by Pacific War Uncensored: A War Correspondent's Unvarnished Account of the Fight Against Japan
The Archdeacon had himself needed to play hide-and-seek with Japanese troops on various occasions, when they would come wading down the river. Fortunately they did not venture too far before turning round and moving on towards the direction of Gona. He had also helped to recover a hapless American pilot who had bailed out after being shot down by a Japanese Zero. This pilot had broken away from his squadron’s formation in pursuit of an enemy aircraft. Unfortunately for him he had failed to notice that another Zero was underneath him, and with no hesitation it shot him down. The pilot bailed out and landed in some treetops before finally reaching the ground. He only had a compass and clasp knife left from his survival pack, which did not give him many options for trying to survive in the jungle. During the daytime he hid himself within the swamps to prevent detection from the patrolling Japanese troops, and only came out at night to hunt for food. His efforts mainly consisted of throwing stones at coconuts in the trees, which was largely in vain as he was too weak to make the missile reach the treetops.
He arrived at the mission hanging onto a log, after travelling downstream by river. At first some of the natives were unsure of him, but they overcame their uncertainty and brought him ashore. The Archdeacon helped nurture the stricken pilot before passing him onto another mission, from where he then made his way back towards his airbase. When I met him, the Archdeacon was continuing to support the war effort by helping the Allies in giving them his knowledge of the local area and native dialects. He was hoping very much, though, that he could return one day to the location of his own mission so that he could continue his work.
It was just as well for the Archdeacon that he did not come into direct contact with the Japanese, because I heard accounts from other missions that had befallen this fate, and these accounts were not very pleasant. One of these came from a German missionary called Brother Alphonse Wiedmann, who was captured by the Japanese in the Wewak area of New Guinea. He told me that not only did the Japanese rob and plunder from the mission but also killed thousands of cattle that were used for the production of milk, butter and cheese. This was a particularly heavy blow to the mission as they had always been a self-supporting community, and needed the livestock to provide them with food. During the ebb and flow of the conflict, the Japanese personnel staying at the mission would be replaced by others, as new troops came in and out on their way to the next frontline of the battle. Some of the Japanese privates were particularly mean, and killed the natives within the mission after first making them dig their own graves.
Not all of the natives in New Guinea were supportive of the Allied troops though, and this was highlighted to me in the experiences of some of the other missions. One of these involved a Father Arthur Manion, who told me that some natives had taken other natives and missionaries captive, and then taken them along to the Japanese to be imprisoned. Manion had been forced by the Japanese to use a twenty-ton schooner that he owned to run errands for them, and he believed this had led to rumours that the missions were collaborating with the Japanese. At the same time, he thought that the natives who had participated in capturing others may have been mislead by the Japanese, who had told them stories that implied that the Japanese and Papuans where related in some way through their ancestry.
Papuan natives sitting on the bonnet of Harold’s jeep. The jeep was given to him by Shanty O’Neil to get around the Port Moresby area of New Guinea. Author collection
Another occasion when missionaries came into contact with hostile natives was while they were escaping from the Japanese. This came from the account of a Dutch missionary, Father Anthony Cruysberg, who along with other members of the mission took to the mountains after fleeing from the Wewak area. They spent four months trekking up into the mountains, being lead by an Australian lieutenant called Sear son. The mountain areas were a tough terrain, and in some places they passed through areas that had never been visited before by white men. It was in these areas that the natives were hostile, and on occasion would attack the other natives who were in Cruysberg’s party, and even killed some of them. Fortunately though, no Japanese troops were encountered, and these missionaries doggedly continued their journey. The sisters within the group insisted on wearing their religious garments the whole time, although for most of the journey they walked barefooted. The party led by the Australian lieutenant eventually managed to reach Mount Hagen high up in the mountains, where at last they were able to eat and rest within relative safety. From there they eventually made it to Benabena, where they got on a plane that took them to Port Moresby.
Harold with Papuan native boy “Gibson of the Blue Trousers,” his companion who helped him navigate his way around the Port Moresby area of New Guinea. Author collection
It was now May 1942, and the Australian troops were carrying out a tremendous offensive across the Owen Stanley Mountains, which formed a large ridge practically down the whole length of the country. They were intent on driving the Japanese out from the north coast, and this was an immense operation—the soldiers had to make their way right across the mountains, which were covered with a terrific jungle forest. They planned to make their first stronghold at a place called Kokoda, which was on the other side of the range, and in the course of their journey they made what was known as the “Kokoda Trail.” The Australian soldiers had to flog their way on foot over the mountains, building what were known as “corduroy tracks”—felled logs buried in the mud to make a footway for the troops to traverse the difficult terrain.
Harold once more befriending Papuan natives in New Guinea. Author collection
At this time I was very sad to suddenly receive the news that Chris Herron had been killed. He had just completed his seventh mission over Rabaul, and the news affected me very deeply. I had during my life witnessed death in many places, but there was something about Chris that got you, and it left me with a great feeling of loss. He had more friends in the US Army Air Corps than anyone else I knew, and he seemed to epitomise everything that was fine and grand about the Americans and what they were fighting for. He had flown more than twelve-and-a-half thousand miles in actual combat in less than a month, and not surprisingly, he had died in the act of trying to save the lives of his fellow crewmembers.
