Elephant Company: The Inspiring Story of an Unlikely Hero and the Animals Who Helped Him Save Lives in World War II

“Rangoon was full of British architecture, French wine, English beef, and exclusive clubs, such as the Rangoon Sailing Club, ‘one of the stickiest European Only clubs in Burma,’ as Williams recalled.”

In the capital of Burma, the white colonial settlers and company men (and their families) enjoy the spoils of empire; evidence of indigenous culture has been eradicated in favor of European goods (which implicitly suggests that the indigenous peoples have no culture). This reveals both an inherent racism within the colonial system and a classist division within the colonial pecking order: issues of race and class dominate the imperial mission.

“So much about elephants—their seeming awareness of death, their ability to cooperate, their empathy, and the extent of their intelligence—were yet to be revealed to science. But Williams, who saw more in animals than most anyway, had an inkling.”

This is one of many statements that suggest an extraordinary connection between Williams and the elephants. The two are often conflated, with Williams himself displaying and reflecting the best qualities of the elephants. His future wife, Susan, immediately notes how much Williams admired particular traits of his elephants, which she, in turn, sees in him.

“It was easy to see on these maps how Burma had retained its secrets. It was cut off from the rest of the world by natural barriers: to the north, west, and east, a horseshoe of mountains; to the south, the sea.”

A common colonial trope holds that indigenous lands—and peoples—are secretive, mysterious, and withholding (hiding natural treasures, hoarding ancient wisdom). This foreshadows Burma’s strategic importance to the war, as well as the elephants’ usefulness in building bridges for transport.

“The industry may have been hacking at an unprecedented pace, but all the while, they promoted the perception that this was more responsible than indigenous practices would be.”

The colonial logging industry, in this case represented by the Bombay Burmah Trading Company, claimed to use ecologically friendly methods, replacing and replanting as much as they were harvesting. Yet, the reality reveals that the pace of deforestation was intense, and the priorities of replanting were minimal at best. Burma’s forests have still yet to recover. The excuse employed—that the European colonists were inherently more responsible than the indigenous inhabitants—is another oft-used colonial ploy, which allows them to justify the appropriation of foreign land. It can be found in colonial policy from Southeast Asia to Africa to North America and beyond.

“The histories were recorded not only in these books, but also on the elephants’ skin. Their bodies were maps of their experience.”

Williams becomes quite familiar with each of his elephants, conducting physical inspections with regularity. Their bodies show the results of kheddaring, the brutal practice wherein the elephants are chained by the ankles while they are tamed. Bandoola is the only elephant Williams encounters who does not have scars from the violence of capture. The concept of mapping also contains echoes of colonialism, where maps are drawn to convey ownership of territories. The elephants, too are the property of colonial powers.

“In a country devoted to Buddhism and mindful of the pantheon of nat spirits, his best bet was to seek a special spiritual status for the animal.”

Po Toke wants to protect Bandoola from the logging industry, which often puts animals to work in difficult conditions before they are old enough and large enough to handle the work. Thus, he attempts to have Bandoola designated as a “white elephant,” which symbolizes purity and divinity. The Buddha was said to have ridden a white elephant down to earth; thus, an animal designated as such is considered sacred—and exempt from grueling toil.

“Williams quickly discovered that Harding, as crusty and unsentimental as he seemed, had no patience with so-called big game hunters. In fact, ‘he felt far more sympathy with any creature which part of his jungle than with any new arrival.’”

Harding, in many ways the archetype of the British colonial administrator, is protective of his elephants. While tough on Williams, he implicitly encouraged Williams to treat the animals well and supported creating an elephant school, thereby curbing the brutal practice of kheddaring. However, this statement also reveals Harding’s typical attitude toward Burmese territory, namely that it is “his.” Clearly, he expresses this in a paternalistic sense—there is care and regard in his position—but there is also entitlement and dominance implicit.

“Throughout the country, these years were troubling one for the British government and its citizens. There was a clear desire among the Burmese for self-rule, and, at the very least, activists wanted more control of their country’s affairs. A point of contention was the forests themselves.”

Williams and Harding alike are very aware of the agitation for independence and the Burmese desire for self-rule. In addition, it would have been clear to them that the resources harvested and financial gain reaped was transferred to the British colonists, not the Burmese themselves. Williams justifies these injustices by believing that the British are “helping” the Burmese; it was a barely challenged truism that indigenous peoples were primitive and uncivilized. The forests were a “point of contention” because they were economic windfalls to whoever controlled the resources. The deforesting of Burma went hand-in-hand with the impoverishment of its people.

