the use of”. Not
long afterwards, a long-range flying boat was
scheduled and duly arrived. You
can imagine my surprise when the rear gunner,
complained of overcrowding, produced a large
sack which he understood was urgently required
……the supply of crushed oyster shells for our
hens! I
can report that the diagnoses, at long range and
by coded radio messages, was perfect and no more
hens lost their sight!
The serious reason for our presence was to deny
the island to the enemy. This
meant training with the equipment available to
us. Our main armament was a battery of 6-inch
coast defence guns and, having had some peculiar
shooting during one practice, I decided to
investigate personally. To my
horror I found that the barrels, made for the
1918 war, were so badly worn that the guns were
almost dangerous to use, so I decided they would
not be fired again, unless in earnest.
During one of my periodic inspections, I came
across a trench containing boxes of something
with which I was not familiar. It
turned out to be about half a ton of gelignite
which had apparently lain there for some years. It
seems to be oozing out of the boxes in a sticky
mess and this seemed to be wrong. Again,
enquiries went out by code on our radio and
after supplying a description of it’s condition,
we were instructed to remove it very
carefully and dump it well out to sea
before the end of the island was blown up. We
were advised that during removal no friction or
rubbing was to be permitted or else … three
other officers and I very carefully transported
the boxes to the jetty, transferred them to a
launch and made for the open sea, duly armed
with rope and heavy lumps of coral. Very
carefully we lowered the boxes overboard, saw
them sink to the depths and, when the last had
gone without mishap, there was an audible sigh
of relief.
One day we were advised of an impending
inspection by a V.I.P. – a very senior Naval
officer, perhaps he was the Admiral of the Far East. He
would fly direct from Colombo, in
a Catalina flying boat, travelling over night –
about 10 hours flying time. On the
morning of his arrival, there we all were, in
reasonably clean clothes, lined up on the jetty
to receive him.
You can imagine our surprise when he
turned to his Flag Lieutenant and casually asked
“Smithers, where are we?”
On another occasion, a Catalina on submarine
patrol diverted to Diego Garcia for refuelling. We
carried stocks of fuel for just that purpose. As it
came in to land on the lagoon, she must have
struck a piece of driftwood, for there was an
immediate alarm to beach her. Fortunately,
she settled in only shallow water, for she was
carrying depth charges already set to detonate
in water not much deeper! Eventually
her holed hull was repaired with pieces of metal
cut from pieces of old tin and she took off
without trouble.
I assume she landed safely at her
destination!
More routine matters required daily or weekly
attention.
Pay, for instance, came from an Impress
account operated by me. We had
a certain volume of old and faded Ceylonese
currency in circulation on the island and this
was used to pay the troops. No one
required full pay, for there was little upon
which to spend the cash, and it was suggested
that some volunteered for a period of island
duty so that balances might build up to their
credit with the paymaster. The
cash paid out on pay parades was used to make
purchases from our canteen, which cash was then
credited to the Impress account and the money
used in Ceylon to purchase new canteen supplies. All
was well so long as supplies on the island
lasted, but at one time, due to lack of
deliveries, the shelves were bare, the troops
had all the currency in island circulation and I
was no longer able to hold a pay parade! The
island economy had to wait for “priming” – in
the shape of fresh canteen supplies.
One night I had a personal mishap, for during
dinner, a large piece of tooth broke away. We had
no dentist although I realised that, as a last
resort, I could ask the doctor to remove the
whole tooth.
As luck would have it, within the hour I
was handed a message to the effect that the
following morning I should expect the arrival of
a hospital ship!
Did hospital ships carry a resident
dentist? Sure enough, at dawn, there on the
horizon was the ship, resplendent in her white
livery. I
was in the first launch to approach as soon as
she was securely anchored in the lagoon and to
my delight – and his – I was led to the
dentist’s surgery, for it seemed that he had had
no “customers” and no practice for some months! I have
the tooth and his filling to this day!
Water and baths required a certain degree of
initiative.
Our water supply consisted of what we
could collect during tropical rainstorms – which
were infrequent.
Each hut had it’s collecting arrangement
to adjacent tanks and these required frequent
surface treatment with oil or petrol to deter
the breeding of mosquitoes. This
was used for both drink and our ablutions, the
latter having a wide variety of styles. There
were simple buckets hung from trees which, when
tipped, gave the owner and instant “douche”. There
were baths of various types, most of them made
from a concrete mixture and very rough upon bare
human flesh!
One officer applied a “smoothing process”
he stated he had learnt many years previously. Apparently,
this consisted of separating the whites from the
yolks of many eggs, after which according to a
secret formula and the result applied to the
rough concrete surface – no doubt with the
intention of “filling the pores”. There
was much activity in the neighbourhood of the
farm secretive discussions with the doctor, and
in due course I was invited to sample the
pleasure of the resultant bath. I
recall noticing no difference!
On occasions we wondered what we would do if it
failed to rain and fresh water was not
available.
As an experiment and working upon
something one of us had read in some thriller,
we dug a hole about 100 yards inland to collect
water from the sea which had filtered through
the coral and soil. It was
drinkable, if a little brackish, and would have
permitted us to “exist” in an emergency.
Although we were so remote, and mail was so
unpredictable, nevertheless our radio
communications were excellent. At
that time cables had been improved by the
introduction of a system by which one could
select from the appropriate code a series of
numbers which had predetermined meaning.
