Invasion Rabaul

by Bruce Gamble

  A fair number of soldiers had two middle names and some had none at all; but in the unusual name category, few could compete with Private C. O. Harry. Raised on a farm north of Melbourne, he was accustomed to hard work and hard times, droughts and depressions. His grandfather, John Harry, a British seaman-apprentice, had jumped ship back in the 1850s when gold was discovered in New South Wales. He did not strike it rich but prospered all the same, obtaining acreage along the Murray River during the 1869 Land Act. Among John’s four sons, Henry Harry had four sons of his own, and for some unknown reason he saddled the youngest with a lisp-inducing family name: Cuthbert Oswald. No one ever blamed the lad for choosing a common nickname. By the time C. O. enlisted at the age of twenty-three, he was known to everyone as “Bill,” and no soldier was tougher.

  Easily the most famous personality in the garrison was Sergeant Gullidge. He and the bandsmen became the pride not only of Lark Force but also of Rabaul, playing at all kinds of civic events in addition to their military duties. Boxing tournaments drew large crowds, and the band entertained them with marches and popular tunes between rounds. A favorite was the “Colonel Bogey March,” to which the soldiers loudly sang their own bawdy lyrics. Gullidge was embarrassed but went along with the fun, making up for it on Sundays by singing in the Methodist church, one of Rabaul’s most established Protestant houses of worship.

  Soldiers who attended religious services in camp were alternately led by one of the garrison’s two army chaplains. Captain Victor S. Turner of England was a Catholic padre, and Lieutenant John L. May of Tasmania represented the Protestants. Religious differences notwithstanding, the two men could hardly have been more dissimilar. At thirty-seven, Turner was one of the oldest men in Lark Force, and as one officer put it, “only dire threats of punishment could secure anything like full attendance at Church Parade.” May was more than twenty years younger than Turner, and his spontaneous, enthusiastic personality appealed widely to the troops.

  Religion and faith were important to a great majority of contemporary Australians. A significant percentage of those living among the mandated islands were missionaries, making it inevitable that members of Lark Force would interact with some of them. During a detailed compass-and-chain survey of the Gazelle Peninsula, for example, a team from the intelligence section of the 2/22nd spent several days in the vicinity of Kalas, a Methodist mission school in the foothills of the Baining Mountains. Bill Harry befriended the Reverend and Mrs. John Poole, and the minister subsequently invited him on a “walkabout” to visit villages deep in the mountains. Harry was granted leave to go on the journey, and by the time they returned two weeks later, he knew more about the northern region of New Britain than anyone else in Lark Force.

  Other soldiers gained some limited knowledge of the island during croc-hunting expeditions and hikes to explore the volcanoes, but such trips rarely went far from Rabaul. Furthermore, as the odorous discharge from Tavurvur continued to drift onto Malaguna Camp for weeks on end, most of the men lost their enthusiasm for tropical adventures. After the newness of their surroundings wore off, they grew weary of camp duties and garrison life in general, especially the bland army food. Consequently, the food service became the chief focus of their discontent.

  The army diet of the day, like that in most Western cultures, was high in carbohydrates, protein, and sodium. A wartime study revealed that the percapita consumption of beef in Australia was twice that of the United States, and Australians also ate more grains, twice the butter, and eleven times more mutton and lamb. The most common ration in the AIF was chopped-up meat, canned in gelatin to keep it moist. Known as “bully beef,” it had been a staple of British and Commonwealth armies since before World War I. Other canned rations included “M and V” (meat and vegetables), the ubiquitous beans, and varieties of fruit. Somehow, an overabundance of tropical fruit salad had been shipped to Rabaul, forcing the cooks to serve it at virtually every meal. Before long, the soldiers loudly protested the seemingly endless supply. Some also complained that their tins of “Anzac biscuits” (cookies made of rolled oats) bore World War I labels.

