Orders, Decorations, Medals and Militaria

The historic and important Second War ‘Operation Jaywick’ M.M., ‘Special Operations Executive - Orient Mission’ B.E.M. group of nine awarded to Acting Sergeant, later Major R. G. Morris, Royal Army Medical Corps, attached S.O.E. and Special Operations Australia, who was awarded the Military Medal for his gallantry and distinguished service as Medical Orderly in the MV Krait during her hazardous and highly audacious 48-day 4,000 mile round trip Commando raid, under the Command of Major Ivan Lyon, Gordon Highlanders, on Japanese occupied Singapore Harbour in September 1943, resulting in the sinking and destruction of seven enemy ships totalling 37,000 tons - the deepest surface waterborne penetration behind enemy lines undertaken by special forces in the Second World War. With no uniforms, no identity tags, and flying the Japanese flag, there would only have been one outcome for the crew if they were captured - failure was not an option.

Remarkably, Morris had previously been awarded the B.E.M. for his services in the South-West Pacific, almost certainly for his devotion to duty during the Fall of Singapore when, having helped establish an escape route through Sumatra, and with his medical skills to the fore, he tended to the hundreds who came ashore at Durian during the exodus from Singapore in February 1942, before finally evacuating the island with Ivan Lyon in a tale of daring-do, first by sail to Sumatra, then by car across the mountains, before securing passage on the last ship out of Padang

Military Medal, G.VI.R. (7264507 A/Sjt. R. G. Morris. R.A.M.C.); British Empire Medal, (Military) G.VI.R., 1st issue (7264507 Pte. Ronald George Morris); 1939-45 Star; Pacific Star; Defence and War Medals 1939-45; General Service 1918-62, 1 clasp, Malaya, G.VI.R. (7264507 Sjt. R. G. Morris. M.M. B.E.M. R.A.M.C.); General Service 1962-2007, 1 clasp, Borneo (Lt. R. G. Morris. M.M. B.E.M. RAMC.); Army L.S. & G.C., E.II.R., 1st issue, Regular Army (7264507 W.O. Cl.2. R. G. Morris. B.E.M. M.M. R.A.M.C.) mounted court-style as worn, cleaned and lacquered, light contact marks, generally very fine and better (9) £60,000-£80,000

M.M. London Gazette 19 September 1946:
‘In recognition of gallant and distinguished services in the field (to be dated 23 November 1944).’

The Operation Jaywick File at the PRO (ADM 1-16678 gives the following Recommendation: ‘Corporal R. G. Morris, R.A.M.C., and Corporal A. Crilly, A.I.F. These two men were members of the ship’s crew, Corporal Morris the Medical Orderly, and Corporal Crilly as cook. Both performed their duties with great cheerfulness and their bearing throughout was of the highest standard in most trying and hazardous conditions. I recommend that if awards to the above men are approved, their published citation should only state that these awards are for outstanding conduct in the presence of the enemy, but that no fuller citation can be published for reasons of military secrecy.’

The original Recommendation submitted by the Australian authorities, for an Immediate M.M., states: ‘Participated in operations against the enemy under conditions of extreme hazard. His general bearing, cheerfulness, and devotion to duty in most difficult and dangerous conditions were of the highest standard throughout.’

Morris’ Military Medal was approved by H.M. the King on 17 May 1944, on the Secret List, with the instruction that it was not to be published in the London Gazette until it had been taken off the Secret List.

B.E.M. London Gazette 4 May 1943:
‘In recognition of gallant and distinguished services in the South West Pacific.’

Ronald George ‘Taffy’ Morris was born at Pentre, in the Rhondda Valley, on Christmas Day 1918, and after leaving school at the age of 14 was employed as a miner. After five years in the South Wales pits he attested for the Royal Army Medical Corps on 30 May 1938, and after Japan entered the War he was recruited as a Medical Orderly to join the Special Operations Executive, Orient Mission, arriving in Singapore on 19 April 1941. Here he met fellow S.O.E. Operative, the charismatic old Harrovian Captain Ivan Lyon, Gordon Highlanders. The pair of them were soon part of an unorthodox group undertaking clandestine missions, training up local groups in the art of sabotage to be undertaken behind enemy lines, as well as establishing an escape route through Sumatra, should the unthinkable happen, and Singapore fall to the Japanese.