“Williams was touched by these men whose ‘friendships with animals had not been broken by civilization.’”

While poignant, Williams’s thought invokes the “noble savage” trope, wherein the childlike innocence of the indigenous (presumed primitive) people has not yet been corrupted by civilization. Again, it points to the deep-seated nature of colonial tropes. While some questioned this status quo—George Orwell spent time in Burma and wrote quite critically of the imperial project there in such works as Burmese Days and “Shooting an Elephant”—Williams is not one of them.

“He relied on good British canned goods from Barnett Bros. in Rangoon: ‘tinned soup, tinned vegetables and tinned fish, which he liked unadorned,’ she wrote later in a memoir. His beloved horses back in Rangoon ate only hay and oats shipped to him from England.”

Susan writes about the habits of her “Uncle Pop,” a British explorer and forest conservator who had spent much of his adult life in Burma. It is said that he knew “more about the Burmese forests and their inhabitants than any other living soul” (151). And yet, his colonial habit is to remain as English as possible, expressing his dominance and revealing his foreignness through his and his horses’ eating habits.

“He was attracted to the unknown in spirituality and also the generosity, the gentleness, and serenity it seemed to bestow among its followers. He believed that it was the Buddhist ‘belief in the community of all living creatures’ that had fostered the loving relationship between humans and elephants in Burma.”

Williams’s religious syncretism reveals an ability to look beyond those colonial tropes while still embedded in the imperial system and many of its stereotypes. His acceptance of the “nats” (spirits) and some aspects of Buddhism appears enlightened compared to many of his contemporaries. Boldly stating that elephants had become his “religion” sets him apart from the typical colonist.

“It was a mysterious archipelago surrounded by shark-infested waters. Harboring hostile natives, terrible disease, huge monitor lizard, and mangrove swamps, this was a corner of the world in which explorers could vanish without a trace.”

The Andaman Islands, also known as the “Cannibal Islands,” after Ptolemy coined the phrase, represent both the stereotype of the typical adventure story—think Peter Pan or Treasure Island—and colonial tropes regarding foreign territory. There are mystery and danger, antagonism and disease, not to mention natural hazards. It is as if the very land itself rejects the explorer. The foreign is always a threatening place. Ironically, these foreign places are at once “no place” for a civilized European and the very place in which he can make his fortune.

“They began at the chaotic and colorful train station in Rangoon, grabbing the Mandalay mail train and riding first class in a comfortable, breezy compartment with access to the well-stocked saloon car. (In the packed third class, hundreds of Indian and Burmese passengers would be forced to stick their feet out the windows in an effort to stay cool.)”

The colonial privilege and entitlement are encapsulated in the very different accommodations available on the train. The imperial project is designed to segregate the white colonial settlers from the indigenous inhabitants. This represents how imperialism supports not only institutionalized racism but also classism.

“Susan instantly grasped Bandoola was the very embodiment of determination, an animal of the highest ‘courage and cleverness,’ just as Jim had said. In fact, all the virtues he attributed to this elephant had reminded her of Jim himself.”

As suggested in the analysis above (Important Quote #3), Williams and his elephants, especially Bandoola, are often conflated. They share the same traits and exhibit the same behaviors. Williams becomes Elephant Bill because he becomes, at times almost literally, a member of the elephant troops he supervises.

“Burma was full of many different ethnic groups. And when it came to loyalties during the war, there was no one national reaction.”

Many of the Burmese wanted independence from British rule; thus, World War II offered them an opportunity to take advantage of the conflict to further their quest for self-rule. This also reveals that the diversity within Burmese society—particularly under the British colonial system, which imported thousands of Indian workers and soldiers—is significant. While Williams portrays his servants and workers as loyal, the notion that all Burmese working in the logging industry are neutral regarding the war is undoubtedly mistaken. Po Toke is long suspected of harboring nationalist tendencies—perhaps the naming of his favorite elephant after a Burmese general who had fought the British is one clue—and the British could not count on the continuing loyalties of a coerced and oppressed people.

