Charles Richards, Chindit who left a vivid account of jungle warfare behind enemy lines in Burma

Charles Richards, who has died aged 104, was one of the last surviving Chindits to have taken part in Operation Thursday, the second deep penetration expedition into Burma.

The main objective was to su​pport the US-led advance into northern Burma by using fixed airstrips named after British cities and London streets and established behind the Japanese lines. The Chindits would be supplied by air and their task was to harass the enemy and cut the communications of the Japanese divisions facing the Chinese forces.

In September 1942, Richards, serving with the 7th Battalion, The Leicestershire Regiment, embarked at Liverpool in the troopship Capetown Castle. At Bombay, he trans-shipped to an Indian vessel and, after docking at Karachi, the battalion moved to Jhansi and then to the Ken River Camp, Gwalior Province, where they began six months’ jungle training. Lieutenant General William Slim’s 14th Army had learnt some hard lessons at the hands of the Japanese before it was accepted that mules could navigate the dense, mountainous jungle terrain, some of the wildest, toughest country on earth while trucks and Jeeps could not.

They were to fight as columns. Each colu​mn consisted of about 400 men, 60 mules and a few ponies to carry casualties. Richards was part of 14th Brigade’s, 74 Column.

Mules were difficult to work with, Richards recalled, in an autobiography he put together with his wife Jean when he was in his seventies. Stubborn, cunning and unpredictable, the mules would buck and kick whenever they had the chance. While being harnessed and loaded, they would sometimes take off, hooves flying, and tear through the camp, entangle themselves in the guy ropes and demolish the tents.

On river crossings, they might break away from their leading ropes and swim for home. Their feet frequently got stuck in the rocks and Richards and his comrades had to dive down and release them. Sometimes, he said, the shouting and cursing was so loud that if they behaved like that, the Japanese would certainly have heard them.

In March 1944, men, mules and bullocks were taken by train to Lalaghat airfield, Assam, about 100 miles from the Burmese border. The mules were loaded into a special section of the Dakotas and hitched to strong bamboo rails. A man was stationed there with a gun in case they got out of hand. One mule kicked a hole in the side of the plane but it was not a pressurised cabin and it did not cause a disaster.

Shortly after landing at Aberdeen, they received orders to push on to Mawlu, code-named White City, to relieve Brigadier Michael Calvert’s 77th Indian Infantry Brigade. They were issued with white nylon scarves printed with a map of Northern Burma. Known as panic maps, these were for use if they got separated from their units.

Everyone took turns to carry the Bren gun which, on top of the 70 lb pack, was a very heavy load. White City was a crucial hub for road and rail traffic and a natural fortress. Paddy fields had been turned into a serviceable airstrip. The remains of the railway and road running along one side was overlooked by low hills heavily fortified with wood-roofed bunkers and gun positions, surrounded by razor wire and a booby-trapped minefield.

When the Japanese attacked, they shouted, screamed and blew bugles, aiming to draw the defenders’ fire and pinpoint their positions. When driven off, they would regroup and charge again in exactly the same place, at whatever the cost in casualties.

White City was evacuated in mid-May and the two Leicestershire columns were the last to leave. The monsoon broke early, turning the land into a steaming mud bath and bringing with it dysentery, typhus, malaria, ticks and leeches as well as jungle sores from an array of biting, crawling and flying insects.

The men were wearing green vests, khaki slacks and bush hats. The intensity of the rain soaked them to the skin within seconds. At night, a pouch of hand grenades served as a pillow. Clothes could only be changed if they received a “comfort drop” from the air.

The terrain was a seemingly endless succession of ridges and valleys, with hills ranging from 1,000ft to 5,000ft high. Some of the men were carrying half their body weight in high humidity and temperatures in excess of 100F (38C). The downpour turned the streams into torrents which could sweep away men and mules and turn steep slopes into mudslides. The mules slipped and fell and had to be unloaded before they could regain their footing.

One night, they made camp near a stream where they could get drinking water. Three men who were filling their water bottles were surprised by a Japanese patrol which shot and killed two of them. The third man lay and feigned death for what seemed to him to be hours until one of the patrols rescued him. He could hear the “Japs” talking, but dared not open his eyes. The next time he came under fire, he ran into the jungle and was never seen again.