  A universal thread among armies is the observation that a bitching soldier is a happy soldier, which means that perceptions within Lark Force were normal. Similarly, a few of Rabaul’s citizens began to grumble about the presence of so many soldiers, which put a strain on their once-quiet town. Accusations flew that Lark Force was poorly disciplined, and some veterans complained that soldiers who were nabbed for drunk and disorderly conduct in town were not being properly punished. Others protested the army canteen’s underselling of its beer for half of what the same brands cost in Rabaul. If the old-timers tended to exaggerate the degree of rowdiness in the streets, they were partially correct in perceiving a problem within Lark Force.

  It had not taken the men of the 2/22nd long to realize that Lieutenant Colonel Carr was unequal to the task of running a battalion-size force. Kindly but naïve, he was accustomed to being part of a larger organization where people with experience could lend help. At Rabaul he was on his own. Major Leggatt had received new orders to take over the 2/40th Battalion on Timor, and his departure left Carr unprepared for the responsibilities of leadership. Ultimately, Carr failed to gain the respect of his subordinates, who came to regard him as something of a joke. Behind his back they began to call him “the Bodger,” slang for a bum coin, a loser.

  The situation changed with the arrival of Colonel John J. “Jack” Scanlan, a decorated combat veteran. He arrived on October 8 and immediately took command of all ground forces in the New Guinea Area (NGA), while Carr stayed on as CO of the 2/22nd. Based on his combat record during multiple campaigns in World War I, including the receipt of a Legion of Honor, Scanlan certainly had the credentials for the job. Badly wounded at Gallipoli, he convalesced in Australia before returning to fight again in Europe, where he led a Tasmanian battalion through several campaigns and battles. After the war he made a failed attempt at farming along the Murray River, then accepted a position with the Tasmanian prison system. Reenlisting for another war, he arrived at Rabaul just prior to his fifty-first birthday.

  Tasked with defending an enormous region, Scanlan had few resources to work with. At Rabaul alone, his priorities for Lark Force included not only the defense of the town but also the coastal guns at Praed Point, the seaplane base at Sulphur Creek, and two airdromes. In addition to the airdrome at Lakunai, there was a second airdrome eleven miles south of Rabaul named for a nearby Catholic mission, Vunakanau. Also known as “the Upper ‘Drome,” it sat on the plateau overlooking the caldera and served as a forward base for Royal Australian Air Force (RAAF) reconnaissance aircraft. In all, the line Lark Force had to defend extended from Praed Point all the way around the caldera to Raluana Point—a total of fifteen miles.

  Initially, Scanlan made no changes to the fortified positions occupied by the 2/22nd battalion. Two rifle companies—A Company under Major William T. Owen and B Company under Captain Colin L. McInnes—were considered in reserve at Malaguna Camp. C Company, led by Captain Ernest S. “Pip” Appel, was deployed at Vunakanau; D Company, led by Captain Richard E. Travers, guarded a major intersection called Four Ways; and R Company, under Captain Frank E. “Eric” Shier, was entrenched at Praed Point.

  It was virtually impossible for a single infantry battalion to defend a fifteen-mile-long line; therefore, the rifle companies were dispersed between a half-dozen strategic points. As for weapons, the infantrymen were armed with .303-caliber Lee-Enfield rifles (which predated World War I), supported by machine gun teams that used identical ammunition. The automatic weapons included twenty-six Lewis light machine guns, twelve Vickers water-cooled medium machine guns, and two old Maxim machine guns commandeered from the native police. The Vickers and Maxim guns were cumbersome, requiring vehicles for all but the shortest moves. The same was true of the twelve 3-inch mortars, which utilized heavy base plates and tripods. If the mortars and machine guns had to be moved a significant distance, fully
tracked Universal Carriers, also known as Bren Gun Carriers, were employed by the Carrier Platoon. However, the battalion was not considered a mobile force despite the possession of the tracked vehicles.

  A WEEK AFTER SCANLAN’S ARRIVAL, LARK FORCE RECEIVED SOME GOOD news: the War Cabinet announced that the United States would provide additional fortifications around Simpson Harbor through the Lend-Lease program. The Americans would contribute six 7-inch coastal defense guns, eight 3-inch antiaircraft guns, and twelve heavy machine guns, all of which would represent a huge improvement over the current defenses. Oddly, the proposal failed to address the need for aircraft. Without planes, especially fighters, no amount of coastal weapons or antiaircraft guns would provide Rabaul with adequate air defense. Unfortunately, despite the fact that the Battle of Britain had proven the importance of aerial superiority, the Allies largely ignored the concept.

