IN A BRITISH ARMY camp close to the German lines in World War II, a Gurkha unit commander asks for volunteers for a mission. The job, he says, is to airdrop a group of soldiers into enemy territory for some light action. To his surprise only half of his men come forward.
An English reporter, who came to the camp hoping for a glimpse of the Gurkhas' legendary valour, leaves disillusioned.
Years later, the journalist meets one of the Gurkha soldiers who was at the camp that day, and asks why so few of the men volunteered. It turns out that none of the men, including those who came forward, were aware that they were to be given parachutes.
Though apocryphal, this anecdote is typical of the way in which people have come to regard the Nepalese men known as the Gurkhas: loyal and courageous to an extreme. Notwithstanding that some popular Gurkha myths - such as the fiction that they never unsheathe their distinctive kukri knives without shedding blood - were fabrications deliberately spread by their British commanders to instil fear into enemies, their bravery is a fact which has withstood countless tests on the battlefield.
But it is not as fearsome warriors that most Hong Kongers encounter Gurkhas; it is as security guards. The men once deployed in the rainforests of Brunei or the swamps of Belize, now patrol apartment blocks, shopping malls, and construction sites. The majority of them have been recruited from Nepal after leaving the British army. Have these fierce fighters been reduced to glorified watchmen?
Not everyone feels this contrast so keenly. 'Military service, even for the toughest, most feared soldiers, is very often unglamorous and requires that they do menial jobs,' says Tony Gould, author of Imperial Warriors. 'In that sense, it may not be unlike being a watchman.' Gould, quoting a Gurkha friend who is a serving soldier, says that 'the first thing the army teaches you is to do menial things'.
