- Joined
- Jan 6, 1999
- Messages
- 146
Greetings all,
While perusing my library, I came across what is most probably the first reference to Kukris and Gurkhas that I read, and thus a sequoia seed was cerebrally planted.
Knives and Knifemakers by Sid Latham, first edition by Macmillan Collier in 74,mine from 79 is a superb reference work on blades and their craftsmen, and if you can locate a copy I highly recommend it. The following excerpt is from chapter 5-Fighting Knives.
I trust you will all enjoy it as much as I have.
Although a bit long, it has historical and informational merit, and I feel it pertinent to our Forum.
Stay safe and all the best, Phil <-----<
From Knives and Knifemakers by Sid Latham...... Macmillan / Collier
Probably the most renowned fighting knife in the world is the kukri, the wickedly curved knife of the Gurkhas of Nepal. Wherever these British-trained mountain men have gone into battle, their kukris have carved a wide swath among the enemy. Some years ago, when I worked in Malaysia, I went on an occasional patrol with the famed British Tracker-Killer Teams in Malaya and the Borneo States. The mission of these skilled jungle experts was to move into the jungle and keep pressure on enemy guerrillas, eventually tracking them to their hideouts and destroying them. The small, mobile groups, usually no more than a dozen men, were composed of Gurkhas with their tracker and killer dogs, British NCOs and Iban headhunters from Borneo. The Ibans and Gurkhas had much in common. They loved knives. During rest periods in the jungle they would unsheathe their blades and gently test the edge with their thumb, knowing all the time, of course, just how sharp they were. Whenever action seemed imminent, even though they were armed with the small Sterling gun, they would draw their kukris.
A perfect example of this reliance on knives was demonstrated one morning. Nearing a small native village that reportedly harbored guerrillas, two Gurkhas- a scout and his safety man-moved with the grace and elegance of ballet dancers from bush to tree, ever nearer to a lone hut in the clearing. Placing his gun on the ground, one soldier took two concussion grenades from his belt and hung them from his teeth. Then, drawing his kukri, he ran like a flash and vaulted through an open window, jumped out the far side and tumbled into the jungle, leaving the grenades inside. The roof seemed to lift off a few feet and drop down again. Two very frightened Indonesians ran out to face a yelling horde of snarling dogs, soldiers and wildly painted headhunters. There was no question of a fight, since orders were to take the enemy alive, and everybody was reasonably happy (except the Ibans, who wanted heads).
Often the mere sight of an unsheathed kukri is enough to discourage any further action by causing a cold, cramped feeling in the nether regions of the stomach. In fact some years ago a show of kukris aborted a revolt before it turned into a full-fledged revolution. We must go back some years to when the Federation of Malaysia was being formed after the Second World War. At that time the Sultanate of Brunei decided to remain under British protection, even though independent. (After all, they had all the oil.) A small enclave, Brunei sits comfortably along the lush jungle coast of Borneo (now Sabah) between Sarawak to the south and what was formerly Jesselton in British North Borneo.
Once while His Highness was on annual holiday in England, far removed from political intrigues and palace coups, an uprising was attempted. British military headquarters, then stationed in Kuching, the capital of Sarawak, was alerted and quickly flew a company of Gurkhas the short distance up the coast.
Landing at Brunei airport, the little brown men double-timed into Bruneitown and soon came in view of the rioters.
Forming a thin khaki line across the lone main street, they unsheathed their kukris and stood facing the howling mob. Looking at that silent row of men, their knives sparkling in the sun, the insurgents had some fast second thoughts and slowly began to disband. The troops smartly about-faced, trotted back to the airfield and flew home to Kuching. Elapsed time to crush a rebellion-under two hours.
While perusing my library, I came across what is most probably the first reference to Kukris and Gurkhas that I read, and thus a sequoia seed was cerebrally planted.
Knives and Knifemakers by Sid Latham, first edition by Macmillan Collier in 74,mine from 79 is a superb reference work on blades and their craftsmen, and if you can locate a copy I highly recommend it. The following excerpt is from chapter 5-Fighting Knives.
I trust you will all enjoy it as much as I have.
Although a bit long, it has historical and informational merit, and I feel it pertinent to our Forum.
Stay safe and all the best, Phil <-----<
From Knives and Knifemakers by Sid Latham...... Macmillan / Collier
Probably the most renowned fighting knife in the world is the kukri, the wickedly curved knife of the Gurkhas of Nepal. Wherever these British-trained mountain men have gone into battle, their kukris have carved a wide swath among the enemy. Some years ago, when I worked in Malaysia, I went on an occasional patrol with the famed British Tracker-Killer Teams in Malaya and the Borneo States. The mission of these skilled jungle experts was to move into the jungle and keep pressure on enemy guerrillas, eventually tracking them to their hideouts and destroying them. The small, mobile groups, usually no more than a dozen men, were composed of Gurkhas with their tracker and killer dogs, British NCOs and Iban headhunters from Borneo. The Ibans and Gurkhas had much in common. They loved knives. During rest periods in the jungle they would unsheathe their blades and gently test the edge with their thumb, knowing all the time, of course, just how sharp they were. Whenever action seemed imminent, even though they were armed with the small Sterling gun, they would draw their kukris.
A perfect example of this reliance on knives was demonstrated one morning. Nearing a small native village that reportedly harbored guerrillas, two Gurkhas- a scout and his safety man-moved with the grace and elegance of ballet dancers from bush to tree, ever nearer to a lone hut in the clearing. Placing his gun on the ground, one soldier took two concussion grenades from his belt and hung them from his teeth. Then, drawing his kukri, he ran like a flash and vaulted through an open window, jumped out the far side and tumbled into the jungle, leaving the grenades inside. The roof seemed to lift off a few feet and drop down again. Two very frightened Indonesians ran out to face a yelling horde of snarling dogs, soldiers and wildly painted headhunters. There was no question of a fight, since orders were to take the enemy alive, and everybody was reasonably happy (except the Ibans, who wanted heads).
Often the mere sight of an unsheathed kukri is enough to discourage any further action by causing a cold, cramped feeling in the nether regions of the stomach. In fact some years ago a show of kukris aborted a revolt before it turned into a full-fledged revolution. We must go back some years to when the Federation of Malaysia was being formed after the Second World War. At that time the Sultanate of Brunei decided to remain under British protection, even though independent. (After all, they had all the oil.) A small enclave, Brunei sits comfortably along the lush jungle coast of Borneo (now Sabah) between Sarawak to the south and what was formerly Jesselton in British North Borneo.
Once while His Highness was on annual holiday in England, far removed from political intrigues and palace coups, an uprising was attempted. British military headquarters, then stationed in Kuching, the capital of Sarawak, was alerted and quickly flew a company of Gurkhas the short distance up the coast.
Landing at Brunei airport, the little brown men double-timed into Bruneitown and soon came in view of the rioters.
Forming a thin khaki line across the lone main street, they unsheathed their kukris and stood facing the howling mob. Looking at that silent row of men, their knives sparkling in the sun, the insurgents had some fast second thoughts and slowly began to disband. The troops smartly about-faced, trotted back to the airfield and flew home to Kuching. Elapsed time to crush a rebellion-under two hours.
