CHAAAARRGE". The young British officer screamed at the top of his voice and raced off down the jungle track towards the group of bandits that had tried to ambush his patrol.

Suddenly, he stopped and looked back. There was no one behind him. His men had melted into the undergrowth. Then he looked to the front. The bandits had disappeared too. There was nothing for it, but to turn round, shrug his shoulders, look unconcerned and walk back again.

"If we'd have followed him he'd have got us all killed," said Albert Camden. "It was about the daftest thing you could bloody well do. He was fresh out of college with more enthusiasm than was good for him. We'd been out there for a year by then and knew the score.

"He nearly got himself killed too, bloody fool. He had the compass and the map on him and if we'd have lost those we'd never have got out. We'd probably still be there now."

And 54 years is a long time to be wandering around the Malayan jungle.

For it was back in 1953 that a group of boyhood mates from Pershore, in 9 Platoon, C Company, 1st Battalion, the Worcestershire Regiment, found themselves in trouble near the village of Tambun, deep in Perak State, Malaya.

There was 18-year-old Albert and his older brother Joe, 20, who lived at 13 Railground; Charlie Price, also 18, who lived next door at 15 Railground; and John Hill, aged 19, who lived across town in the Cornmore area.

They'd all been called up for National Service at about the same time, all spent six weeks training at Norton Barracks, then Lichfield and finally the mountains of Wales.

In May 1952 they sailed together from Southampton on the steamship Windrush, bound for Singapore.

A year later, as the folks back home were preparing for a coronation, they were patrolling the tropical jungles of the Malayan Peninsula looking for the communist bandits trying to destablise the country.

Charlie carried a Bren gun, John Hill a 32mm carbine, Albert a grenade-firing rifle and brother Joe an Owen gun.

"The thing I had was a useless piece of kit," said Albert.

"It was supposed to fire a grenade from a metal cup on the end of the barrel, but in the jungle you could throw a grenade as far as you could shoot it. I adapted mine to fire bullets through the cup instead, so at least I could defend myself. I wasn't supposed to have done, but although they found out about it, no one said anything."

C Company's camp was at a working tin mine about three miles from Tambun. The nearest town, Ipoh, was 12 miles away.

Albert said: "There were supposed to be around 80 men in the company and from this there were three platoons. Two platoons would be out on patrol and one platoon in at any one time.

"You'd spend between a week and 10 days on patrol, taking everything with you and living in the jungle. I think the longest I spent out was three weeks.

"Every time a patrol left, someone from the tin mine would signal to the bandits. The mine had an approach road with lights either side and if a patrol went out in one direction, only the lights on one side were switched on. If the patrol went out in the opposite direction, the other lights went on. If two patrols left, all the lights went on. It was quite funny really and so obvious it didn't bother us much.

"I have to say in 18 months patrolling, I don't think we came across many serious bandits. The people you would find were criminals who had run off into the jungle to escape justice. They'd hang people quite happily out there and often the easiest way to avoid trouble was to hide in the jungle.

"I found it the safest place in the world. I was quite happy out there. The most dangerous times for an ambush were going into the jungle or coming out. Once you were in, it was OK."

The incident with the over-enthusiastic young officer was triggered when the Bren gunner at the front of the patrol trod on a camouflaged pit in the track and disappeared.

Albert said: "The bandits had dug it to catch a pig to eat, and when they heard a crash they thought they'd struck lucky. Their camp was only nearby and they came running. When he heard them, the Bren gunner came up firing and they scattered. That's when our new officer got a bit carried away."

Fortunately, everyone lived to tell the tale. Which they do each year at an annual reunion at Albert's cottage deep in the leafy countryside at Crumpton Hill, Storridge, not far from Malvern. The chairs come out on the lawn, the food's good and the drink flows.

"It's a nice relaxing day and a chance to talk about old times," he explained. "We get 30-40 turn up, all old Worcestershire Regiment."

Their former officer sends his best wishes too. He lives in Italy now. Out of harm's way.