In early February 1942, Lyon and Morris, together with a handful of other operatives, were ordered to leave Singapore to establish a base on Pulau Durian, one of the handful of small islands between Singapore and Sumatra. Here they acted as a makeshift staging post for the mass exodus out of Singapore, with Morris’ medical skills to the fore, as many who came ashore had severe injuries from Japanese bombing raids. ‘He set about making splints, setting broken bones, stemming bleeding, suturing gashes, and removing shrapnel embedded in flesh. all without anaesthetic.’ (The Tiger’s Revenge, by the recipient’s son, Evan Morris, refers). The work undertaken by the various S.O.E. teams saved hundreds stranded on the islands during this period, and on Durian Lyon and Morris worked tirelessly for days without a break. Then, on 17 February, two small ships arrived at Durian with the bad news. Singapore had fallen.

The last of the survivors from Singapore having been evacuated, Morris and Lyon then left themselves in a small sailing vessel, and made their way by boat to the mouth of the Indragiri River, up the river to Rengat, and then across the Sumatran mountains by car, to Padang. Here, Morris, owing to his medical skills, was ordered onto what was the last ship to leave the island, on board the Dutch steamer the S.S. Palopo, bound for Ceylon. Against all odds, the ship made it to Ceylon on 11 March, from where Morris was posted to No. 55 Combined Military Hospital in Colombo. He was advanced Acting Sergeant on 10 July 1942 and, for his gallant and distinguished services in the South West Pacific, was awarded the British Empire Medal. Understandably, given the secretive nature of his work, no citation exists.

Lyon, meanwhile, had also made it, via an extraordinary 1,000 mile journey in a fishing ketch, to Ceylon, from where he proceeded by steamer to Bombay. It was from here that he, along with Major Jock Campbell, King’s Own Scottish Borderers, and a 61 year old Australian civilian, Bill Reynolds, conceived an enterprising idea to have their revenge upon the Japanese in Singapore.

Operation Jaywick
Under the plans hatched by Lyon, Campbell, and Reynolds in Bombay, commandos would travel to Singapore harbour in a vessel disguised as an Asian fishing boat. They would then use collapsible canoes (folboats) to attach limpet mines to Japanese ships. General Archibald Wavell, Commander-in-Chief, India, known for his enthusiasm for unconventional warfare, approved the plan. However, given the necessary secrecy required for the operation, and the fact that India was known to harbour an extensive network of Japanese spies, to embark from the sub-Continent was out of the question. Instead, another embarkation point was require, and in July 1942, Lyon set off for Australia to organise the operation. But first he had to secure the services of a key member of his team - Ronald Morris. Flying to Colombo, Lyon attempted to secure Morris’ release from his hospital duties, but his meeting with the Commanding Officer of No. 55 Combined Military Hospital in Colombo for once did not go to plan, and the C.O. refused to agree to Morris’ release. Undaunted, Lyon then flew back to Delhi and, having obtained an official order sanctioning Morris’ release, signed by General Wavell himself, Morris was soon bound for Australia.

Once in Australia Lyon was put in contact with the “Z” Special Unit - a commando arm largely comprised of Australian Army and Royal Australian Navy personnel organised by Special Operations Australia (S.O.A.). Modelled on the Special Operations Executive in London and containing a number of British S.O.E. officers who had escaped from Japanese occupied Singapore, the S.O.A. had earlier been named the Inter-Allied Services Department and later became known as the Services Reconnaissance Department. An articulation of the unit’s role was to be found in an earlier General Headquarters directive of 6 July 1942: ‘to obtain and report information on the enemy in the Southwest Pacific Area ... and in addition, where practicable, to weaken the enemy by sabotage and destruction of morale and to lend aid and assistance to local efforts to the same end and in enemy occupied territories.’

