by Tim Bowden
The number of WAAAF members at Richmond was increased in mid 1942. On one occasion the women were working patiently with sewing machines repairing damaged parachutes when Merle Whelan tried to raise their flagging spirits by singing a song during the tea break:
Dropping, dropping, dropping,
Hear the pennies fall.
Every one for Jesus –
He shall have them all!
The paratroops assembly room was immediately beneath the workroom. The troops threw coins and pebbles through the windows. After a couple of similarly themed songs were sung, an army officer appeared and bade the singing cease. Apparently it had never occurred to the WAAAF workers that their songs might prove unnerving to the paratroops.
In the early months of 1944 an almost complete battalion had been formed with A, B and C 2nd headquarter companies and battalion headquarters with a reinforcement company. All were understrength. Movement of the main part of the paratroops to Mareeba in northern Queensland took place early in 1944. There was great excitement among the troops during this time because they all thought the time had come for them to take an active part in the war. But that was not the case and frustration began to grow.
The battalion was now in three parts. Those at Mareeba, those in training at Richmond, and those held in what was known as the ‘holding wing’ camped at Clarendon Racecourse. The purpose of the holding wing was to maintain a reserve of fully trained parachutists which could be drawn from the battalion companies as they formed, as well as for any other special forces which might need such men.
Inter-company exercises were carried out during March and there was home leave. This caused further excitement as a move into action was expected to take place at the expiration of leave. Intensive training began when all troops returned and battalion exercises became a weekly affair. The first jump at Mareeba took place in September 1944 but was something of an anticlimax. Owing to strong winds at the time, 30 men were injured. Once again this set the battalion back, both in training and morale. Still there was no sign of going into action. The men were all anticipating it, and their nerves were a little ragged.
Commanding Officer Lieutenant Colonel John Overall visited Richmond and the holding wing at Clarendon on several occasions, both on administrative duties as well as to assure himself that the troops, who would make the battalion up to full strength in the event of a movement order, were in good spirits, and their training was being maintained at an acceptable standard.
The first battalion parade was held complete with a pipe band. Training continued at relentless pressure, with the mortar section completing a two-day endurance trek into the rainforest and B Company crossing the Barron River in full flood with troops in full battle order.
At Mareeba summer was approaching, and with the advent of warm weather various minor diseases and vexations occurred. Most of this was attributed to flies, particularly in the latrines which stank to high heaven. The danger of infection increased daily and it became necessary to act quickly to remedy this.
A method both simple and efficient was soon found. Generous quantities of low-grade aviation fuel were regularly poured into the French drains, rapidly destroying any chance that disease might become rampant within the camp. Then one day an event occurred which, according to Norm Fuller, ‘had to happen sooner or later because the danger was always there’. Someone dropped a lighted match into the stone well behind the latrines in the company lines. The result was a tremendous explosion. The earth fairly shook and rocks flew about everywhere. Also the undergrowth and flames erupted at points where fuel pressures had accumulated. Stones, pieces of piping, timber and all manner of engineering flew into the air, much of it being caught in the trees shading the tent lines.
At the time of the explosion and demolition of the latrines, an NCO who had been using the convenience was blown up with it. Exposed portions of his body were seared and smoke-blackened. The indignity suffered by the luckless NCO was further increased when he was thrown into a bushy tree minus his clothing with the seat over the receptacle he was using firmly wedged about his nether regions. Fortunately he was not seriously injured. The perpetrator of the incident was never identified, despite exhaustive enquiries by platoon and company commanders.
Further visits by top brass continued on 26 September 1944 when staff officer General Murray witnessed a jump by the Royal Australian Engineers (RAE) section and D Company. Ground speed wind was in excess of 30 kilometres per hour, causing one stick of paratroops to miss the dropping zone altogether and land in nearby trees, resulting in several cases of concussion as well as two soldiers breaking their legs. General Murray was sympathetic to the conditions but unimpressed by the exercise. The general’s impressions quickly became known in the company lines and the troops became sensitive to remarks passed, ‘leading to some personal violence’.
