by Roland Perry
Prime Minister Tojo, who doubled as Army Minister, continued with his plans to invade and take over the Australian territory of Papua and also its League of Nations–mandated territory of New Guinea. He ordered his army forces to invade Papua’s north coast on 21 July 1942, in the month following the pivotal Battle of Midway. This led to both the 6th and 7th Divisions fighting in four major encounters supported by militia (conscripted) battalions.
The Rebels were part of the battalion’s contingent shipped to Deception Bay on the coast north of Brisbane in August 1942. Moody and Gill grew restless and decided to go AWL in an attempt to join forces who were about to fight against the Japanese in Papua. They stole off in the night on motorbikes and took several days to reach Brisbane. They were there several months in which they wrote and read a lot, and practised their skills at two-up, so well ‘taught’ by Fitzsimmons, and their card skills, which had been honed in tight games with the ‘shark’ Murchison. Gill and Moody became caught up in a string of two-up and card games on a wild New Year’s Eve with 7th Division soldiers on their last night in Australia before being shipped to New Guinea. Both men had ‘lucky’ streaks that had been helped along by the tricks they’d learnt. They accepted ‘payment’ in the form of them being smuggled on board the SS Tasman, which sailed for Port Moresby on New Year’s Day 1943, and then on to Papua’s eastern tip at Milne Bay soon afterwards. The Battle of Milne Bay had been over for several months but there was still some ‘mopping up’ to do of rogue Japanese groups. Moody had a bad start when he was shot in the knee on his first day in the area. But after having the wound treated he was incapacitated for only a week before again catching up with Gill in the search west for the still-fighting Japanese groups.
After four months involved with forward units of 7th Division, the two went AWL yet again and returned to Brisbane for their own kind of maverick leave from the front. Bored with this after less than six weeks, they bluffed their way into another 7th Division unit of soldiers about to be shipped on the Duntroon to Port Moresby, but not before trying, in June 1943, to transfer officially to the 7th Division. Otherwise, they would not be paid for their efforts. Moody and Gill were advised by Major Dunkley, the 7th’s administrative commander, that their application had to be submitted through their ‘parent unit,’ which meant the 2/1 Machine Gunners. To their surprise their transfer was accepted. The two Rebels once more joined the fighting, this time on Papua’s northern shores.
When not in the action, Moody spent time rewriting his lost dairies that had gone down with the Costa Rica off Crete. He had approached book publisher Angus & Robertson and they had commissioned author Ion Idriess to write a story based on Moody’s diaries. Idriess had written about Anzacs in the Middle East in World War I. Moody would send batches of the new version of his diaries to Henry, who would post them on to Sydney-based Idriess for embellishing into a narrative.
*
Over 19 months from 1942 to 1944 the Japanese poured more than 200,000 troops into New Guinea and Papua, attacks that were met by the diggers at Kokoda in Papua’s north, then Milne Bay on Papua’s east coast, followed by Buna, Sanananda and Gona in Papua’s north. The final enemy thrust was at Lae and Finschhafen on New Guinea’s north coast. It was an Australian defence of its ‘doorstep’ territories, with American troops playing a support role. When the Japanese were eventually pushed back by early 1944, Moody and Gill managed for the last time to leave Moresby in February for Brisbane. Then in April, Moody obtained leave, with several warrants and charges pending, to see his parents and Horrie in Melbourne.
A few days before Moody was due to return, Henry gave the little dog a sock belonging to Moody, which had not been washed since he left home two years earlier.
‘Jim will be home soon,’ he said, playing with the sock, ‘Jim will be home soon.’
Horrie’s stump would straighten and he would wag it for a moment, and look at Henry as if to say: I’ll believe it when I see him. On the morning of his expected return, Henry took the dog and friend Dianne to Spencer Street Station by train to wait for his son, who was coming by rail overnight from Sydney. About 20 diggers in uniform were there to greet fellow servicemen. Horrie, on a leash, wanted to stop and wag his tail at every man. Most diggers reached down to pat him and some noticed his colour patch and tag with the marking EX.I 2/1 M/G Bn.