“All told, about six hundred thousand desperate refugees headed for India, most heading west, but some taking the inhospitable northern route through the Hukawng Valley. It was the largest migration of people in history up to that point. Only about fifty thousand were British; most were Indian. Eighty thousand may have died in the effort.”

One of the mostly forgotten theaters of World War II, Burma was home to some of the most sustained fighting and highest death tolls. This refers to the retreat of 1942 after the capital of Rangoon fell to the Japanese. It is a reminder that a war, primarily dominated by European interests, reverberated worldwide.

“Po Toke seemed bewildered, beaten even. He felt betrayed. He was sixty years old, and as the British fled and Bombine [Bombay Burmah Trading Company] collapsed, he realized that he would never see the pension promised him. What could Williams say? He understood. He turned back to the elephant. Bandoola himself was magnificent.”

The casualties of war are not only be measured by the deaths. Po Toke’s work for the logging industry and his devotion to Bandoola are not acknowledged or rewarded. Williams’s response borders on the callous, as it is clear that his concern is for the elephant—who has no divided loyalties—not for the human who agitates for independence from British rule. Po Toke’s later decision to (allegedly) kill Bandoola can be read as retaliation or as a liberation from the yoke of colonial control, a liberation he cannot grant himself.

“(Americans, not surprisingly, weren’t gung-ho about fighting to help regain British colonial territories. One joke had it that the acronym SEAC stood for ‘Save England’s Asian Colonies.’)”

Even amid World War II, England is focused on the salvation of its empire—though the pressures that eventually led to independence for most of its colonies are already intense. Colonial territories are framed as strategically valuable locations for the Allied forces. Of course, America had its own financial and political interests in the region (this is perhaps the primary reason why Hawaii eventually attained statehood). SEAC actually stands for South East Asia Command.

“Williams framed it as a historic moment. ‘Bandoola was presented to me to be enrolled as No. 1 War Elephant,’ he wrote, ‘the first of the elephants to fight for the freedom of Burma from the Japanese, and worthy of his glorious name.’”

Williams and Bandoola fulfill their destinies together, bringing refugees to safety and building bridges to aid Allied efforts. The irony is that his “glorious name” was originally that of a ferocious Burmese general who fought against the British colonial incursion, not to mention that freeing the Burmese from the Japanese is not of primary concern to many Burmese nationals. They want freedom from the British.

“Williams was popular with the press not only because of his personality and the unique work he was doing; he also provided some relief to the unrelenting stories of the misery of the soldiers. Jungle life was killing them.”

While Williams and the other company men are prepared for the oppressive heat, torrential rains, and onslaught of insects, the newly arrived soldiers are not. This reminds the reader of how instrumental men like Williams were in this particular theater of war and explains the frustrations and miscommunications that sometimes developed over Elephant Company. The young British and Commonwealth soldiers are not well versed in the care of elephants, and Williams eventually prohibits certain units from using his elephants.

“By now Williams understood his evacuation was temporary. His elephants were prized animals. In fact, army officials estimated the value of this group in what today would be hundreds of thousands of dollars. High command wanted them far from the raging fighting. There would be no bridge building in this heated battle, but the hope was that afterward there would be much work for the elephants once again.”

The value of the elephants—here expressed in monetary terms—had finally been recognized by those in the highest echelons of military command. Unlike Williams, those officials could see only the financial and practical benefits rather than the spiritual. Nevertheless, because the elephants are finally seen as an asset that could be exploited for military gain, their protection is ensured.

“He had intentionally isolated himself, perhaps because he didn’t want his own anxiety to affect the elephants. Confidence, or the lack of it, he always said, was something they picked up on with acute sensitivity. This was one of his ten commandments of elephant life.”

Williams does not want to disturb his elephants before they begin the precarious journey up the elephant staircase. Acknowledging their extraordinary set of senses, he chooses to distance himself from the herd before the fateful trip. He employs religious, specifically Christian, language to describe his personal code of conduct. This also emphasizes that their success is preordained, a matter of destiny.

“One by one then, all fifty-two of the other animals completed the ascent. Not one fell or refused to climb. Williams, the man who thought elephants were capable of anything, was humbled by their achievement. It was a wonder.”

This is the point at which Williams’s elephants become his religion. Their achievement strikes Williams with a spiritual fervor and a deep-seated sense of awe. Just as Bandoola had “miraculously”—and quite literally—saved his life all those years before, now his elephants “wondrously”—this time metaphysically—saved his life yet again.