The following week saw the battalion visited by the Australian army’s Commander in Chief General Blamey, and the troops became excited again at the thought of possible movement for the battalion. Next day there was a full ceremonial parade reviewed by General Murray, Blamey having departed. Still no movement orders came.
Towards the end of 1944 the battalion carried on intensive training, with a number of drops by entire companies. The unit was warned of a possible movement order in the immediate future and excitement mounted.
During a training exercise Lieutenant Hec Howlett had a narrow escape when he was left swinging from the aircraft after making an exit. Officialdom blamed the accident on Howlett making a bad exit. Norm Fuller thought this was questionable, ‘because he was an experienced parachutist, and the army like to blame accidents on soldiers making an incorrect exit’.
Lieutenant Howlett had been used to jumping with a rifle and hand grenades, but this time he was carrying an Owen gun. Upon exit the parachute retaining strop became caught over the gun’s foresight, with the weapon firmly wedged under straps across Howlett’s chest. Adding to the situation was difficulty with fumes from the port engine, which was throttled back while parachutists made their exits.
Howlett swung from the doorway as the parachute release strop caught around his Owen gun. Captain Bill Morse, on the ground, watched the event through field glasses and Howlett’s batman called encouragement through a megaphone, inaudibly. Two officers, Major Travers and Lieutenant Menell, from the Atherton bulk canteen, and the pilot Lionel Van Praag pulled Howlett back into the plane. He was none the worse for wear despite his frightening experience. The Owen gun’s barrel was bent at right angles and the squadron leader in charge of the aircraft group claimed it as a memento.
Later in the day Howlett noticed his batman wearing an officer’s shirt he recognised by the holes in the epaulets made to receive pips denoting rank. Hec said quietly, ‘You are wearing my shirt.’ Whereupon his batman replied, ‘Yes, and your socks too, Sir.’
Hec never reported his batman and the incident was closed.
Misfortunes were not only the lot of soldiers but also of the battalion pet. ‘Paradog’ was a little female fox terrier who had made several jumps inside a haversack attached to the chest of Captain Bill Morse. When Bill jumped, the pilot would always check to make sure the dog went with him as it could not be left behind in the plane when everyone had gone. As Bill’s parachute opened, she would put her head out and watch the ground coming up.
The little fox terrier became an embarrassing nuisance at times when she would appear on the parade ground and bark. Her bark was quite penetrating and often sounded like a word of command. Some of the troops would obey this command and cause confusion during a parade. Officials tired of the dog’s antics and ordered it be shot. However, this did not happen and she appeared about three weeks later in headquarter company lines.
Paradog, nicknamed ‘Ike’, met her end under the wheels of a truck reversing in the transport pool. She was buried with military honours and now lies under a small heap of stones on the Atherton Tablelands, among memories of the soldiers she
loved.
The 1st Parachute Battalion, unsurprisingly, attracted some eccentric personalities. Norm Fuller wrote about Eric Ash, who besides being quite a character in the battalion was an innovative genius as well. ‘On joining the unit he became a D Company member. His love of reptiles, already displayed at Richmond training days, was to become a feature of life in the battalion. He was treated with respect in the mess lines and there was always a comfortable distance between him and the man in front and behind just in case he had a snake hidden somewhere in his clothing.’
Eric was walking through bush near camp one day on the lookout for snakes when he came upon a large quantity of discarded material dumped by the American unit which had only recently left the area. Ever curious, he looked over the material with interest for some item he could perhaps put to good use. It was not long before he discovered the heap of material was, in fact, the remains of a still the Americans had used to make their own whisky. The main components of the still were in excellent shape, and only partially destroyed before dumping. He set about rectifying this discrepancy.
It was not many days before he had the still in working order. Liquor produced was of a reasonable blend. Everything went into it: raisins, wheat and any fermentable assets Ash could glean. Alcoholic content was introduced into the brew from compasses, rangefinders and gunsight fluid filched from various sources.