  The Japanese, on the other hand, placed great emphasis on control of the skies. Reconnaissance planes of the Imperial Navy appeared over Rabaul as early as June 1941, as noted by Lieutenant Peter E. Figgis, the 2/22nd’s senior intelligence officer. The first aircraft he sighted, a twin-engine Type 96 naval bomber, almost certainly came from Truk, seven hundred miles to the north. Since then, several other reconnaissance aircraft, including floatplanes from Japanese warships, had been observed overhead.

  The sightings put Figgis in the spotlight. Born in England, he had soldiering in his blood. His father, a British mining engineer, was wounded while serving in France with the Royal Engineers and received a Military Cross for gallantry. After the war the family moved to Australia, where Peter earned a lieutenant’s commission by drilling on weekends with the Melbourne University Rifles. Tall and tanned, he strongly resembled British actor Alec Guinness. Sporting a clipped moustache that accentuated his mischievous grin, Figgis established a reputation as “a very capable fellow” and was transferred to Colonel Scanlan’s NGA staff. November 16, which happened to be Figgis’ twenty-sixth birthday, was highlighted by a spectacular blast from Tavurvur, the biggest eruption yet of the on-going disturbance. Figgis was unimpressed. He was tired of “the stink of bad eggs” and the corrosive effects of the ash, which caused chronic problems with the telephone lines and made his job of communicating between observation posts difficult.

  AS THE YEAR 1941 DREW TO A CLOSE, FIGGIS WAS NOT THE ONLY ONE disenchanted with the situation facing Lark Force. Others knew instinctively that their position was weak, and they looked ahead to the promised Lend-Lease support from the United States. Some were no doubt pleased to hear General MacArthur claim publicly that the Japanese were overextended in China and would not attempt any aggression prior to the spring of 1942. When Sir Earle Page visited the Philippines in early October, McArthur told him that Japan was incapable of launching a Pacific war without a lengthy recuperative period. Page heard similar assessments in Washington, D.C. during the extended fact-finding trip, and later, his younger brother at Rabaul was among those who “collected the spray from this wave of optimism.”

  Despite such reassurances, Tokyo’s militant actions had become a tangible threat, and by the first of December the Australians at Rabaul had good reason to be concerned. They were reasonably well informed, thanks to Amalgamated Wireless of Australasia (AWA), which had a station capable of pulling in broadcasts from around the world. In addition, the Rabaul Times provided timely articles about current events. On December 2, for example, the newspaper reported that the War Cabinet had conducted an emergency meeting the previous day in Melbourne and cancelled all military leave. It was portentous news, but Australians everywhere clung to the hope that the Japanese would be intimidated into pulling back from the brink—an illusion that was shattered when the Japanese blasted Pearl Harbor and several other Allied bases on December 8, Tokyo time. Even then, many people tried to rationalize what had happened, speculating that some “madness had overtaken Japan to challenge so great an enemy with so spectacular an insult.”

  Of course, the Japanese had done much more than hurl an insult, and there was little greatness apparent among the various Allied forces involved. Not only did the carrier planes of the Imperial Japanese Navy make a complete shambles of Pearl Harbor, but MacArthur had been caught flat-footed in the Philippines despite hours of advance warning. For all his boasting, he was principally to blame for the near-annihilation of the Far East Air Force (FEAF), America’s largest overseas air component. Worst of all, at least from Lark Force’s viewpoint, was the realization that the Lend-Lease fortifications promised by the United States had suddenly evaporated.

  AT RABAUL, MOST AUSTRALIANS LEARNED ABOUT THE BOMBING OF PEARL Harbor from radio broadcasts. David Selby, the commander of the antiaircraft battery, first heard the news at breakfast on December 8. The mess hall conversation, he recalled, “was full of excited speculation about what was in store.” Selby knew that numerous preparations still lay ahead—the guns had to be moved from the beach, for one thing—so immediately after breakfast he met with Colonel Scanlan for instructions.