The column was ordered to make for Blackpool, near Hopin, with all speed to support 111th Brigade which was being attacked by a Japanese force in strength. Hacking their way with machetes to make a path wide enough for the mules, they struggled through dense thorn thickets and prickly bamboo. They were expected to cover 120 miles in 13 days, but on some days they did not manage five miles.

The Japs would try to infiltrate at night. Their calls of “Johnny, where are you?,” were meant to frighten the defenders into giving away their positions. If they did get through, in the darkness, with heavy rain falling, it was difficult to tell friend from foe and all hell would break loose.

Death became an everyday occurrence. Almost every evening there were bodies to bury, some from enemy action, but most from disease. The fear of being left behind and captured by the Japanese was enough to make very sick men find enough strength to keep going.

They secured the important Kyunsalai Pass and the road to the Indawgyi Lake, where the sick and wounded were loaded on to rafts or Sunderland flying boats for the journey back to India. The Japanese were dug in astride the road to Blackpool and could not be shifted by a frontal attack. But 111th Brigade was running out of food and ammunition and was ordered to withdraw to the mountains.

Richards and his comrades had numerous skirmishes with the Japanese, but the men were being pushed to the very limits of their endurance. Malaria was rife. The daily Mepacrine dose was increased to three tablets and was still not suppressing all the cases. Jungle fevers and dysentery that fit men could throw off now became a threat to life. Waterlogged boots were causing foot rot.

During the last part of the trek, Richards recalled, the Chinese troops learnt that they would not evacuated to India like the rest of the force, and there were cases where they started firing at his column. All the men could do was to keep their heads down. They were not allowed to return fire.

At Mogaung, they camped b​eside the road. The devastation was complete. The town, where the Japanese had dug themselves in, had been bombed beyond recognition. A regiment of the 36th Division came swinging down the road. They were fresh, well-fed troops.

Their commanding officer, Richards recalled, was carrying an umbrella, and he must have been deeply shocked to see the ragged, bearded, gaunt and grubby-looking survivors of 74 Column. Some had such severe dysentery that they had thrown away their trousers and were wearing kilts made out of their blankets.

“The only thing I begrudged them was handing over our mules. It was heart breaking seeing one of my friends, with tears in his eyes, saying good-bye to Tom, his beloved mule.”

Charles Harry Richards was born in Dundee on July 23 1921. His mother, a Scot, had returned from Kettering to her home town to make sure that he was born in Scotland. His father had served with the Royal Flying Corps and flew to Murmansk during the Russian Revolution as part of the peacekeeping force.

Young Charles was educated at Stamford Road Senior School, Kettering, until he was 14. He worked in a shoe factory and then got a job as a plumber’s mate. In November 1941, he was called up and joined the 7th Leicesters. After basic training in Yorkshire, they sailed for India.

At the end of the campaign, of the original 400 men in Column 74, only 260 were still fit for active service. In August 1944, they were loaded onto flat wagons for the rail journey from Mogaung to Myitkyina and flew back to India. During the two months that Richards spent at a rest camp, one of the films shown was Objective Burma! in which Errol Flynn appeared to have won the war against the Japanese single-handed. This caused a riot and the film was taken off.

In December, the 7th Leicesters was so greatly under-strength that it was disbanded. Sick and exhausted men had been dispersed to hospitals in India for treatment and rehabilitation. Richards joined the 2nd Battalion at Kirkee Camp, near Poona (now Pune). They were training for a combined operation against the Japanese in Malaya, but the war in South-East Asia ended with the dropping of atomic bombs on Japan.

In November 1945, Richards returned to England to an emotional reunion with his family. The Chindit campaign had been a gruelling experience and his parents hardly recognised him. “Bugger me!” his father exclaimed. “What happened here?”

After a stint in West Germany, in October 1946 he was demobilised. He worked for Stewarts & Lloyds at their steelworks in Corby until it closed in 1979 and, for 21 years, he played for the Kettering Casuals Cricket Club.

Charlie Richards married, in 1950, Jean Althorpe. She died in 2021 and he is survived by their son and daughter.

​Charles Richards, born July 23 1921, died January 23 2026

[Source: Daily Telegraph]