A small Japanese fishing boat, used earlier by Reynolds to evacuate refugees out of Singapore, was considered perfect for the job of transporting the men to and from the Singapore area and after being shipped from India to Australia aboard a P&O steamer, it was renamed the MV Krait, after a small, deadly Asian snake, and refitted for purpose. Finally, a year later, in August 1943, after months of training and delays, the mixed crew, comprising Lyon as Commanding Officer, Lieutenant Donald Davidson, R.N.V.R., as his Second in Command; Morris as Medical Orderly, and a number of Australians, led by Lieutenant Hubert Carse, R.A.N.V.R. as the Navigator, were ready for the operation, Operation Jaywick, with the official roll of the Krait’s crew reading thus (together with the Honours and Awards they ultimately received for Operation Jaywick):

Major I. Lyon, Gordon Highlanders, Commanding Officer [D.S.O.]
Lieutenant D. N. Davidson, R.N.V.R., 1st Lieutenant [D.S.O.]
Lieutenant H. C. Carse, R.A.N.V.R., Navigator [M.I.D.]
Lieutenant R. C. Page, A.I.F., Medical Officer [D.S.O.]
Acting Leading Seaman K. P. Cain, R.A.N., Ship’s Staff [M.I.D.]
Leading Stoker J. P. McDowell, R.N., 1st Engineer [D.S.M.]
Leading Telegraphist H. S. Young, R.A.N., Wireless Operator [M.I.D.]
Corporal R. G. Morris, R.A.M.C., Medical Orderly [M.M.]
Corporal A. Crilly, A.I.F., Cook [M.M.]
Able Seaman W. C. Falls, R.A.N., Operative [D.S.M.]
Able Seaman A. W. Jones, R.A.N., Operative [D.S.M.]
Able Seaman A. W. G. Huston, R.A.N., Operative [D.S.M.]
Able Seaman F. W. Marsh, R.A.N., 2nd Engineer [M.I.D.]
Able Seaman M. Berryman, R.A.N., Deck Hand [M.I.D.]

With Carse as skipper and navigator of the Krait, the 14 man team, in cramped conditions on board, embarked for Operation Jaywick from Exmouth, Western Australia, at 2:00 p.m. on 2 September 1943 - three hours later they nearly sank: ‘Outside the Gulf we ran into a heavy swell and confused sea from the south, with a fresh south wind,’ Davidson wrote in the log. ‘We very nearly foundered but just managed to carry on’. Horrie Young’s diary records that the Krait almost capsized before Carse ordered a sail furled and altered course to the North with a following sea: ‘It was Ted Carse’s skill and seamanship that saved the day on that occasion.’

On 5 September, with Lyon now having disclosed to the crew that ships in Singapore Harbour were to be the target of their mission, and with 4,000 miles ahead of them in the enemy waters of the new Japanese empire, they lowered the Australian Blue ensign from the mast at the stern of the boat and hoisted the red poached egg of Japan in its place. Assessing that the new flag was far too clean and new for its purpose, however, they bathed it in some diesoline and scuffed it on the deck to give it a more worn appearance. A second Japanese flag was also fixed atop the wheelhouse. Acting Able Seaman Berryman remembered that they came under the observation of enemy seaplanes on occasion and he even waved to one Japanese pilot in his open cockpit who returned the greeting. Recalling a Japanese float plane that past overhead at 2000 feet, Leading Telegraphist Horrie Young wrote, ‘No one noticed until he was right on top of us. We all dived for cover trying to look as unconcerned as possible - shock passes as does plane. I guess our flag did the trick.’

Carse’s ship’s log provides a most comprehensive real time account of the remainder of the voyage out - the navigation of the dangerous rip-tides of the Lombok Strait, the sudden violent tropical storms or ‘Sumatras’ and the silent approach to Pandjang Island, the location of the raiding party’s disembarkation. As the operational party of canoeists were landed before dawn on 18 September, Captain Lyon was the last to leave the Krait. Horrie Young recalled him saying to Carse, ‘now remember Ted, if we are not back by the rendezvous date you are to take the Krait back to Australia.’ As Morris, one of those who remained on the Krait, observed, Operation Jaywick had now been split into two parts - ‘survive’ and ‘attack’. For both components, the odds were not good.

