THE sky had been threatening to open up all day, but nothing would deter the 72 would-be recipients of the Pingat Jasa Malaysia (PJM) who turned up at the Malaysian High Commission in Belgrave Square last week, suitably attired for the occasion — the men in their suits, complete with colourful Dhaka topis or the Gurkha slouch hats with arrays of medals, reminders of their service around the world during troubled times.
The women, too, were dressed to the nines in colourful saris making a cheerful contrast to the dark grey skies above.
These were Gurkha veterans and widows or children of veterans who once served in Malaya during the Emergency and Konfrantasi. They were the fourth batch of recipients of the PJM.
So far, since March 2004, a total of 27,697 PJM medals had been given to British veterans and Gurkhas in the British Army in recognition of their services during the Emergency and the Indonesia-Malaysia confrontation.
I have attended quite a few PJM ceremonies but it is only of late that the Gurkhas are being given this recognition, with only 2,700 having received it so far.
Many received their medals back in Nepal while others, such as those who remained in the United Kingdom, received their medals here either from the Malaysian high commissioner or the Malaysian defence adviser.
I must admit that my knowledge of the involvement or indeed the presence of the Gurkhas in Malaya, up until quite recently, was limited only to those that I had encountered selling semi-precious stones by the roadside in my hometown.
During assignments to places like Sandhurst Military College, I had met a few Gurkha soldiers who surprised me by speaking Malay.
Now, I am beginning to learn a lot more. So how did they come to be in the British Army which led them to our shores during the Emergency?
According to history, they first encountered the British in 1814, when the British East India Company fought against them in the Anglo-Nepalese War.
The British forces suffered a great loss and were wise enough to acknowledge their military might, honourable tactics and mastery of jungle warfare and took them as allies instead of enemies.
Stories about the bravery of the Gurkhas were aplenty. They have served with distinction and have at least 13 recipients of the Victoria Cross in their midst.
Most of them hailed from the hilltown region of Gorkha in Nepal where the only way to see the world is to join the army.
“I think, it was in our blood,” said Major (Rtd) Chandru Rai, chairman of Ex-British Gurkhas Association, Ealing.
Rai was barely 18 when he joined the army just after school and joined the British Army in 1960 and had nine months of military training in Sungai Patani before being sent to Seremban.
He was with the Queens Gurkha Signals, a communications unit.
“I was very young at that time. When we were sent to war, we took an oath that it was our duty to fight for the country we were in and try to save the country in difficulties.
“At that time in Malaya, the communists were trying to overthrow the government. That is why the British went in.
“There were five or six Gurkha battalions involved to free your country from the communists,” he said.
They live by the motto — “Better to die than be a coward”.
Although he hardly faced any danger himself, apart from the sting of mosquitoes in the jungles, while in Kuching, Rai had heard of a Rambahadur Limbu who was stationed in Bau.
This soldier, he later learnt, had been awarded the Victoria Cross, the highest and most prestigious award of the British honours system.
According to reports, Limbu saw service in Malaya before being posted to Brunei in 1962 where he helped the British defend Eastern Malaysia from Indonesian aggression.
In 1965, Limbu and his regiment were ordered to mount an assault on an Indonesian camp located on the top of a hill.
“While under heavy machine gun fire, Limbu led his team around the flank to gain a better position for attack.
“His two comrades were wounded and carried back to safety, but later died of their wounds,” said the report.
“A modest Limbu”, added the report, “attributed his survival under fire to his small stature”.
But Limbu was a Bahadur — a name I heard repeated again and again during the award ceremony.
“Bahadur”, it seems, is a common middle name in Nepal.
It has a Turkish root which means “brave in battlefield”, and reflected a family history with martial tradition spanning several generations.
A name to be proud of, small in stature or not.
To Rai and other recipients of the PJM, it was indeed an honour to receive the recognition after a long wait.
They still remember the beautiful country and the warm friendships they fostered while they were briefly there and can even speak a smattering of Malay.
Already in their 70s and 80s, to Rai and his friends who proudly displayed their medals on their chest, this is another episode they could regale their children and grandchildren with — what they did as soldiers in the East.
It was also a time to remember those who fell defending the country that is not their own but one they fiercely fought for that is Malaya.
I am touched by the words of Field Marshall Sam Manekshaw, former chief of staff of the Indian army who gave tribute to their bravery:
“If a man says he is not afraid of dying, he is either lying or he is a Gurkha.”