borebage53
Knife & Fork pending
A Ghurka Subaltern who I met later told me that commanding a platoon of them was like leading a group of perfectly-disciplined ten-year-olds,and I believe him. Watching them play football,for example,was like watching very small children,for they hadn't the least idea of playing the game;they had no interest of teams or goals or anything of the sort. Their one idea was to chase the ball in a screaming,laughing mob,booting it as far as possible and running after it with their little skulls gleaming and pigtails bobbing,to boot it again. Unless chance directed the ball back to where they had started,they were liable to vanish into the distance,yelling: "Futtbal,Futtbal" - and the extraordinary thing was that they did it properly dressed,with their puttees on and shirts buttoned at the wrists.
Their only other recreation that I saw was the catapult, the Y - and - elastic toy which the Americans call a sling shot.Many of the Ghurkas carried them in their hip-pockets,and if you were suddenly stung a tergo and heard a smothered giggle from behind a tree,it was worth stopping and shouting: "Idderao,Johnny! Ham dekko,you little bugger" just for the pleasure of seeing the small face come cautiously peeping out,followed by the marksman himself,wearing a sheepish grin and holding up his catapult by way of explanation,as if you didn't know. As far as I could see they confined themselves to British targets(there seemed to be no great love lost between themselves and the Indian Regiments,especially the Sikhs),and we took it as a complement. No one would have dreamed of taking offence;it would have been downright cruel,for the Ghurka was as eager to please as a playful grandchild. The thought of quarrelling with one of them never even occurred - for one thing,you'd be better picking a fight with a King Cobra!
That was a thing that was often hard to remember:that this delightful little man,with his ungainly walk and protruding backside and impish grin,who barely came up to your shoulder and was one of nature's born comedians,was also probably the most fatal fighting man on earth. Their reckless courage was legendary, and I imagine that in proportion to their numbers they must have won more Victoria Crosses than any other race in the Army. I was never among them during an action, but I was once privileged to watch,from a distance,a company of them attacking a Japanese position. There was a Highland unit on their left,advancing with that slow,deliberate,110-paces-to-the-minute tread which used to be the trademark of the kilted regiments;the Ghurkas had to trot to keep up,little green uniformed figures with their bush-hats at the rakish Ghurka angle,each man with his rifle at the trail in his left hand and his drawn Kukri in his right. Over the last few yards the Highlanders suddenly accelerated,but any noise they made was drowned out by the ear-splitting scream of the little hillmen going like demented dwarves, brandishing their knives as they scampered into the trees - and I was profoundly glad that I wasn't Japanese. One of the Highlanders told me later that when they came out again they found the ground before the enemy position littered with Ghurka rifles: most of them had gone in with their Kukris alone.
There was another occasion when a Ghurka platoon close to us held a position against two companies of Japanese who wouldn't take no for answer,but kept coming time and again,yelling "Banzai!"; the Ghurkas just stood fast and stopped them until the position was littered with Jap dead. When the Ghurkas were finally withdrawn it was discovered that they hadn't a single round of ammunition left among them!
(From "Quartered Safe Out Here", a Soldiers recollections of the War in Burma).
Their only other recreation that I saw was the catapult, the Y - and - elastic toy which the Americans call a sling shot.Many of the Ghurkas carried them in their hip-pockets,and if you were suddenly stung a tergo and heard a smothered giggle from behind a tree,it was worth stopping and shouting: "Idderao,Johnny! Ham dekko,you little bugger" just for the pleasure of seeing the small face come cautiously peeping out,followed by the marksman himself,wearing a sheepish grin and holding up his catapult by way of explanation,as if you didn't know. As far as I could see they confined themselves to British targets(there seemed to be no great love lost between themselves and the Indian Regiments,especially the Sikhs),and we took it as a complement. No one would have dreamed of taking offence;it would have been downright cruel,for the Ghurka was as eager to please as a playful grandchild. The thought of quarrelling with one of them never even occurred - for one thing,you'd be better picking a fight with a King Cobra!
That was a thing that was often hard to remember:that this delightful little man,with his ungainly walk and protruding backside and impish grin,who barely came up to your shoulder and was one of nature's born comedians,was also probably the most fatal fighting man on earth. Their reckless courage was legendary, and I imagine that in proportion to their numbers they must have won more Victoria Crosses than any other race in the Army. I was never among them during an action, but I was once privileged to watch,from a distance,a company of them attacking a Japanese position. There was a Highland unit on their left,advancing with that slow,deliberate,110-paces-to-the-minute tread which used to be the trademark of the kilted regiments;the Ghurkas had to trot to keep up,little green uniformed figures with their bush-hats at the rakish Ghurka angle,each man with his rifle at the trail in his left hand and his drawn Kukri in his right. Over the last few yards the Highlanders suddenly accelerated,but any noise they made was drowned out by the ear-splitting scream of the little hillmen going like demented dwarves, brandishing their knives as they scampered into the trees - and I was profoundly glad that I wasn't Japanese. One of the Highlanders told me later that when they came out again they found the ground before the enemy position littered with Ghurka rifles: most of them had gone in with their Kukris alone.
There was another occasion when a Ghurka platoon close to us held a position against two companies of Japanese who wouldn't take no for answer,but kept coming time and again,yelling "Banzai!"; the Ghurkas just stood fast and stopped them until the position was littered with Jap dead. When the Ghurkas were finally withdrawn it was discovered that they hadn't a single round of ammunition left among them!
(From "Quartered Safe Out Here", a Soldiers recollections of the War in Burma).
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