The events which unfolded over the next few days are the stuff of legend. The commandos island-hopped, paddling their folding canoes northwards through the archipelago arriving at Pulau Dongas on 22 September. There they observed Singapore Harbour traffic, where approximately 59,000 tonnes of Japanese shipping had gathered. On 26 September, the six men in their three canoes slipped through the night towards their targets. Lyon and Huston were spotted by a Japanese crewman but ignored, while Davidson and Falls were nearly run down by a tug. They attached magnetic limpet mines to the hulls of seven ships and fled the anchorage undetected. Early the next morning, six explosions shattered the darkness and six Japanese ships – 37,000 tonnes – were sunk or severely damaged.

Meanwhile, the Krait, with her depleted crew under Carse, was required to avoid detection by enemy patrols while waiting for Lyon and his men to return to the rendezvous at Pompong Island some 2 weeks later. It was decided that they should head to the inlets on the south side of Borneo Island. Brian Connell in ‘The Return of the Tiger’ takes up their story:

‘Krait was left with a much reduced and rather subdued little company for the nerve-wracking fortnight that lay ahead. The taciturn Carse was now in command and with him were Cain, Marsh, Berryman, Morris and Crilly, with Young still on his wireless watch and ‘Paddy’ McDowell down in the engine room. In some ways theirs was the harder part to bear. The three canoe crews would be holing up by day and paddling their blacked-out folboats towards Singapore by night, with every hope of escaping detection, except during actual attack. Krait, with her reduced firepower, would be cruising day and night in the dangerous waters of the South China Seas, with only half as many men on deck to defend her should she run into trouble... ’Ted’ Carse in the good plain English of his log entries, gives a vivid account of the next fourteen days:
“September 18, 1030: Steaming east-south-east and approaching the southern entrance of the Temiang Straight. Sing yo! ho! for Borneo. All the crew are feeling the strain of long hours and ceaseless watching. Unless we get a quiet time soon I will have to issue Benzedrine. I have the same feeling now but have now had only 4 hours off the wheel in about 36 and look like being here until we clear the Strait at least.
September 19: Our present job reminds me very much of the anxious father waiting outside the maternity ward for news.
September 28: We have spent the day dodging sailing craft and jockeying for a suitable position for our dash across the South China tomorrow afternoon. We are all filled with anxiety as we have had no news news at all of the party and this does not seem too good to us.”
They all had perfect confidence in Carse’s seamanship and had not the slightest doubt that providing they were not intercepted, he would get them back to the rendezvous.
“September 30: And another day gone. Tomorrow night we should know our fate, for if we make contact safely the job is almost done.
October 1, 1735: By dark we were still about five miles from the straight.”

It took them another six hours to fight the tide in the narrows and it was nearly midnight before Carse turned Krait to the south and edged towards Pompong Island... They were now less than a hundred yards from the shore. Suddenly Berryman, who had the sharpest eyes of them all, thought he saw a movement on the beach where a tiny strip of sand separated jungle from the sea. He grabbed Morris’s arm and pointed. Sure enough there was someone there and it looked as if they were launching a boat. There was no time to take chances. It might be inquisitive Malayan fishermen. At worst one of the party might have been captured alive and tortured into giving away the rendezvous. Grabbing their guns, they stood ready to repel boarders. If it was a boat there was only one of them, and about the size of a folboat at that. Now they could pick up the slight phosphorescence as the paddles dipped into the water. The canoe was heading straight for them. Just as the tension became too much to bear, a hoarse hail came out of the night: ‘Ahoy Krait.’ It was unmistakably Davidson’s voice, and with him safe and sound was ‘Poppa’ Falls. In a moment the canoe was alongside and the two men were being helped aboard by willing hands.

