It was Tuesday, March 4, 1947 - 60 years ago that seems like yesterday - and we were on a train guard from Kalaw to Thazi, on the main Rangoon to Mandalay railway line in Burma. There were seven of us on the guard, six from our C company of the 2nd Battalion The Welch Regiment, armed with rifles and bandoliers holding 50 rounds.

The corporal in charge had a Sten gun. I had been with the battalion barely two months and had yet to earn my own corporal's stripes. It had been a long and boring voyage to reach the battalion on the troopship, the Eastern Prince, which developed engine trouble and limped slowly into Singapore during the later stages of the trip.

Then we waited in Singapore for ten days for another voyage to Rangoon in an antiquated troopship with inadequate mess decks, the Nevasa, which, however, by some miracle, was faster than the Eastern Prince. I woke with a thumping headache after the first night, appreciated there was inadequate ventilation, particularly in the tropics, and found a hidden and unofficial snug above a cabin and under an awning for the rest of the voyage: the sleeping was hard but the air was fresh.

It was a six and a half hour uneventful train journey through mountainous and well watered country to the plain at Thazi, where one of the battalion company's was stationed. There had never been any trouble for the train guards to our knowledge, and we even wondered whether it was necessary to have a guard at all, though we acknowledged that Dacoits (bandits) were known to operate in the area. As for weapons available to the Dacoits, well, it was not long after the end of hostilities against the Japanese, in which The Welch had been prominent.

I noted that it was an uncomfortable trip - no soft seats on this rail line. We returned as guards on the return journey the next day, March 5, and I made up my mind to make it more comfortable. I found solace in the guard's van, sitting on my bedding roll, chatting to the Burmese guard, who spoke good English, and even joined him when he offered a toddy of rice wine.

The next train down to Thazi from Kalaw was on Friday, March 7, and it was derailed and ambushed by Dacoits as it ran through a vulnerable and rocky gully. All seven on the guard were killed, six from our C company and a corporal from B company. The train's contents were ransacked, passengers were robbed and murdered. As usual, there was at least one "bad luck, good luck" story. One man detailed for the guard had feet of an unusual size, and he was temporarily without boots, so one of his comrades volunteered to take his place.

They were all good soldiers. One, from my own area of Cardiff, Tommy Riordan, had been a particular friend, welcoming me to the battalion and the company. I reminded him once that as an older and bigger youngster he had lent his formidable and brave protection when I was confronted by several bullies in one of the rougher parts of the city. I managed to get his parents' address and wrote what I hope was some sort of consoling letter, emphasising his fine qualities and his popularity in the battalion.

We attended their funerals at a military cemetery at a dusty and hot Meiktila, site of one of the great tank battles of World War Two. Subsequently I understand their bodies were re-interred at a bigger cemetery in Rangoon. As for the train guards they were never the same again. The battalion stepped up manpower, defences and firepower, including at leasrt one Bren gun.

I did one more train guard with 21 others, travelling in a heavily sandbagged wagon. starting off from Kalaw on a rainy day. I remember the mood as grim and angry after the loss of seven of our comrades, and if we were apprehensive we were also keyed up by the prospect of a possible fight. We were on particularly high alert when the train ran through the area of ambush. But it was the old story of shutting the stable door after the horse had gone. The train was never attacked again while the 2nd Welch was stationed at Kalaw.

We were involved then in an unprecedented flurry of largely unfruitful anti-Dacoit activity, patrolling, raiding suspect villages, and protecting other settlements before the battalion pulled out in July heading for a Rangoon in turmoil after the country's President, Ang Saung, and other leaders had been assassinated. Rival factions were in a deadly fight for power in the run-up to independence, and the 2nd Welch played its role, by significant presence, of ensuring the situation did not get out of hand.

But while in Rangoon we noted that Dacoit activity had intensified in the Kalaw region with our departure. So the 2nd Welch did efficient policing and pacification duty in the Burmese highlands and in the country's capital (not without a couple of significant and scary incidents) before, sadly, the battalion broke up and we were despatched to other areas and units that had neither the camaraderie nor the family bonding of our regiment.

Many years later while on holiday in Wales I examined in a chapel at Llandaff Cathedral, Cardiff, a memorial roll for men of The Welch Regiment who had been killed while on active service. I could not find the names of the names of the seven good men who had died on that train guard in Burma in March 1947. It was difficult to search further as my career had taken me to South Africa, and our family had moved subsequently to Australia.

I am glad to say that my brother Ralph, who still lives in Cardiff, Ian Beesley, head virger, and church warden Gary Biggin, did invaluable and persistent work in finding the names of the seven who were killed on March 7, 1947, in a roll of honour at the cathedral, and are thus still honoured and remembered 60 years on from the sad event. They are: Corporal RW Talbot and Privates William French, RO Hughes, BI Jones, MH Keast, Tom Riordan and A Russell.

Glyn Williams - Perth, Western Australia - June 2007