The Spirit of the Digger

by Patrick Lindsay

  Now the Diggers have returned, and they have once again connected with the people of this beautiful but troubled land. They know they have heavy responsibilities as representatives, of both Australia and the United Nations. They are in East Timor in a different role from their forebears of Sparrow Force. The modern Diggers serve as peacekeepers under the mandate of the UN. One of the great ironies surrounding their return is that this time they’re working alongside Japanese soldiers: a battalion of engineers from our former enemy is helping rebuild roads and infrastructure just a few kilometres away from the main Australian Forward Operations Base. The locals are aware of the irony too and have noted that it coincides with the late arrival of the wet season – for the first time since the Japanese paid their unwelcome visit six decades earlier!

  Australia has had a chequered relationship with Timor. Except for Papua New Guinea, it’s our nearest neighbour; after Indonesia, Australia is Timor’s nearest neighbour. The island has had a turbulent history, which has retarded its development. Initially it was a pawn in the colonial struggles between the Portuguese and the Dutch. Then it endured invasions by the Japanese in World War II and the Indonesians in the 1950s and again in the 1970s.

  Timor is the biggest of the Lesser Sunda Islands, situated towards the end of the long Indonesian Archipelago, about 800 kilometres northwest of Darwin, between the South China Sea and the Indian Ocean. Today the island is divided politically roughly in half, with the western portion controlled by Indonesia and the eastern half now struggling to develop as the world’s newest independent country. The Democratic Republic of Timor-Leste has about 750,000 people, West Timor perhaps another three million. Its inhabitants are of Malay and Papuan origin, with about one-third of the East Timorese population from the Tetum people (traditionally from the south-central part of the island). They speak Portuguese, Tetum and Bahasa Indonesian. The East Timorese are more than 90 per cent Catholic and less than 2 per cent Muslim. The island is long and narrow – about 110 kilometres wide and 480 kilometres long – and heavily mountainous. It’s reminiscent of parts of Papua New Guinea, although its mountains are smaller and the jungles less dense. Despite its beauty, East Timor’s climate is harsh. Much of the island is semi-arid, yet the annual wet turns the mountainsides into torrents and washes away much of the soil, restricting cultivation largely to subsistence levels. Paradoxically, the wet season provides the farmers with their once-a-year chance to sow crops of their staple diet, rice.

  The East Timorese population was first drastically reduced by the Japanese invasion in World War II and then again in the years following the Indonesian invasion in 1975, where estimates of those killed range from 100,000 to 200,000 people.

  To understand the island’s convoluted pedigree we must look back 500 years to when the first European contact began, around the beginning of the 16th century, when Portuguese traders arrived, chasing sandalwood and beeswax. The Dutch, also in search of more colonial expansion, followed early the next century, and the two colonial powers started a drawn-out dispute over control of the territory. The Treaty of Lisbon in 1859 split Timor between them – the Dutch taking the western half, the Portuguese the eastern, plus the enclave of Oecussi on the western side (which was the original Portuguese settlement).

  That’s pretty much how things stayed until the advent of the Republic of Indonesia in 1950, which saw West (Dutch) Timor subsumed into Indonesia. It’s currently known as the Nusatenggara Timor province.

  Australia’s direct involvement began during World War II, when Timor suddenly acquired major strategic importance as a stepping stone for a Japanese advance on Australia. It loomed as a perfect air base for bombing and fighter attacks on the Australian mainland. To combat this threat, in December 1941 the Australian Army sent Sparrow Force, about 1400 soldiers, to help reinforce the tiny Dutch and Portuguese garrisons then on the island. The main force of the Aussies was centred on Koepang in the far southwest corner of Timor, where they defended nearby Penfui Airfield, base to a flight of RAAF Hudson bombers. Another Independent Company of Diggers based themselves at Dili (the modern-day capital of East Timor) on the north coast.