‘Is he Horrie?’ one young digger asked in surprise. Henry nodded.
‘I’ve heard about him!’
The digger mentioned his identity to others and several crowded around, making a fuss of him. Horrie had a spring in his step.
‘I’ve never seen him so happy,’ Dianne said with a bemused look.
Henry and Dianne sat on platform seats. The crowd of greeting relatives and friends grew. Horrie became excited five minutes before the train was due in.
‘I think he knows why we are here,’ Henry observed. ‘He was on plenty of trains in North Africa and Palestine.’
‘I am beginning to understand a little more now,’ Dianne remarked. ‘He really shows love towards those boys.’
‘They’re all he knew until he was a year old. They’re his family.’
‘He’s still looking at them, wagging his tail.’
‘C’mon, Dianne, you get on with him now.’
‘Oh, yes, but he is never animated like that when I visit you. Although he is nice enough these days. It has taken me a lot of cajoling, and being extra-nice to him, without any return for a long time!’
‘You’ve come a long way since he snarled at you on sight, and he’s okay with anyone else in civvies now.’
‘He just ignores them,’ Dianne said with a laugh, ‘even your postman can say hello without Horrie getting off the front porch.’
‘That’s because we feed him too much. He’s too fat!’
The incoming train’s whistle blew. Horrie sat facing it, his ears erect.
‘Perhaps he thinks it’s a Stuka,’ Henry whispered to Dianne.
When Moody, kit on his back, stepped off the train, his father did not recognise him for a split-second because of his limp. Then Henry let the dog off the leash. Horrie scurried, a little slower now, aged three years, to Moody. But the dog was even more enthusiastic in his greeting than ever. Horrie’s bigger derrière swung in circles around his master. Moody’s eyes welled up as he bent to cuddle Horrie and then hoist him up into his arms. The dog smothered him with licks. He yelped his appreciation.
‘You remember me,’ Moody said, wiping away tears, ‘you fat little bugger! You remember!’
Two soldiers took photos of the reunion.
Moody kissed Dianne, with Horrie still squirming with delight in his arms. Moody put him on the ground and shook hands with his father.
‘How’d you get that limp?’ Henry asked.
‘It’s nothing.’
‘Were you wounded?’
‘I’ll tell you about it later.’
‘If it’s a war wound,’ Henry remarked, ‘you can get a medical discharge. I’m told it’s a little easier now the Japs have been pushed back.’
‘Don’t listen to all the propaganda from Macarthur. He’s just obsessed with his grand plan to “return” to the Philippines. The Nips are still in New Guinea and the other islands in big numbers. We’ll have more to do than those stupid press reports here are saying about “mopping up.” The journalists should fly up there and have a look. But of course they’re not allowed.’
‘So you are going back up?’ Dianne asked.
‘Maybe.’
‘Till when? The war could go on for years.’
‘Till the job is done or I get bored.’
Horrie interrupted the conversation by pawing at Moody.
‘Sorry, Horrie, old warrior!’ Moody said, picking him up again. ‘Didn’t mean to leave you out of the conversation!’
*
Moody reacquainted himself with Horrie and joined his father one morning walking the dog down to the nearby Balaclava Road shopping centre in East S
t Kilda to pick up the magazine Smiths Weekly. Horrie carried it home in his mouth.
‘You know the old saying,’ Henry said, ‘“you can’t teach an old dog new tricks”? Well Horrie is the exception. Of all the wonderful dogs we’ve had, and we’ve had some brilliant ones over the decades, he is the smartest.’
On returning home, they met the postman at their front gate. Horrie growled at him for the first time in a year.
‘What’s that about?’ the postman asked, keeping an eye on the dog.
‘He’s a bit excited since seeing diggers on the Spencer Street platform a week ago, and me being home,’ Moody explained. ‘Just being his protective self. Thinks he’s in a combat zone again. Nothing personal.’
‘So he did come from overseas?’