The reunion was tumultuous... How had the attack gone? How many ships had they sunk? Had they had any brushes with the Japanese? But above all, first from Morris, worried about his chief, where were Lyon and the others? Davidson did not know... The question was what to do now? Although it meant postponing their departure beyond the agreed date for pick-up, they obviously could not abandon the other four without giving them another chance to make the rendezvous. They decided to risk cruising up and down Temiang Strait during the following day and to return to Pompong again that evening. Meticulously, Carse recorded their dilemma in the cold prose of his log:
“we lay at anchor until daybreak, but no sign of the others. As we were directly under a well travelled plane route, we weighed anchor at 0615 and proceeded down Temiang Strait. We will set a course east by south and return again tonight.”
At half past eight on the 3rd, after dodging several junks in the strait, they were inching into Fisherman’s Bay again. The scene of the previous night was repeated. This time it was Falls who saw the first movement. Sure enough two figures and one canoe were just discernible... the first pair were Page and Jones. They had come to ensure that Krait had not been taken over by a Japanese prize crew. Lyon and Huston were back on the beach with the third canoe. In no time they saw it putting off. ‘Hello chaps,’ said Lyon in his brisk fashion as they came alongside. It was too good to be true. Everyone back safe and sound, haggard, stubble-cheeked, tired to the bone, but without a scratch on them.
Morris grasped Lyon by the hand. “Well done, sir, It’s good to have you back”.’

In disobeying Lyon’s orders to not wait for stragglers, Carse had saved the remaining four members of the party, including Lyon himself. He then set about navigating the Krait, with all hands present and accounted for, back across the Java Sea towards Australia. The return voyage was not without incident, and was every bit as perilous as the outward journey, particularly when surviving a tense encounter with a Japanese patrol boat in the Lombok Strait. As Carse recorded in the ship’s Log:
‘On looking at it I saw a large naval patrol, with a bone in her teeth, approaching rapidly on our beam. All hands were called and armed and everything prepared to evacuate. We approached bow on to within about 100 yards then slowed down and turned alongside on our port quarter. Seeing her beam on she appeared to be a modern type destroyer between 260 and 300 feet long. After pacing us for about five minutes she sheered off and went directly away from us. Although we were undoubtedly seen she did not hail or challenge us in any way, neither did she use a searchlight. As she turned a light was visible aft otherwise she was in darkness. It was midnight before she was out of sight. Whether it was because of the approach to the change of watches and the officer of the first had had a big day and wanted to go to his bunk, or they had got into trouble with some high ranking official over stopping similar boats we can’t tell, but it was certainly a miracle.’

Finally, after battling 40 foot high waves, the Krait arrived at the naval base at Exmouth on 19 October, having been away 48 days and having completed what is thought to be the longest naval raid in history. Morris in particular had played a minor but important subsidiary role during the operation: whenever the spirits of the crew might be dropping he would invariably burst into song, his broad Welsh tones soon raising the crew’s morale. Whilst the strains of ‘Men of Harlech’ may have been heard during the defence of Rorke’s Drift, they certainly were heard on board the Krait. Pulling along side an American rescue ship in the harbour, Carse made his final entry in the log and signed his name with a flourish: ‘0600; weighed anchor and proceeded alongside Chanticleer’.

Following their return to Australia, the crew went their separate ways. Morris, who injured his ankle during the voyage (and whose injury was the only only one suffered by the entire crew throughout), was the first to leave, bound for Fremantle, where he would receive medical attention for his ankle. After recovering from his injuries he was recruited to S.O.E.’s Force 136 Headquarters in Kandy, Ceylon (into which force the remnants of the Oriental Mission in Singapore had been absorbed), and was actively employed by the S.O.E. for the rest of the War. Lyon and Page were flown to Melbourne for a fell debriefing by S.O.A., whilst the rest of the crew sailed in the Krait to Darwin, to await a possible future operation. That second follow-up, operation, Operation Rimau, led by Lyon, was an operation too far, and all 23 men (including six of the Jaywick cast), lost their lives, either killed in action or executed as Prisoners of War.