  In mid February 1942, just as Australian and American reinforcements were aboard transport ships bound for Timor, their convoy was attacked by Japanese fighters and forced to return to Darwin on 18 February. The very next day the anticipated invasion hit Dili as part of the Japanese sweep through the Pacific following Pearl Harbor. There the Diggers inflicted considerable casualties on the Japanese before successfully withdrawing to the centre of the island. At the same time a massive Japanese assault force, including tanks and paratroopers, landed at Koepang and tried to overwhelm the Australians there. The Diggers fought with great determination, virtually destroying the paratrooper force (killing around two-thirds of them), but inevitably, the numbers – about 1000 against a Japanese force which grew to 20,000 – began to take their toll. Split in half, surrounded and burdened by the growing weight of sick and wounded, the Australians fought for three days and nights. Then, almost out of food, water and ammunition, they were faced with an ultimatum: surrender or annihilation. At 9 am on 23 February, the bulk of Sparrow Force surrendered. But a group of about 250 of them escaped and headed east to join the Independent Company in East Timor. These gallant Diggers then began a year-long guerrilla campaign of harassing the Japanese. Many East Timorese risked their lives, and many forfeited them, helping the Australians in their covert conflict. The guerrilla warfare waged by those elements of Sparrow Force is as an excellent example of the initiative, endurance, courage and independence that we have come to expect from the Digger. Out of contact from the end of February until 20 April when Darwin picked up their first message, the Diggers ignored repeated Japanese calls for them to surrender and many subsequent attempts to flush them out and hunt them down. By this stage the guerrilla force had grown to around 700. Supplied by air and sea by the Allies and aided by the local Timorese and Portuguese people, they were able to tie down the vastly superior Japanese force of more than 20,000. One of the Diggers, a former West Australian kangaroo shooter named ‘Doc’ Wheatley, was said to have accounted for 47 Japanese.

  The Sparrow Force survivors were ultimately recovered and returned to Australia. The Japanese wrought their customary vengeance on those left behind.

  Six decades later, Australian Diggers returned to play their role in helping rebuild East Timor. Section Two Three Bravo has a small but crucial job in ensuring that the brand-new nation’s borders are secure. Like so much of the army, the patrol is a cross-section of middle Australia.

  The oldest in the party is the section second-in-command, Lance Corporal Billy Boulton, from Queensland, at 34. The youngest is the first scout, Private Joshua Nicholas, from Tasmania, at 19. Despite his youth, ‘Nicko’ is a qualified sniper, and he cradles his F88 Steyr semiautomatic assault rifle with practised hands as he scans the darkness with a slow, deliberate sweep. Only when he has looked and then listened does he move ahead. Behind Nicko, the second scout, ‘Griggsy’, 20-year-old Private Wayne Griggs from Perth, signals all clear to his section leader, Corporal ‘Woody’ Woodward, and moves off. Woody turns and signals the rest of the patrol to move off. Billy Boulton nods and steps lightly through the undergrowth – no mean feat considering he, like the others in the patrol, is carrying gear weighing around 50 kilograms. Most carry three or four days’ rations, at least 15 litres of water, and an amazing assortment of ancillary gear, including first-aid packs, satellite navigation apparatus, night-vision goggles, bivouac bags, mozzie nets, camouflage make-up, ammunition and F1 grenades. Two members, 20-year-old Private Brent ‘Thommo’ Thomson from Wagga Wagga and 19-year-old Private Clinton Holdsworth from Brisbane, are ‘assault gunners’ and carry the modern equivalent of the World War II Bren gun, the F89 Minimi automatic light support weapon. Like the Steyr rifle, it fires 5.56 millimetre calibre rounds, but it has a magazine holding 100 rounds, to the Steyr’s 30, and can be used to telling effect in a firefig
ht. (Looking around you can see an obvious change in the weaponry: the Steyr’s butt and its magazine are made from high-strength plastic, making it lighter and easier to maintain than its predecessors with their wooden butts and metal magazines. The magazine is transparent so a soldier can see how many rounds he has left without removing it.)