Moody hesitated before saying: ‘It’s a long story, Bill. You’ll be able to read about it soon.’
‘Speaking of diggers,’ the postman said, handing Moody a letter, ‘there’s something official-looking here for you.’
Inside the house, Moody opened the letter. It was from the Department of the Army. He had been charged with ‘Firing on the King’s enemy, without the King’s consent.’ The letter explained the odd charge was for him not being officially part of any unit when involved in Papua battles on his first ‘tour’ there. Moody had to explain it to Henry, who was not too pleased about his son’s rebellious behaviour in going AWL so often and the number of warrants for his arrest in his never-ending defiance of authority. Moody showed him the letter and pointed out the last line, which said: ‘This charge is deferred until hostilities against the King’s enemies cease.’
Henry was not placated.
‘Won’t look good on your war record,’ he warned his son, ‘along with all your other AWL charges. And let’s not forget what you’ve done with Horrie and beating quarantine.’
‘I’ll worry about that when “hostilities cease,” ’ Moody said.
‘You have to look ahead, son,’ Henry went on. ‘How are you going to gain employment if your war record is bad? And what about the soldier settlement scheme? The way you are going the government won’t offer you any block; and if they do offer you something, it will be in woop-woop somewhere on land with rocks and unfertile soil. The government is far more authoritarian in wartime, son. It can be vindictive.’
‘As I said, Dad,’ Moody repeated, ‘I’ll worry about that when it’s all over.’
*
The Japanese were in retreat by early 1945 but still willing to fight to the death of their last soldier, if the emperor so decreed. General Macarthur had implemented his plan of island hopping to skip north from Australia over Japanese garrisons in Java, Borneo, Bougainville, Singapore and other locations. He was commanding a combined US forces counterattack on the Japanese in the Philippines from where he was forced to flee to Australia in 1941, leaving his US–Filipino army of 22,000 leaderless and at the mercy of the enemy invaders. Now, more than three years later, Macarthur was determined to fight without the help of the experienced Australian 6th and 7th Divisions. He wanted the retaking of the Philippines and the defeat of the Japanese forces to be an exclusively US operation with him as the supreme commander. Macarthur had an inferiority complex to General Blamey, who until this point had a vastly superior record as a commander in both world wars. Macarthur feared Blamey’s interference and desire to have diggers in the action, which would have caused the Americans to have to share some of the glory of victory.
Some diggers were relieved at their omission from the Pacific War’s final stages. Others wished to fight on, either because they were so embedded as warriors and did not look forward to many prospects postwar, or because they wanted to see the war through to Japan’s complete capitulation.
By mid-January 1945, part of the 2/1 Machine Gun Battalion was being wound down and the Rebels’ Signals Unit was becoming increasingly redundant. All of the group decided to apply for discharge when they had the opportunity, and return to Sydney. Gill was interstate on a long, working holiday. For the moment, Moody took up residence at Silver Street in the south-west suburb of St Peters, which was the home of Gill’s parents, who were also away interstate for several months. The recently discharged Brooker was temporarily lodging there too. Moody had plans to open a photography shop, first using the Silver Street, St Peters address for a business: ‘Gilroy-Moody, specialists in Home Study Portraiture.’ (Later he moved to Birkley Road, Manly, with Leica Snaps.) Moody also wished to be involved in the publication that the Sydney-based Ion Idriess had been working on.
Moody took the train to Melbourne and returned to Sydney with Horrie, being careful to gain a health certificate from the stock inspector before boarding the train in Melbourne. The second reunion, after another year apart, was heartfelt for both. Horrie, now more than four years of age, was still overweight but in good condition otherwise.
