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THE ARMY
 RS: aged 6, with gun, a soldier to be? Eight weeks after completing my five years in art school, I was in the British Army. At that time, in the UK, every young man had to do two years National Service with the military. The alternative was to be a conscientious objector and do work in hospitals or other public service. In all honesty, I could not claim to be a conscientious objector as I certainly would respond to any violence against me or my family. I had seen the horror of war but realized that liberty and freedom had to be defended. The day after my 21st birthday in 1954, I was conscripted and joined the British Army; a most dramatic and traumatic experience. Through the Blitz and college, I had spent my young life at home in Wales; now I was on my own.
I was drafted into the infantry and sent to East Anglia to join the Essex Regiment in Bury St Edmunds. Those first two weeks of basic training were most demanding, physically and emotionally, particularly after the freedom and bohemian life of art school. The discipline and demands were endless and exhausting as young men were turned to soldiers.
For me, what was particularly bad was that, after two weeks, the recruits were let go for the holiday weekend at the beginning of August, known as August Bank Holiday; nothing could interfere with that ritual, even the Army. I was sent home on leave for three days which then made leaving the comforts of home and the care of my parents to return to boot camp most difficult, almost impossible; the farewell was tearful.
However, a month later, I completed basic training in the British Army. Looking back, I am amazed still at the transformation, within a few short weeks, of a rebellious artist into a fighting soldier. The manipulation of the mind and the bullying of the body turned a meek youngster into a disciplined soldier. Within six weeks, I was taking commands without question; physically excelling at imposing obstacle courses and field exercises, complete with back pack and rifle. I would dive on concrete; go through tunnels of red smoke; scale cliffs; and obey whatever command; without question. The Army has every right to be proud of its abilities and achievements, over mind and matter, in training recruits; more was to come.
As a young child and art student, I had shown a tendency to be first and to direct; now the potential for leadership, evidently apparent in basic training, was to be tested by the Army. I was selected for Officer Training; even more demanding physically and emotionally. Nevertheless, I passed and was given the rare opportunity to be an officer as a second lieutenant in the infantry. Much to the disgust of my regiment, I turned down the commission; much sought after. But a commission was for three years not the two I had to serve. As a graduate teacher and showing a potential to lead, I was sent to the Royal Army Educational Corps in Beaconsfield, outside London. My military life was to become considerably easier and much more fulfilling in every way; now I was to become a sergeant
FARELF
After more weeks of training at the Army School of Education, much of which repeated my university courses, I was made a sergeant in the Royal Army Education Corps. I requested to be drafted to the Western command as I was hoping to go back home to Wales. I went back to Cardiff for a weekend, out carousing with friends and on my return to base, I found that I had been posted to the Far Eastern Land Force. Typical of the Army that my request was totally ignored and the opposite was decided: I was to go East rather than West. I was to go to Singapore and serve in the Malayan campaign.
At that time, the journey by plane took three days; a military flight of officers and non commissioned officers. Leaving London, our first fueling stop was Cyprus, in the throes of civil unrest and turmoil. The next stop was Bahrain; a different land of desert, sheiks, Arabs, camels, sand, palms and toilets that were holes in the ground; I will never forget. Now I was abroad, going through and to foreign lands.
As our flight went through India, freshly independent, we had to wear civilian clothes. We landed and stayed overnight at Karachi and then, after a fueling stop at New Delhi, we arrived at Calcutta. The officers that had served in the Indian Army had seen the collapse of the British Raj and rule. Now these officers were upset by the poverty; beggars; cripples; crowds and chaos. As an artist, I admired colorful fabrics; exotic plants; striking architecture; towering temples; strange smells; noisy streets; screeching music; bustling life; different peoples. Women, colorfully clothed, walking proudly with huge vessels balanced effortlessly on their heads; men, dressed in white, chattering and bartering; soldiers squatting, turbans on their head, rifles in their hands, bandoleers on their shoulders; camel herders; taxi drivers; priests and paupers: intermingling in a crowded cacophony
Eventually, our flight landed in Singapore. The heat and humidity was oppressive for the city lies just north of the equator; with no seasons, endless rains and monsoons. The Malayan Campaign was to resolve the growing conflict between the Malays and Chinese. Chinese Communist insurgents were trying to infiltrate Malaya and take over the country. The Chinese were industrious and hard-working while the Malays are easy-going and happy. The differences were much more than that and led to mutual dislike, even hatred. As Muslims, the Malay looked upon the pig as the devil incarnate; on the other hand, the Chinese looked upon a pig as a domestic animal. At that time, there was hatred between Malay and Chinese; this certainly made the task of the British army much easier.
The British Army had decided that the way to defeat the Chinese communist insurgents was to deny them food and information. Accordingly, at night, the Malays would be in their villages, protected by the British, and the Chinese could gain neither sustenance nor information; critical to success in a jungle war. Moreover, this was not a civil war but a conflict between people who were different in every way: culture, religion and appearance. The conflict in Malaya was resolved in 1963 by the formation of Malaysia, a merging of the former British colonies of Malaya and Singapore. The secession of Singapore occurred in 1965. Nowadays, Malaya and Singapore independently flourish in the world of finance and trade.
