It was 25th April 2015. I was resting after having been helicoptered back to Kathmandu from the Everest Base Camp trek with High Altitude Cerebral Edema. As I lay on my bed on the 4th floor of the hotel I heard what sounded like a very low flying passenger jet. The noise got louder and louder and my room started to shake. To my horror I realised that this was an earthquake. I got downstairs fast. Once the first really big tremor had subsided I risked going back up to my room to collect my essentials and left with the clothes I stood up in and my rucksack with phone, money, passport and airline ticket. I went out into the narrow streets of the Thamel district heading for The Garden of Dreams where I thought I might be safer from building collapse. It was not to be. On the wider street, electricity poles had fallen like spillikens. The Garden of Dreams was shut as the wall around it was collapsing. I stood on the street as far away from unsteady masonry as possible wondering what to do. Eventually as the day drifted on punctuated by violent aftershocks I teamed up with another couple of British women to try to get to the British Embassy. Never have I been so glad to have a British passport. We were waved through the gates and were immediately offered food and tea by unwaveringly courteous Gurkha troops. The building was fairly safe but we were evacuated on and off throughout the night because of tremors. The soldiers made us feel reassured and safe. I had a blanket given to me which was wonderful as I had left the hotel in cargo pants and a short sleeved shirt. After several adventures trying to get a flight out of Nepal unsuccessfully the next day, I returned to the Embassy and was taken with others to the Gurkha barracks at Pathan. There I stayed for several days until we were taken home on a Foreign Office flight. Considering that the Gurkhas were having a very stressful time themselves, they were wonderful with us. Sadly 2015 coincided with an anniversary for the Gurkhas. They had several planned challenges. One was the ascent of Everest, and one was a crossing of the high Himalaya in team relays. I talked to one soldier who had been part of a group crossing from Namche Bazaar to the Rolwaling Valley via the Tashi Lapcha La, a very technical and tricky pass. He and his group had been caught at high altitude by the earthquake and all had been injured. They had managed to make their way to the Dam Hut on the Tscho Rolpa lake above the Rolwaling Valley before being able to summon assistance. Having been to Tscho Rolpa myself in 2008, I was able to understand where they had been and appreciate their dreadful ordeal. My mind often goes back to the quartermaster who must have found us civilians intensely annoying bumbling around his barracks whilst his men were enduring their own tragedy, but who treated us very well, Mr Liam who patiently sorted out the task of getting us home, and the padre who helped us to decompress and make sense of what we had experienced. I am so grateful to the Gurkhas. I remember the statue of Ganesh the God of solving problems amongst other things in the barrack courtyard. He is a very fitting symbol for these strong, compassionate men. I have been pleased to donate to the Gurkha Welfare Trust ever since. I would like to say dherai dherai dhanyabad to these wonderful soldiers.
Jane Chilton

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I was aware of the Gurkhas & their reputation for service, loyalty & bravery from my time in the WRAC TA. It wasn't until I went to Sandhurst two years ago for the ACF IOT course that I met any Gurkha soldiers. I found them very professional & charming. We were then hit by the pandemic & I saw the Gurkhas testing people & giving vaccine jabs in this country. When I read about the effects of Covid in Nepal I felt such sympathy for these men who were giving jabs here whilst their own families were dying in Nepal as the country couldn't afford the vaccines. I felt I had to do something. I can't influence this Government myself but I can give something to try to help even a little. I have also been telling family, friends & colleagues in the hope that they may also give to the GWT. I feel that we owe the Ghurkas so much for their amazing loyalty to this country & their 13 VCs that it's the least we should be doing for them.
Helen Forster
Gurkhas have been an important part of my family’s life. Their training depot had been moved to Sungei Patani in Northern Malaya, a few miles from Sungei Toh Pawang estate, after Indian Independence in 1947, when the Brigade was split between the Indian and British armies. The depot received the young men who had passed the extremely competitive selection process and turned them into soldiers. St Philip and St James’ church, which we attended every Sunday evening, was next to the depot and our services took place to the background of young recruits running, marching or just chatting. The first school I attended was an Army infants’ school next to the parade ground, and lessons echoed to shouted drill instructions. Gurkhas occupy a special place in the British Army and wider society. Nepal has never been part of the British Empire, and its citizens who chose to join the British Army did so without their families. Until recently they used to return to Nepal at the end of their service as honoured pensioners. Now they have been given the right to settle in the UK, as is right, but their service to Britain has always been given freely and voluntarily. This has been the case since they were first invited to do so at the end of a battle with the British Indian Army in the mid-19th C. In the disaster of Singapore in 1941 the Gurkhas were the only part of the Indian Army contingent not to suffer wholesale desertions, and they suffered badly at the hands of the Japanese army. In the Malayan Emergency they constituted a high proportion of the Commonwealth forces and proved very skilled at jungle warfare, particularly ambushes, which would be set for hours at a time, requiring soldiers to lie still and silent for all that time. They were fearless and lethal in close quarters combat, using their traditional kukri weapon- half knife, half machete. The knowledge that a Gurkha battalion was in the area was by 1955 a powerful incentive to defect for the sometimes demoralised MRLA fighters. As local Europeans our family would always be invited to the two parades which marked the end of the training for Gurkha recruits at the Depot. These were Beating the Retreat and the Passing out Parade. Beating the Retreat is a traditional British Army ritual, commemorating the days when a regiment’s standard was paraded in front of it at sunset so that the soldiers could see it before nightfall. The recruits would parade in their companies behind their British officers in white uniforms and the Depot band, including bagpipes (the Gurkhas had been taught to play the pipes by the Highlanders they had first fought against) as the sun went down. The next morning, invited guests took their seats at dawn for the Passing out Parade and the recruits would march out of the dawning sunrise, using the Light Infantry quick march they have always used as British troops, and march past a senior officer who had been invited to take the salute. This was the climax of their training and a huge moment for their British officers, this morning dressed in khaki drill shirts and enormous shorts. Legend had it that the shorts would be starched and ironed the previous evening by their batmen and placed standing in the corner of the officer’s bedroom. He would then step into them the following morn. As the British Army has contracted, the numbers of Gurkhas have diminished, until now there are only two infantry battalions, together with signals, logistics and engineers units. Still the passion and commitment of these soldiers burns as brightly as ever, and the competition to get into the British Army is as tough as ever. Today, recruit selection in Nepal is held jointly with the Singapore Police Force, whose Gurkha Contingent performs guard functions and acts as an emergency reserve in case of civil unrest. And as the British Army has struggled to recruit even the limited number of soldiers it now needs; a third battalion of Gurkhas has been raised. It was our privilege as a family in 1996 to welcome three young Gurkha soldiers to our house for lunch when they were stationed as part of a reinforcement Company filling manpower gaps in a British regiment stationed near our home. Immaculately dressed, polite and cheerful, they made a fuss of our young children and gave Tom (aged 6) a present of a kukri, the curved knife/machete which is their symbol. He was well impressed, and for a long time there were carefully controlled viewings and handlings of the kukri, along the lines of their demonstrations. They taught him their war-cry, too: “Ayo Gurkhali!”- The Gurkhas are coming.
Roland Crooke