One evening Tommy sat down next to me in the mess with a worried look on his face. ‘I think the Japs are coming. Keep it to yourself – the bosses are talking about launching Matador.’ The news was hardly unexpected but having your worst fears confirmed was still pretty grim. ‘I thought they would be coming,’ I said, reading the seriousness etched on Tommy’s face. He was greying at the temples now, the distance between him and his family ageing him more than any number of late-night nappy changes or trips to the park with his young children. He said, ‘Hopefully we’ll be prepared for them but I doubt it as much as you do. We are going to be in for a rough ride.’ ‘Let’s just hope the Nips are as disorganised as we are.’ ‘Invaders are always organised,’ he observed glumly, slumping back in his chair. ‘Are you scared, Tommy?’ ‘You betcha. You?’ ‘You can say that again.’ Britain was on the horns of a dilemma. It wanted to defend Malaya and Singapore but did not want to provoke the Japanese into a war, especially with Britain standing alone against Germany.