A specially designed label was made for attachment to the brew’s containers—bottles weren’t always used to hold the liquor. Colours were procured by soaking cigarette packets and draining off the brighter hues. One label sported a crocodile wearing a parachute harness, another a panther wearing the same gear. The art work on the labels was extremely well done by artistic members of the battalion. The labels were almost professional, and run off on a printer in the quartermaster’s store. The liquor bearing the crocodile label was boldly printed with the words ‘CROC’S PISS’.
Further research by Fuller revealed the officers brewed their own beer in a small cubicle near their lines. Although the result was quite good, brewing was abandoned for the very sound reason that not enough could be made to satisfy demand.
The tempo around Mareeba quickened in December 1944 and January 1945 when further jumps were carried out in the form of company exercises. The battalion was warned it might be required in an active capacity, and troops became again excited at the prospect. During these hectic weeks the battalion moved to Trinity Beach in North Queensland for more exercises. At the end of these, a review by Lieutenant General Sir Leslie Morshead took place on the Mareeba airstrip. Troops’ clothing was sprayed with anti-mite solution to help against mosquito infestation as well as discouraging other voracious insects plaguing troops in the jungle.
During the last days of January 1945 the battalion returned to Trinity Beach and took part in amphibious beach landing exercises with units of the Australian Seventh Division. Participation in these exercises was carried out with great enthusiasm and, although they didn’t contain elements of airborne soldiering, were near to the real thing and hinted at a movement of some kind in the immediate future.
It was rumoured that the Seventh Division was preparing for an amphibious landing assault on Balikpapan and the paratroops felt almost certain that they would be taking part.
Days went by and spirits begin to flag a little, especially when for some reason unit rationing fell into disorder. There was a complete lack of fresh or tinned vegetables. The battalion survived this period mainly through the unofficial efforts and resources of the catering section. Interest and excitement mounted again when the unit received cholera injections and was inspected by Major General Edward Milford, the commander of the Seventh Division.
The Australian Seventh Division took part in the amphibious landing on Balikpapan, on the south-east coast of Borneo, without paratroops. South-west Pacific area supremo, General Douglas MacArthur, ordered sixteen days of air and naval bombardment to proceed the Balikpapan attack, the longest pre-assault cannonade in the whole of World War II. Extensive mine sweeping operations were also undertaken, during which time six Allied ships were sunk by enemy fire and mines.
The preparations were so thorough and devastating that when Major General Milford’s Seventh Division landed 5 kilometres south-east of Balikpapan on 1 July 1945, the losses were extremely light. Within two days the Seventh Division had seized Balikpapan and one of its airstrips. Heavy fighting was necessary to drive the Japanese out of their position in the surrounding hills. By 9 July the second airstrip was in Allied hands and the Seventh Division had firm control of a beachhead 15 kilometres long and 9 kilometres deep. Organised resistance ceased in Balikpapan on 22 July, by which time about 230 Australians and 2000 Japanese had been killed.
Australian Commander in Chief General Blamey had been keen to use the Australian paratroops to their best advantage because they were so well-trained. The battalion was also extremely anxious to go and join the assault on Balikpapan, but when this was put to General MacArthur he vetoed the idea, declaring that if he used these troops he would need more aircraft and ships and none of these facilities were available.
The last jump was done by the battalion at Mareeba in August 1945 just before the Japanese surrender.
Norm Fuller wrote disconsolately: ‘The First Parachute Battalion’s last parade was notable by its absence. There wasn’t one—an inglorious end for a unit which could have done much more towards the war effort if administration had willed it that way. There were no pictures known to have been taken.’
The battalion’s war diary reveals that on 29 January 1946 orders were received to disband the unit.