  The veteran in the group is Private Scott Dudley, from Sydney, who’s been in the Army for seven and a half years. He provides much of the humour – as the resident ‘angry ant’ – and a lot of the common sense, as he insists the youngsters do the ‘hard yards’ and keep their minds focused on their tasks. ‘Duds’ is also the mechanical expert. He takes that role for the company as well and should be promoted to corporal by year’s end. Private Matthew McMahon, the inevitable ‘Macca’, is a rangy 20-year-old from the western New South Wales town of Narromine. Macca carries himself with the laconic spareness of the typical Australian ‘cocky’ (or boy from the bush). In the absence of Private Nathan Charles, 24, from Brisbane, who is away on a communications course, Macca is the radio operator and must carry the communication equipment in addition to his normal gear. Macca is also qualified in combat first aid and is the team’s medic.

  The patrol’s enthusiasm is impressive. They are enjoying the challenge of trying to move and work as a tightly knit team, each constantly glancing back to Woody or Billy to make sure everything is on track and to watch for their individual commands. Woody is very clear about his role:

  The section commander’s job is to train his men, leading them into combat or operations and, at the same time, take an active involvement in their personal life. We have to rely on each other so much that if they have any personal problems which will affect their work, I want to know about them – relationship issues, financial problems, health, whatever.

  In the first instance I’ll offer a helping hand – suggestions, counselling. If it’s serious then the Army has systems in place that can help them. My concern is that the problem can’t affect our team.

  Woody and Billy are still building their working relationship. Billy joined the section from another company only about a month ago. A former factory worker, he’s been in the Army almost five years. He joined relatively late, seeking goals and some structure in his life. Now 34, he’s six years older than his leader Woody and has 15 years on some of the men. But he brings life experience and a worldliness that balances the unbridled enthusiasm of the youngsters. Woody recognises Billy’s strengths and is consciously cultivating their partnership:

  The strongest link in the section has to be between the section commander and his 2IC. If that link isn’t there, it’s going to cause breakdown throughout the whole section. In a perfect world, everyone would get on really well as best mates and work together at the same time. That doesn’t always happen. We’re fortunate at the moment because everyone is mates as well as colleagues at work.

  For months before Section Two Three Bravo was posted from its base in Darwin to East Timor, Woody has worked on building teamwork and maintaining their enthusiasm:

  If I wasn’t trying to enhance their knowledge and to constantly push them, then I wouldn’t be doing my job because they wouldn’t be developing. They’d be sitting there idle, and idle soldiers are definitely not a good thing. The main emphasis is on a team rather than on individuals, but within the team you must focus on the individuals and highlight and correct any problems, weaknesses and downfalls so the team can reach its full potential.

  The Digger has always had a low tolerance of soldiers who are not team players, as Woody explains:

  One of the first things we do with new members of the section is to encourage them to become a team member as much as possible. We try to make the transition from someone being an outsider to becoming a team member as smooth as possible so we can work more effectively. Otherwise, someone who isn’t a team player will create a lot of stress within the group and the Army will usually try to find him another role.

  In Digger-speak, a non-team player is ‘Jack’ – as in ‘I’m alright, Jack’. He’s a soldier who lacks respect, from the humble foot-soldier right up to the man at the top. Former chief of the Australian Defence Forces, General Peter Cosgrove:

  You know, ‘Jackman’ is probably one of the more printable things a non-team man is called. If a guy is ‘Jack’, he doesn’t pull his weight. If he doesn’t pull his weight, if he suits himself, if he’s unreliable because he’ll just look after number one, if he doesn’t do his job, then the Diggers will often say: ‘Oh, he’s a Jackman.’ One of the worst insults or reputations you can have is to be a Jackman and that’s a testament to the fact that our men and women are so interrelated, so mutually dependent on each other.