During the Malayan Campaign, the British had the support of the Gurkhas and the Fijians; both were ferocious fighters, yet very different. The Gurkhas, from Nepal, were small and fierce; whereas the Fijians were tall and jovial. Many a story can be told. The Fijians were feared for their size and speed; dressed in their native sarongs, they were colorful in every way. The Fiji Rugby team was renowned for its drinking, carousing, singing and play. Their huge hands held a rugby ball or a machine gun with ease; stories are told of them charging through the jungle undergrowth, with bloodthirsty yells, killing the enemy with their bare hands.
The Gurkhas were obedient, obeying any order without question. The Gurkhas became legendary after a platoon of Gurkhas was taken downtown in Singapore to dispel a group of unruly Chinese. The young British lieutenant told his troops to draw kukris not knowing that to draw the sword, Gurkhas had to draw blood. The Gurkhas withdrew their kukris and, in moments, beheaded a group of Chinese, bloody heads rolling in the streets. Never again would the Chinese go near any Gurkha. Up north, the Gurkhas were patrolling and protecting the border with Siam (Thailand). News came that communist infiltrators had been spotted in the jungle, trying to cross the border. Two Gurkhas were sent off in a Jeep; their appearance, at the crest of a hill, led to a hasty retreat by the Chinese enemy, fearing for their lives and their heads. Another tale of the Gurkha is of the soldier, who was told to get off a train at Kuala Lumpur. Unfortunately, he was on the wrong train; an express that did not stop in Kuala Lumpur. Nevertheless, as the train sped through the station, he got off; breaking both arms and legs.
The Gurkhas were fearless and obedient to a fault. To say the least, my experience with them was interesting and informative. I had been sent up north to the Gurkha headquarters to do some drawings for a book. The book was on teaching English ’the direct method’ and needed drawings of Gurkha troops.
A year earlier, after arriving in Singapore, I had taken a course on teaching English to Malayan troops. The classes were held at the Army School of Language and Method; I was most successful with my teaching. My outgoing enthusiasm and ebullience served me well, as did my abilities as an artist. I could do quick sketches to illustrate the direct teaching of English. My success, in teaching basic commands in English to the Malays, led to permanent posting at the School. In addition to my teaching duties, I illustrated a simple primer for use with Malays. I was most happy to be in Singapore. My one trip into Malaya was to go north for six weeks with the Gurkhas.
The drawings I did were in my most academic, figurative style. The drawings were in black ink on white paper, with the normal shading and cross hatching that is done when drawing the figure and face. However, Gurkha soldiers were most upset; the marks on the face which I regarded as shading, to show form, to them were evil marks. I realized that in their art, there was no shading, just the two eyes, nostrils and lips. Obviously, I did not want to upset a Gurkhas soldier in any way! I modified the drawings accordingly.
For the first time, I began to realize the difference between our cultures. Up to that moment, the difference had been in language and appearance. Now, I began to consider that other races may see and comprehend differently? I had been brought in the West, with traditional perspective being the way to see and represent nature. Sir Herbert Read, the renowned art critic, described perspective as a “visual hypocrisy”. As I looked at the art of the East again, I saw that nature was represented in a different manner. In a Chinese watercolor, I would see a branch, a bird, the tip of the mountain and that was all. There was no attempt, in the Western way, of trying to give depth and the illusion of space. I became more puzzled and curious about this way of seeing. The more I looked around me, at the customs and art of the East, the less I knew.
I was teaching art classes for the British Council in downtown Singapore. The Army looked kindly upon this teaching, as a service to the community. I met some Chinese artists and, through an interpreter, talked about painting. Again, I knew nothing about how these artists felt about their art, even a simple brushstroke. The Chinese talked of the brush; the amount to paint; the weight and feel of the brush; the time; gesture; speed; contemplation; and the movement and moment of the stroke. The more I heard, the less I understood. The people, language and art are so colorful and exotic; of other lands and differing cultures. “The Mysterious East” remains that for me to this very day.
In summer 1956, I left Singapore by troopship to return home. Our troopship was the last military vessel to pass through the Suez Canal. The Egyptian President Nasser nationalized the canal that July. The hostility was evident, as our troopship moved through the narrow canal, with crowds jeering, spitting and yelling. The Seven Day War occurred in October but, by then, my Army days were over. For military service in Malaya, considered a war zone, troops were awarded the General Service Medal (GSM, Malaya). My Army discharge papers of August 1956 include the following testimonial from my Commanding Officer: “An intelligent and highly qualified Non Commissioned Officer (NCO) who has carried out duties with complete success; duties considerably beyond those normally assigned to a soldier of his rank. He is a first class artist and has proved himself a very good instructor”. So ended my Army service, now my teaching career was about to begin.
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