Meanwhile in New Guinea the air activity was unceasing, and there were bombers constantly being sent out to attack the Japanese. We were also receiving a fair quota of raids over Port Moresby, and during this time I learned a valuable lesson. If you were able to see an airplane directly overhead then there was no need to worry, but if you saw them two miles ahead then it was time to duck, as a bomb was already on its way down. I made a lot of friends amongst the airmen in Port Moresby, and in particular, another American pilot whose name was Brian O’Neil. He was a captain in command of a squadron in Port Moresby, and was known as “Shanty O’Neil.” In civilian life he had been a bit of a playboy. The son of a millionaire family, Shanty O’Neil had attained some notoriety in peacetime when he had flown his own aircraft, and landed it in the middle of a baseball pitch. Shanty O’Neil was a very successful pilot, and went on to be awarded with a Distinguished Service Cross for “extraordinary gallantry in leading a strafing mission” over the Bismarck Sea. I found him to be a very generous character, and was lucky enough to accompany him on a bombing mission in a B26 a year later.
The location of the war front was to change for me once more. I had taken part in twenty-two operational bombing missions, but the United Press had told me that my reports on them had started to lose their news worthiness. From my own point of view the air was very much where the war was currently being waged, and it was far more useful for me to concentrate my time in this area, rather than stumbling my way around in the jungle with my stiff right leg.
In spite of all the previous accolades I had received for my reports from the air, the United Press wanted me to return to Australia, and they were quite insistent with their instruction. I thought that their decision was a great shame, as not only had I been given the opportunity
to witness firsthand bombing missions from the cockpit, I was also able to hear many amazing stories from the pilots and crews. One of these involved a Private First Class Turrentine from California. He was a nose gunner in a Liberator and had been out on a mission, successfully shooting down between sixteen and twenty-four Zeros. On the return flight though, sixteen more Zeros that had apparently been providing cover for some Japanese bombers, intercepted his plane.
Loading report for one of the many bombing missions that Harold accompanied. Example shown is for 22nd Bombing Group, a mission leaving Garbutt, northern Australia on 22 April 1942. Harold is listed as a passenger. Author collection
Turrentine told me about all of this, and his story was corroborated by eyewitness accounts from Australian troops who were on the ground at the time, and who eventually helped in recovering the stricken nose gunner from the jungle. The Zeros attacked the Liberator’s tail over Benabena as it was unloading a payload of bombs. At this point Turrentine had managed to hit quite a number of them, but then his pilot tried to take evasive action by turning upwards into the clouds. In spite of this, two of the Zeros managed to get above the Liberator and then turn into ninety-degree dives, after which one of the Australian eyewitnesses saw the plane catch fire. Turrentine said that he heard the interphone report that there had been a fire in the bomb-bay area of the plane while he was in the middle of shooting down another Zero that was attacking him head on. He then saw his co-pilot bailing out, but unfortunately his escape was hampered by his parachute getting caught up on the plane’s radio antenna.
Turrentine told me that at this point he was scared to death, but he somehow managed to force himself out of the plane’s emergency door. After that, he said he could not remember much of anything that happened, and thinks that he probably lost consciousness, which could have been the result of his plane exploding in the air behind him as he made his exit. Turrentine said that he was in such a hurry that he didn’t even have time to pull his ripcord—despite this he found himself coming round in midair with his chute fully open, floating and drifting over the thick forest of the jungle. As he looked around him he saw that there were five sections of his exploded Liberator lying beneath him. As if matters could not get much worse, a Japanese Zero then flew at him, firing shots for some minutes. Turrentine was literally a sitting target, but he managed to evade the attentions of the enemy craft by continually pulling on the shroudlines to adjust his position in the air.
He finally landed in a dried out creek bed, where he was eventually found by natives. They were followed by some of the Australian troops, who found while helping to recover Turrentine from his predicament that his parachute was covered with a film of oil. This could only lead them to one conclusion: that the chute had been blown open by the explosion of Turrentine’s own Liberator plane. After further recollection Turrentine thinks that the first action with the Zeros took place at ten thousand feet, and that he must have then bailed out at about six thousand feet. Amazingly, apart from suffering from shock and a few minor injuries, Turrentine otherwise looked to me to be in remarkably good health. I do not know what the chances are of an event like this happening, but I found his story to be quite incredible.