  There are no Jackmen in Two Three Bravo. All through the night they silently take turns in staggered pairs at watch overlooking the Tactical Coordination Line – the no-man’s land between East and West Timor. Using night-vision goggles, they constantly scan the river and its banks, which is the effective border. At random intervals Woody sends out a two-man patrol to edge closer and make sure nothing is missed. But despite a few false alarms – mainly locals using the river as a toilet – dawn arrives with no contacts.

  Once back from their patrol and even when relaxing in their hut at their Forward Operating Base at Maliana, the men of Two Three Bravo remain on alert. They take their rifles (or, in Digger terms, their ‘gatts’) with them everywhere – even to the showers or latrines, even when they go on training jogs. When on operations, their entire world must fit into their identical 75 centimetre by 125 centimetre trunks at the foot of their stretcher beds. In our digital world, these trunks can contain far greater recreational equipment than in years gone by. Today’s Digger has come a long way from the days of two-up. Mobile phones, laptop computers, DVDs, video games, sound systems, digital cameras – all ease the long hours when the Diggers must, like soldiers since Rome’s Legions, ‘hurry up and wait’. Eminem’s latest CD provides the soundtrack as the boys head off to shower, grab breakfast and clean their gear ready for the next patrol. When they get back someone has swapped Eminem for, of all things, Paul Simon.

  ‘What’s that shit, mate?’ asks Nicko.

  ‘Paul Simon,’ replies Billy, without a hint of shame.

  ‘How eighties, mate!’ comes from the back of the room.

  Then, as if directed by some unseen conductor, they all start singing along to Paul Simon’s ‘Call Me Al’ and break up laughing.

  From the start, the Australian Digger has built his teamwork around a curious amalgam: of mateship interlaced with ‘piss-taking’ humour; ingenious attempts to find better ways to carry out his tasks, interwoven with constant ‘grizzling’ about his predicament; pride in his work, leavened with a cavalier deprecation of his real value; love–hate relationships with his officers whom he sees as coming from the ‘dark side’, balanced with a deep and lasting respect for those leaders who earn it; all wrapped in a cocoon of mutual protection which is centred on the core values which all Diggers share as a ‘family’.

  Peter Cosgrove has watched the Digger evolve first-hand for more than 30 years. He sees many things as constants:

  Some of the vernacular has changed, the sort of the taste in music has changed, the externals have changed but fundamentally they’re exactly the same.

  Cosgrove views the Digger as an ordinary Australian who has taken on an extra ‘mantle’ of responsibilities:

  The mantle is partly professional training, partly a mountainous aura of tradition and responsibility that goes with the notion of being a Digger.

  I see him as an ordinary Aussie, superimposed with the extra notion of being a soldier who values trust, mateship, loyalty and initiative. One of the great things that differentiates Australian soldiers from those of many other countries is that our soldiers are craving an opportunity to be heard, to express, to participate, to contribute, to innovate.

  So it’s this sort of cheerful pressure on those who are appointed as leaders, which ac
tually make them much better. You know you don’t prance around with a sort of conferred and acquiescently agreed mantle of authority as a leader in the army. You work all the time to establish and reaffirm your credibility and it can last just a few seconds, your credibility, if you come out with something dumb, if you miss the obvious point, if you’re cranky for no reason, if you are dismissive of this sense of initiative and you’ve also got to play within the boundaries of what comes with a tinge of irreverence – the habit of the Diggers, to some extent, of always mildly pushing the envelope.

  As former chief of the Australian Defence Force, General Peter Cosgrove relished the rare opportunities he got to talk to his Diggers:

  When I got an opportunity to talk to them at any length – a length more than two or three minutes – after the guy’s got over the culture shock of talking to a general, after just a very short time, they think, ‘Well, this guy’s not going to bite my head off’ and you start having a bit if a gossip. The years fell away from me and I could be a young and quite confident young officer. So I never lapsed back to being perhaps the brand-new boy, but I feel in conversation with the soldiers that the years go away and I’m talking to the same sorts of Diggers I knew so well when I was a young officer.