Although the gallantry awards to the operatives on Jaywick were approved by H.M. The King in 1944, details were withheld for security reasons. Lyon (who was recommended for the Victoria Cross, and instead received the D.S.O.), Davidson, Page and the three seamen Falls, Huston and Marsh had already left, never to return, on the subsequent and compromised ‘Operation Rimau’ when their awards were approved, and they never learnt of them. It was not until 1 August 1946 that public reference was first made to the two expeditions Major Lyons had led into the heart of Japanese territory. On that day, the following statement was made by the Minister for the Army, Rt. Hon. F. M. Forde, in the House of Representatives, Australia, 1 August 1946:

‘The story of a well kept secret has now been released with the publication of the awards for gallantry of a small but determined band of officers and men who carried the war thousands of miles behind the Japanese lines during the days of 1943 when Japan was flushed with the fortunes of her conquest. The exploit was a joint effort by a party of 14 comprising 10 Australians and 4 members of the British Forces. Unfortunately 6 members of this party lost their lives in a subsequent operation in 1944. The awards were approved by H.M. The King in 1944 but details withheld for security reasons.
The citation of the awards mentions “outstanding bravery and devotion to duty in circumstances of extreme hazard”.
This party after thorough and arduous training in Australia undertook the hazardous journey of 2,000 miles unescorted through enemy patrolled waters to Singapore.
Despite a number of narrow escapes from detection the party continued with great determination and after keeping Singapore harbour under secret observation for several days made a silent attack on the night of 26 September 1943, selecting this night on account of the suitable concentration of shipping.
Despite the hazard of entering a closely guarded and patrolled harbour in enemy hands the party pressed home their attack and withdrew without loss. This attack resulted in the loss by the Japanese through sinking and burning of 7 ships of the tanker and freighter class totalling 37,000 tons at a time when her shipping was hard pressed to support her armed forces. The party was then faced with the 2,000 mile return journey with the constant danger of detection which they well knew meant certain death.
They reached Australia without loss or mishap on 19 October 1943, having spent over forty days in enemy occupied and controlled areas under conditions of constant strain and danger and having carried out a highly successful and crippling attack on the enemy, concerning the method of which the Japanese are still in the dark.
I feel sure that all honourable members join me in expressing the greatest admiration for the heroism and bravery of this gallant band of officers and men whose exploits won the admiration of the Allied peoples and the well-deserved recognition of His Majesty the King.
This disorganisation caused to Japanese transport in Singapore Harbour by this heroic group, I believe, shortened the duration of the war and thus saved the lives of many other Allied servicemen.
I feel sure also that every Honourable Member of the House extends his heartfelt sympathy to the sorrowing relatives of those brave heroes who should be happy in the knowledge that the nation mourns their deaths.’

Post-War
Following the cessation of hostilities, Morris, as the only surviving British member Operation Jaywick, was returned to his parent unit, the Royal Army Medical Corps, before being posted back to Malaya with FARELF in March 1949. After two tours there he was awarded his Army Long Service and Good Conduct Medal per Army Order 39 of 1958, and was advanced Warrant Officer Class I on 1 May 1959, before being granted a non-medical commission in the Royal Army Medical Corps on 16 January 1963. Posted to Borneo as Adjutant of 19 Field Ambulance, R.A.M.C., he was responsible for the setting up of emergency medical facilities in the jungle, before being seconded to the Malaysian Armed Forces, with the rank of Captain, in order to train the 1st Malaysian Field Ambulance. Departing Singapore for the last time on 24 January 1967, this time on a scheduled Comet flight, he retired from the British Army with the rank of Major in 1972. Returning to Wales, he died in Wrexham on 19 January 1999.

Reflecting upon his father’s career, Morris’ son, Evan, would later write:
‘My father’s life was shaped by his war experiences as he had achieved the almost impossible by joining the army prior to the War as a private soldier and rising up through the ranks to become a major. Something quite incredible for an ex-miner from the Rhondda. However, in the following years and throughout his career he never forgot the loos of his wartime colleagues, especially Ivan Lyon. From Miner to Major - a fitting epitaph.’

Sold with a copy of The Tiger’s Revenge, by Evan Morris; two photographic images of the recipient; and copied service records and other research.