13 Dec 1941, Colin McEwan Diary

Today as most subsequent days was to prove fairly uneventful during daylight hours. During day both Mike and Tai had been making attempts to find their contact guerrilla man but without any success as he seemed to have vanished.

At dusk we set out on another patrol which soon proved that the previous evening’s parade had been effective as the roads apart from an old (odd?) police patrol were quiet and no lights were to be seen.

We had more or less come to the conclusion that all was quiet and were proceeding up to our observation point of the previous evening when suddenly a burst of T.G. fire lit the road in front of us. Down we flopped, not very gracefully but very rapidly into a tarmac road and proceeded to dig in and move so that the trees by the roadside would afford us cover. Realising it was one of our own patrols Mike hailed them but was answered by another burst which set me to wishing I was small enough to sit inside my tin hat. Mike then addressed the audience and spoke clearly, fluently, and volubly – his voice rising in a crescendo of rage and in language of which only the last two “buggers” and “bastards” could be clearly heard.

This eloquence seemed to remind the Afridis – as they later turned out to be – of the voices of their O.C. and, after mutual compliments being paid, we proceeded to the post who, after examining us and smoking our cigarettes, allowed us to proceed, the sergeant having expressed his regret and sealed the bond of friendship by repeating “Fuck Japanese”. A quick visit to their H.Q. – another of the few places which impressed – both officers and men striking one as efficient and alert and another day was over.