A profile: John “Jack” Redding
John “Jack” Redding
2nd Battalion, The King’s Own Royal Regiment, III Brigade (“Profound”), Operation Thursday, 1944.
My father, Jack Redding, was called up in early 1940. Despite the fact that he lived in Peckham, he found himself at Crown Hill Fort, Plymouth, with the Duke of Cornwall’s Light infantry. His RSM was the legendary “Tipper” Hicks, renowned for his roar: “Put him in the dungeon!”. Jack was a rebel. His offences ranged from swearing at an NCO to being discovered with beer in his water bottle during a route march. Only the fact that he was regimental cross-country champion saved him from the glasshouse.
Jack Redding’s Battalion went to India in 1942. He was posted to the 2nd Battalion, King’s Own Royal Regiment, who were about to begin jungle training as Chindits. They contributed 41 and 46 Columns. Jack was a member of one of the Rifle Platoons.
He was hospitalised with malaria twice during training but recovered A1 fitness on both occasions. Later, he was picked to be one of the small group of King’s Own joining the glider assault landings, to secure Broadway clearing for the main force fly-in for Operation Thursday.
On Sunday March 5 1944 Jack spotted Jackie Coogan on Lalaghat Airfield. The film star was one of 1st Air Commando’s pilots. Later in life I became a glider pilot and offered to arrange a flight for my father. His reply cannot be repeated. He’d done it once and had no desire to do it again.
The King’s Own formed part of 111 Brigade – codenamed “Profound.” 111 Brigade’s initial task was to stop the Japanese reinforcing the important centre of Indaw from the South. Later, it set up a new Block on the main railway, attempting to repeat the success of 77 Brigade’s “White City” Block further south. This was not to be. The new “Blackpool” Block was too close to the Japanese frontlines. They brought up flak guns, to prevent the Block’s resupply. Eventually, Blackpool Block was overwhelmed and Jack was amongst several thousand others who were very fortunate to escape with their lives.
When Blackpool was surrounded, the Japanese taunted the defenders, calling out in English at night. The King’s Own held part of the perimeter called “The Deep”. This was a very unpleasant waterlogged position at the foot of a steep slope. The Japanese attacked repeatedly in Company strength. Some of the men began to voice their fears, saying “We’ll never get out of here. We’ll never get home.” Jack warned them: “If you carry on like that, you’ll be right. You won’t get home.”
Bill Towill was 111 Brigade’s Intelligence Officer. He wrote movingly of the King’s Own’s suffering: “The King’s Own kept holding and killing as one fanatical attack followed another.” On 17 May their positions in The Deep were blasted systematically by 12 Japanese heavy guns, killing the crews of the machine gun posts. Jack Masters, commanding the Brigade, was warned that there were doubts about their ability to stop another attack.
They were then relieved by the Cameronians. Bill Towill wrote: “As they passed, the King’s Own men walked like zombies, wild-eyed, their jaws sagging wide.” Jack was amongst them. They were fortunate indeed to escape Blackpool and the horrors that followed. Jack remembered nothing of coming out of Burma, apart from climbing onto a lorry at some point. Everyone went to hospital. Then there followed two weeks’ recovery leave in the foothills of the Himalayas. Fewer than 120 of the King’s Own’s 1,000 men were judged fit to stay in for a few more weeks at the end of the campaign.
My father went in at 10 stone and came out at seven stone. The Army offered him a choice of two jobs – driver or cook. Not surprisingly, he became a cook and was more than happy to transfer from the Chindits to the Catering Corps.
Dad had only a few stories he was willing to share. He saw a man who could no longer march brought back to life by a tin of peaches. He was given the thick sugar syrup to drink. Within minutes he could march – but without the pack. My father always loved tinned peaches and condensed milk. He hated corned beef and “mule dung” Victory cigarettes.
His Column was caught in an ambush. The mule next to Jack went down and he took cover behind it to return fire. He saw the Column Quartermaster killed by a Japanese wielding a sword. Their attackers were Imperial Guards.
Decades later, I was to interview Jim Unsworth, another Rifleman with 46 Column. Jim was one of a patrol sent back to the ambush site to retrieve the mortar base plates – which had been left in the confusion. Jim confirmed my father’s story. He found the body of the Quartermaster killed by the swordsman. He also found, close by, the bodies of two Japanese soldiers, both over 6ft tall. Unsworth told Lieutenant Littlewood: “Sir, I thought Japanese were supposed to be small.” He was then told: “Don’t believe everything we tell you!”
Jack was a member of a patrol sent back to an occupied village, in an attempt to rescue some British prisoners. The village was deserted. I would not attempt to describe what they found.
Jack returned home in March 1946. He was told to report to the Yorkshire Grey pub in Eltham, South East London, to be demobbed, after four years four months abroad without leave. Instead, they told him he was going to Palestine. My father declined, won his case and went on the Z Reserve.
It took him 50 years to forgive the army for that. But forgive them he did. He marched with the Chindits at the Cenotaph on three occasions. He didn’t join the Chindits’ Old Comrades Association – perhaps because he felt that, inevitably, that would open old wounds.
One last story about Jack. He always loved heavy rain drumming on the roof of his shed or the car. I always thought he liked the noise. In fact, what he did love was the ability to be in the rain but remain totally and completely dry.
Jack had two close friends in his Column – “Nobby” Evans and Dave Davies. Jack was the only one to come back. One of his mates was killed in action and the other died of cerebral malaria. Jack died in 2005. Bless them all!
Tony Redding,
Son of a Chindit
