We lived in Bangkok for eighteen months. We rented a nice little two-bedroom apartment in a guarded compound largely occupied by people working for United Nations organizations. Our compound was a very pleasant place with gardens and a swimming pool. It even had a tennis court.

It was situated in an affluent area handy to the Palace and to the Parliament buildings. Over the fence was a military headquarters – we thought this would provide some security – how wrong we were.

On the night of Sunday, 6 September I did not sleep well. There were strange rumbling noises that  I couldn’t account for. I rose at my usual hour and walked to the river to catch my 7.20 a.m. river boat to go to work.

My office was situated in a former Prime Minister’s house.

The story goes he fled to the UK during a coup.

In the room next to mine, on the second floor, was a room that had been his library. Behind the bookcase was a secret stairway down to the river.

During the war, the Japanese used this building as an interrogation center.  The Thai staff wouldn’t go near the office at night, thinking it to be haunted.

When I arrived at work I made a cup of coffee and started to plan my day’s activities. Suddenly there was a very loud BANG! I hadn’t a clue what it was. The Thai staff started buzzing around the place, like a swarm of bees muttering something about a coup.

My Personal Assistant,  Chirabhan arrived and I asked her to phone my wife, Joyce, and tell her to stay home as there was trouble on the streets.

Joyce was the Acting Information Officer as the man that held that position had been sent back to England to have an operation on his ear after swimming in a polluted swimming pool.

As more and more explosions occurred, the staff all vanished. We were near a naval headquarters and they expected trouble.

 I wasn’t in a hurry.  I noted the river boats were crowded and  I hadn’t a clue what was happening. I was waiting for the boats to empty out before I returned home.

Early in the afternoon, I decided it was time to go home so I caught a ferry. As we moved up the river boat which usually holds about 50 people became overcrowded. There were at least 150 on board and I got pushed into a cabin. I was scared we might capsize. I knew I could swim ashore but I doubted if I could get out of the cabin. I did struggle to get out of the ferry at one stage but I couldn’t make and just as well.  At that stop, I would have walked into the battle zone.

Was I scared? No, but I didn’t know what was happening.

I managed to get out, with some difficulty at my normal stop, and on the way, home found a shop that did not have steel shutters up. I managed to purchase some siege rations of tinned fish, rice, and other basics.

When I got home I found Joyce remarkably calm. As tank shells and machine-gun bullets had been flying over our apartment,  she had put the china on the floor, and was laying with them on a rug.  Our apartment was on the edge of the battle zone.

We had no idea what was happening.  Our compound was deserted and all the Thai maids had vanished. We turned on the TV and all we got was some very excited Generals babbling in Thai. It was not until 4p.m when things seemed to have quietened down that I was able to get the BBC news on my pocket-sized radio to learn what was going on.  

We learned the King of Thailand, who lived just down the road from us, had intervened and the coup was over. Fancy having to call up ‘Aunty Bee’ in London to hear what was happening over our back fence.

Fifty soldiers were killed or wounded that day but the civilian casualties were never revealed – imagine where all those shells had landed! The big boom noises were caused by tank shells. There were 18 tanks in the battle. Tank shells hit two buses and a taxi near our apartment. One of our favorite eating places was closed for some months due to shell damage.

Neil Davis, a Tasmanian NBC cameraman, and his Canadian soundman, William Latch, were killed in the crossfire outside the First Army Division radio station close to our apartment. His story was published in a book titled “One Crowded Hour”. It sold well over 100,000 copies.

These two men were very experienced conflict journalists. They had gone through extreme dangers during some of the worst battles in both Vietnam and Cambodia only to be killed in a city street in Bangkok.

As they were the only impartial witnesses I suspect they were targeted deliberately to prevent them from recording incriminating evidence, but who knows.

Geoffrey Moss (mossassociates.co.nz)