Thus, for example, 2-96-84-23 might mean “I am
well” – “I hope the new baby is putting on
weight” – “have you decided upon a name yet?” –
“many happy returns of the day, my love”. We
were each permitted to send one such message
each month – a laborious process for the numbers
had to be coded, transmitted and then de-coded
in Ceylon
prior to onward transmission by the G.P.O.
system. However,
it worked well and did much to keep up morale. In
fact, during my sojourn on the island I proposed
marriage to my wife-to-be in England
and we became officially engaged, although I did
not receive confirmation of her acceptance until
after I left my island paradise!
After some 9 months, by which time I was looking
forward to word of my relief, I received a
message from G.H.Q. stating quite simply
“Prepare to evacuate island. How many ships and
of what tonnage do you require?” The
answer was anything but simple, for none of us
were experienced shipping agents! What was
the weight or cubic capacity of each piece
of equipment we had on the island? Somebody
remembered that 40cu. Ft. were accepted in
shipping circles as being equivalent to 1 ton. So
what! We had a party that night while we “worked
on” our reply, and next morning sent a coded
message reading “require two ships of 10,000
tons each”.
Two days later came a further message
“only one 5,000-ton vessel available – E.T.A. 7
days time – burn anything left behind”.
Instantly, life became hectic. There
insufficient time to make detailed preparations. It was
a question of everyone using their initiative. Having
no launches or barges upon which to transport
heavy lorries, electrical generators or the
like, the Engineers Officer started the
manufacture of rafts from coconut palms lashed
to empty diesel oil drums. In due
course, these were beached at low tide, lorries
driven upon them to be floated as the tide rose
and then towed out ½ mile to the anchored vessel
where derricks were used for loading. This
system worked like a charm, except that it meant
“shift working” to catch each tide – and we
never dropped a single piece of equipment into
the lagoon!
The volume and variety of equipment was amazing
– unused food, fuel, ammunition, searchlight,
generators, trucks, the cinema projector,
hospital equipment, documents, rangefinder,
rifles, machine guns – quite a list. After
three days the Captain of our transport sent for
me to explain that he could only stay another
two days as he was short of fresh water for his
boilers. I
took the opportunity to ask his opinion about
the risk of carrying back some 125 tons of
ammunition on a vessel carrying 500 troops. He was
not concerned, for he already carried some 100
tons of mines or depth charges which he had
loaded two years previously and no one seemed to
want!
In due course, loading was complete – or as much
as we could load in the time with the crude
facilities available. We
were leaving behind the small RAF detachment and
this called for many farewells. It had
been agreed that the RAF officer would carry
ashore a coded message, to be sent as we set
sail, advising Naval Headquarters that we were
at sea, our course and our expected time of
arrival. Unbeknown
to us, he fell overboard returning to shore,
could not read the coded message, decided to
send nothing in case the enemy was listening, so
that we were “lost” at sea for about 3 or 4
days. Fortunately,
nothing happened!
Upon arrival at Colombo, we
sailed into the harbour and gaily anchored in
the middle of one of the most tightly “parked”
concentrations of shipping I have ever seen. There
were the usual visits of harbour authorities to
enquire where we had come from, what we were
carrying etc.
I shall always remember the horror on
their faces when I listed our cargo “and 125
tons of high explosive”! I soon
realised their horror when they explained the
tragedy, only about a week before, when a vessel
blew up in Bombay
harbour with great loss of life and damage to
other shipping.
We were only a stone throw away from
dozens of vessels of all kinds. I
congratulate those concerned for the speed and
efficiency with which they unloaded our
ammunition – but not the 100 tons of mines and
depth charges!
Often are the occasions, in the midst of
the present hectic speed of life, that I dream
of “my island” it’s shimmering lagoon and
beaches, the gaily coloured fishes, the coconut
palms, the peaceful life in the midst of war. I
suppose it is just the same today, except that
the land crabs can only find rusting tins in
which to live, amidst decaying or decayed
marquees and other disintegrating examples of a
previous occupation.
Partial CV for John Mackay,
1920-1997, OBE (Officer of the British Empire)
1920
Born 7th June (Editor's Note: John
was just 24 when, as a Major, he took
command of Fortress Diego Garcia)
1938
April left school and applied to join
Territorial Army
7th
June commissioned as lieutenant in 53rd
Anti-Aircraft Regiment Sunderland, Durham UK
August called up for 2/3
weeks
September started Leeds University and
seconded to Leeds Rifles Regiment
1939 August
called
up to join 53rd AA Regiment on
River Tyne UK
1940 Promoted
to
Captain
November ordered to move to
Woolwich prior to departing to India
Promoted
to
Major (please note, John was just 21 years
old!)
1941 Coastal
protection
of Bombay harbour.
1942
Installed 4.5inch guns in Karachi,
Bombay, Cochin, Madras etc.
1943 Commanded
Battery
in Cochin
Ordered to travel to Colombo
report to GHQ on route to Diego Garcia
Assumed Command as
Fortress Commander, Diego Garcia
1944 June
-
Ordered to vacate Diego Garcia
From Colombo moved to Karachi to train
light AA battery for Burma
1945 Returned
to
UK as 4 years had been served overseas.
26th March married Elizabeth Fawcett
1946 August
demobbed
Joined the family
business manufacturing carpets.