Some members joined the permanent army, others were so disappointed they got themselves discharged immediately. Some had to wait weeks, sometimes months, before their turn came for discharge and they stepped out of uniform for the last time. Many of the demobilisation procedures took place at Puckapunyal and Ingleburn camps. Some soldiers moved back to the state from which they had enlisted and were discharged in their own state capitals.
The last word from Norm Fuller: ‘The parachutes which had been used by the unit ended up in various army surplus stores and many were sold in Melbourne for $50 each.’
Chapter 16
THE KOKODA TRACK AND THE BLOODY BEACHHEADS
In early 1941, with the bulk of Australia’s AIF troops fighting the Germans and Italians in the Middle East, the Australian government was becoming increasingly concerned about the threat of Japanese aggression into the South-west Pacific, including perhaps even an invasion of Australia, when we had so few of our own troops in the country.
So began a rapid expansion of Australia’s volunteer Citizen Military Forces (also known as the Australian Militia) for the defence of the Australian mainland and overseas territories. As previously mentioned, soldiers in the Militia wore military uniform, but were looked down on by members of the AIF as they believed the ‘Chocos’—Chocolate Soldiers, as they were dismissively labelled—had little chance of ever engaging in the pressures of real combat. This was not only unfair but wrong, as the Militia’s fierce and gallant actions in Papua on the Kokoda Track and in the Owen Stanley Range would soon reveal, and later in continuing savage combat against the Japanese in New Guinea and the Pacific until the end of the war.
Between March and December 1941, the Australian government moved three Militia battalions to Port Moresby to defend this vital northern gateway. The average age of these Militia recruits was eighteen and a half years. As if to rub in the second-class status in the eyes of senior AIF commanders, the Militia recruits were denied adequate battle training and treated with cavalier disregard for their welfare and feelings.
While it had begun as a volunteer citizen army, after Malaya and Singapore fell to the Japanese in Febuary 1942, the Curtin Labor government ordered full mobilisation on 19 February, and all males aged 18–36 and all single males aged 36–45 could be conscripted into the Militia.
For the first half of 1942
, the Commander of the Eighth Military District, Major General Morris, had no experienced AIF troops under his command in Port Moresby. His main force was the 30th Australian Infantry Brigade—a Militia formation comprising the 39th, 49th and 53rd Australian Infantry Battalions. With the exception of the 53rd Battalion, the Militia units were led by experienced AIF officers and NCOs, but the troops were almost all raw recruits.
The appalling treatment of these youthful Militia recruits is a damning indictment of the leadership of the Australian army in 1941–42. No Militia units had received proper military training before arriving at Port Moresby. The 49th Battalion reached Port Moresby without the most basic military equipment and were put immediately to work as wharf labourers, unloading ships and constructing roads and buildings. The 39th and 53rd Battalions arrived in Port Moresby on the liner Aquitania in January 1942 and could not immediately be fed and sheltered because food and camping equipment had been stowed in the bottom of the ship’s hold. Many of the raw recruits of the 53rd Battalion had never even handled a rifle until they boarded their ship bound for Port Moresby!
So it is quite remarkable that, despite their lack of training, equipment and supplies and the appalling conditions under which they fought in New Guinea, the heavily outnumbered Militia soldiers of the 39th Battalion would play such a critical and frankly heroic role—in delaying the momentum of the battle-hardened Japanese advance along the Kokoda Track towards Port Moresby until the more seasoned AIF reinforcements could be brought into the battle.
One of these soldiers was Sergeant Joe Dawson, who had joined the Militia in Melbourne in 1939 when only seventeen but bumped up his age a year to get in.
On Dawson’s twentieth birthday, 3 January 1942, the Aquitania stood offshore from Port Moresby about 1½ miles. There were 4600 on board the ex-peacetime luxury liner, including about 1200 men from his 39th Battalion. They disembarked in a variety of ways. Some went over the side, scrambling down large rope nets into lifeboats that were towed ashore, several in line, by a navy pinnace. As they went over the side they were advised to undo the belt of their equipment in case they fell off—‘not a happy thought, especially on your birthday!’