Moody met the lean, 55-year-old Idriess at a Sydney pub late in January 1945. It was mid-afternoon; quiet after the lunch-time crowd, and too early for the after-work rush to drink before 6 p.m. closing. There was just one drinker at the bar and he sat well away in a corner. Moody and Idriess had an immediate rapport. The author was prolific, having gathered his stories from his vast experience as a soldier, prospector and bushman. The book on Horrie was his twentieth in 18 years. Idriess’ interests in photography, dogs, geology and history gave them much common ground. Most importantly, they had both served in the Middle East, with Idriess seeing action in World War I in the 5th Light Horse Regiment in Palestine and Syria. They could even compare war wounds. Idriess had been hit by shrapnel on Gallipoli while acting as a ‘spotter’ (someone who pointed out enemy targets) for the most accomplished sniper on Gallipoli, Billy Sing. Idriess had also taken a bullet at the Australian Light Horse’s celebrated charge on Beersheba. After a wide-ranging discussion, Idriess suggested it would be ‘terrific’ if they could use Horrie in publicity for the book. Moody was circumspect.
‘We need all the help we can get,’ Idriess said. ‘Have you seen the number of war titles coming out this year? Hundreds from the European war, and just as many from the Pacific campaign. And I can tell you, it won’t stop. The Great War was the same. I tried to have my diaries published in 1920, but no one wanted to know. So many others, from General Monash down, were bringing out tomes. Didn’t manage to see the dairies in print until ’32—14 years after the war ended!’
‘Not sure about exposing Horrie,’ Moody said with a frown.
‘The publisher is pushing me to persuade you—’ ‘Yes, well, you know the troubles I had when smuggling him in to Australia.’
‘But if he was quarantined when he arrived . . . ?’
‘He wasn’t.’
‘I’ve fudged it in the book.’
‘I noticed.’
‘It’s a narrative style: not fiction, but not strictly non-fiction.’
They sipped their beers.
‘The publisher wants to publish in May or June,’ Idriess said, ‘They want me photographed meeting Horrie.’
‘That all sounds good. But I am worried about the quarantine people.’
‘What could they do? Horrie’s been here three years. They can only be concerned about him having rabies. The disease has a seven-month incubation period. He hasn’t been frothing at the mouth and biting people, has he?’
‘No,’ Moody said with a smile, ‘he gave up biting our postman a long time ago. Although the postie liked to talk a lot, he hasn’t had more than thought bubbles coming out of his mouth.’
‘I think the best thing is to go on the front foot. If we generate real public support for him—war dog warrior-hero and so on—the government won’t take action. Once the story is out, there will be overwhelming support for him. They wouldn’t dare do anything to the dear little fella. He’s a national hero! I mean, what could they do? Push him into quarantine for a few weeks? Your old man says he is very healthy and never sick. That’s what would be discovered and he’d be released.’
Moody scratched his head and sighed.
‘You want the story out there, don’t you?’ Idriess prompted. Moody was still unsure. Idriess added: ‘There is another angle. The Red Cross is having a fund-raiser. If we could put Horrie on show to raise money for that worthiest of causes, it would be great initial publicity. Then we can take it from there.’ Moody’s interest lifted. ‘C’mon, Jim. You want to beat the competition, don’t you?’
Moody remained non-committal, saying he would think about it.
That night, over more beers on the back porch of the Gill home, Moody told Brooker of Idriess’ request.
‘It’s his business,’ Brooker said, ‘of course he wants Horrie to help with the publicity. But you must weigh up the risks. It will mean no skin off Idriess’ nose if you get into trouble.’ He paused to chuckle. ‘Just more publicity!’
‘I’m worried about all those damned government officials, especially quarantine.’
‘Look, Idriess has a point. Once the Red Cross is behind it, and the press is positive, and the book is published, would they dare take you on? As he says, rabies is a non-issue. Horrie is clean. They’re not going to confiscate a perfectly healthy animal three years after the event.’
‘We need as much support as we can muster,’ Moody frowned. ‘Who else can we talk to?’
‘Got it!’ Brooker said, snapping his fingers. ‘The RSL! We can organise Horrie to be made an honorary member! His war record would do it. They’d love a gimmick like that. And who would dare prosecute a war hero member of our illustrious Returned Services League?’
‘But it doesn’t even let Aborigines become members!’
‘I know. I put up three of them after the Great War. They were excellent troopers in my regiment, but they were not accepted.’