Another story I heard involved a Captain L.J. Kneeskern, who spent seventeen days in the Papuan jungle after bailing out of a photographic reconnaissance plane. He had been photographing the Markam River area when the weather became rapidly worse, and the decision was made to return to base straight away. During the course of poor weather, one of the fuel tanks ran dry, and all of the craft’s instruments behaved erratically. The plane started to spin and loose altitude, and so Kneeskern took the decision to bail out. While doing so he believed that he might have pulled his ripcord too soon, as he felt a tremendous wrench on his back, which was sufficiently strong enough to break the jungle knife in his pack. Despite suffering from cuts to the head, which he thinks were inflicted by hitting it against the planes antenna, Kneeskern managed to manipulate his parachute down towards a small stream. His parachute got caught up in some trees, which he estimated were about seventy-five feet high, but despite suffering from a great deal of pain in his back, he managed to shin his way down with his jungle pack in tact. Conditions in the jungle were extremely unpleasant. There was relentless forest rain, which did little to provide him with any comfort; nevertheless, he managed to sleep for a short while with the help of some morphine from his pack.
Kneeskern had to stay in the same position for three days as his pain became worse, after which time he managed to crawl to the nearby stream to quench his thirst. He then decided to use the stream as his vehicle for making his way through the thick jungle, despite seeing numerous crocodiles in the vicinity. Through wear and tear his pack and uniform gradually started to disintegrate, and he needed to make repairs to them on several occasions over the next five days. Opportunities for him to eat anything of substance became limited as the matches from his survival kit had become sodden in the river, and prevented him from lighting a fire over which he could cook a meal. Just when he thought there was no hope in sight, he saw two natives at the foot of a mountainside. Kneeskern managed to get their attention by calling out to them, and then slide his way down towards their direction. Thankfully they were friendly, and could also understand enough pigeon English to understand him and to bring him some food. They then took it upon themselves to canoe him downstream towards a plantation station, where Kneeskern’s wound could be dressed by some Australian troops. From there the natives then took him further down river, where Kneeskern was finally met by someone who took him back to base. His escape from his stricken aircraft was quite remarkable, as was his survival in the jungle with the support of the Papuan natives.
It is, of course, very dangerous to be at altitude without an oxygen mask, but I heard a story about a Private Wilbur Browne who somehow managed to defy this requirement. On a bombing mission, he took off his mask at altitude on more than one occasion to go and assist his injured comrades. During the mission both of the side gunners on his craft were injured, and so he removed his mask and left his own position as radio operator to go back and give them assistance. He also adjusted their oxygen masks and tended to their wounds before calmly returning to his original position. Browne then noticed that the tail gunner had collapsed right at the end of the craft, and guessed that this may have been due to a frozen oxygen mask. Once more he removed his own mask, and made his way back through the craft to assist his stricken crewmember. At great personal risk to himself he tested the tail gunner’s mask and provided artificial respiration, leaving himself vulnerable for more than two hours. Browne certainly defied all the odds in his actions, and exhibited extreme bravery.
Another story I heard concerned a Spitfire pilot named Philip Goldsmith, who was defending Darwin. He told me that he had been attacking a Japanese bomber, and had managed to destroy its cockpit before finding that a Zero was pursuing him. Though he was able to get the Spitfire’s speed up to four hundred miles per hour, while performing various twists and turns, he could not shake off the enemy craft. The Zero started to fire at him and completely shattered his cockpit hood, with all the pieces from it imploding onto his lap. To make matters even worse, while being blasted by the wind in his unprotected pilot position, his joystick then came off in his hand. Goldsmith’s memory of events faded at this point but he believes that he then exited the cockpit. He was aware that he was hanging out of it, but was then blinded as blood was forced into his head. The next thing that he recollected was being in seawater with his parachute fully open, forming a canopy over his head. He managed to fight his way clear of it, and then inflate his rubber dingy. Goldsmith believes that he was about forty miles off the coast, and remained stranded there for twenty-four hours, during which time he only had two fruit tablets to survive on and was visited by a six-foot sea snake. Eventually he was picked up by an Allied rescue craft after being spotted out at sea by aircraft. This was just another example of an amazing escap
e from a distressed airplane, where there seemed to be little hope of survival for the pilot.
I also heard about some rather unusual crewmembers who belonged to a US Marauder bomber group. One of these had the name “Cocky,” and was a white Australian talking cockatoo. He belonged to Private First Class Hank Colvin of Missouri. Hank had also previously owned a kitten called “Blackie,” who had frequently accompanied high altitude heavy bombers and was provided with oxygen during what had amounted to fifty hours of combat time. Unfortunately Blackie went the same way as many other airmen, when he did not return from a mission that Hank was not on. Blackie’s demise left a big gap in Hank’s life, and so he bought Cocky. Apparently Cocky was quite a nervous crewmember during his first missions, and sat nervously on Hank’s shoulder incessantly glancing right and left. Hank would soothe Cocky’s nerves by saying to him, “what’s the matter boy,” and after subsequent trips the bird started to settle down to life in a Marauder bomber. In fact Cocky became quite blasé about the whole experience, and would squawk angrily at the ack-ack gunfire that burst near the bomber and continually scream, “what’s the matter boy.” Cocky had unfettered freedom around the camp, and on one occasion sat on a squadron commander’s shoulder when he was delivering an address to his crewmen and repeated his line “what’s the matter boy.”