  Within hours, the two gun carriages had been towed up a narrow, serpentine road to Dr. Fisher’s volcano observatory on the North Daughter. The long-barreled guns were unlimbered on the front lawn, and soon thereafter the geologist’s residence was transformed into a fortified emplacement, every available space filled with piles of ammunition, supplies, and the personal effects of fifty-four officers and men. Fisher was aggravated at first, but in due time he accepted the necessary intrusion. Later he took up arms himself by signing on with the NGVR.

  Soon after the battery was in place, the irrepressible Aussies nailed a sign bearing the name “Frisbee Ridge” to a coconut tree. It was a tribute to their popular commander, Captain Selby, who had followed a general recommendation that officers “ought to get a bit of hair on their faces.” By cultivating a luxuriant moustache, he prompted the men to nickname him “Frisbee,” a parody of the “mythical British Army officer type.”

  Manning their guns at 0430 every morning, the crews waited for the Japanese to come. From their lofty perch atop the North Daughter, Selby and his gunners never failed to be impressed by the spectacular colors that flared across the eastern horizon each morning, and almost every evening they enjoyed a similar extravaganza when the sun dipped low in the western sky. However, as the days passed with no action, the gun crews grew bored with the routine.

  IN MELBOURNE, THE WAR CABINET SCRAMBLED TO RESPOND TO THE SUDDEN onset of war in the Pacific. Australian territory was not under immediate threat, but the Malay Peninsula had been invaded and units of the Imperial Japanese Army were rapidly advancing southward toward the 8th Division in Singapore. In response, the service chiefs made several critical decisions.

  First, anticipating that the Japanese would attempt to occupy Ambon, Timor, and Rabaul, the brass decided that the current deployment of the 23rd Brigade would have to be enough: there would be no additional strengthening of the existing garrisons. Secondly, the War Cabinet decided not to place any large ships at risk in order to assist the isolated garrisons. And lastly, realizing that the occupation of the Bismarck Archipelago would be high on Tokyo’s list of priorities, the cabinet was determined that Lark Force in particular should hold out for as long as possible.

  The Minister for External Affairs, Herbert “Doc” Evatt, clarified the situation by sending a secret cablegram to President Roosevelt via the Australian ambassador. “In making this recommendation,” he wrote, “we desire to emphasize the fact that the scale of attack which can be brought against Rabaul from bases in the Japanese mandated islands is beyond the capacity of the small garrison to meet successfully. Notwithstanding this, we consider it essential to maintain a forward air observation line as long as possible and to make the enemy fight for this line rather than abandon it at the first threat.”

  In other words, the government wanted to preserve the illusion that Australia was capable of defending itself, and was prepared to expend the garrison for that purpose. As a result, no conti
ngency plans were made to rescue any soldiers who might survive the pending invasion. Lark Force was trapped on New Britain. There would be no relief, no miraculous Dunkirk.

  Further evidence of Canberra’s position regarding Lark Force appeared on December 12, a mere four days after Pearl Harbor. On behalf of Prime Minister Curtin, the War Cabinet transmitted another secret cable to Washington in which they acknowledged not only the likelihood of the garrison’s defeat, but that there would be no rescue for survivors: “It would appear under present circumstances that the proposed plan [for American Lend-Lease support] will be greatly delayed or even impossible to fulfill… Under the foregoing circumstances, and as reinforcements and subsequent supply would be hazardous without United States cooperation, it is considered better to maintain Rabaul only as an advance air operational base, its present small garrison being regarded as hostages to fortune.”

  Hostages, no less! Weeks before the first shot was fired in the Bismarcks, Canberra essentially washed its hands of Lark Force on New Britain, the 1st Independent Company on New Ireland, and hundreds of civilians living in the region. Only a few days had passed since Pearl Harbor, yet the government was already willing to condemn the garrisons to whatever fate the Japanese had planned for them. The War Cabinet evidently wanted to appear resolute, but their actions in this case could hardly have looked more feeble.