by Alan Tucker
Ioribaiwa, Wednesday, 8 July 1942
Another long day and more aches and pains. Several men collapsed and were ordered back. We’ve had more knee injuries in two days of mountain trekking than a football team has in a season. This time last year I’d have spent a July Saturday afternoon at Windy Hill watching football. They were the good old days. What I’d give now for a hot meat pie with tomato sauce. Here, it’s hot and sweaty by day, freezing cold by night.
Nauro Village, Thursday, 9 July 1942
I fell heavily today when I stumbled and somersaulted down a steep descent. I knocked two other fellows down as I tumbled forward which caused an avalanche of bad language. I took skin off knees and elbows. Bert offered to carry some of my gear but I refused. I’m not the only one who’s battered and bruised or sore. We’re all in the same boat so Captain Templeton’s called a rest day. This is not a bad spot to rest. It’s our most pleasant campsite yet. Eight months of training and we’re knackered after three days of walking the Track. How would we have coped if the natives hadn’t carried most of the supplies and stored them at strategic locations?
Sunday, 12 July
Uncle Jim drops me off at work every morning on his way to the council depot. The military have taken over the maintenance of the airstrips so most of his time is spent repairing roads and bridges. He estimates there may be as many as 60,000 servicemen, US and AIF, based around Townsville.
‘When you consider the town’s civilian population, before the Japs decided to throw their weight around, was 30,000 then you can understand why roads and town services are under pressure,’ he explained to me. ‘Very few locals owned a car or truck pre-war so traffic was light. The army deploys hundreds of vehicles a day, each bearing a heavy load. Unless the government pours thousands of pounds into this district, our facilities will rapidly fall apart.’
The roads really are in poor condition. A truck rolled over the other night when it hit a huge pothole at high speed. Luckily it was transporting goods not men so no-one was hurt.
The weather was perfect this afternoon. Slim and I walked to the snooker hall together. Since I started at the ice works Slim has picked up my after-school shifts. I get home from work too late for those – and I’m too tired. On the weekends there’s enough work for the two of us. The boss wishes he could extend the building and install more tables. There are thousands of servicemen in town and they’re all looking for fun on the weekend.
Eora Crossing, Monday, 13 July 1942
Either Saturday was an easy walk or my body felt good after the rest day. Yesterday, however, was gruelling. We covered very little territory but it was all up-mountain. We sweated profusely in the ascent then suffered from bitter cold within minutes of stopping.
Kokoda, Wednesday, 15 July 1942
Everyone’s outwardly weary but inwardly proud because we’ve reached our first objective. We had our minds set on reaching Kokoda for the past week but now that we’re here it’s a bit of a disappointment. I’m not sure what I was expecting but obviously something more substantial than a handful of native huts, a banana plantation, a few paw-paw trees and a small airstrip. There’s no sign of Japs so we’ve been told we can have a day off.
Kokoda, Saturday, 18 July 1942
What bliss! For the past three days we’ve been under orders to remove our boots (the pong has obviously deterred the Japs), to soak our feet in a solution of potash permanganate then to sit with our feet in the sun. Trench foot was a crippling problem for the First World War Diggers. Our officers are aware of that and are trying to nip the problem in the bud. Healthy feet will be a necessity in the coming days. We’ve just been told we start northwards along the Track tomorrow. Between foot-bathing sessions, we’ve continued training. We can’t afford to lose fitness now.
Sunday, 19 July
No news from Des. Perhaps his battalion’s been ordered into the mountains. Harold wrote. He’s eager for action.
July 1942
Thelma and Arch.
We’re as keen as mustard to be sent to New Guinea to tackle the Japs but for the past three weeks the Big Brass has had us building a road and constructing defensive works. They must think the coastline in this neck of the woods is a prime landing spot for a Japanese invasion force. Our jungle training continues and is specifically targeted at opposing the Japs. Their tactics against the British in Malaya were noted (not that that knowledge did the British any good) and have been passed on to us. We’re learning tactics to counter their tactics. I assume Des’s lot will receive the same training. Won’t it be marvellous if the McLeod boys can team up to defend Australia. The chances are quite high because New Guinea is undoubtedly the next big battlefield. What’s unclear is when the powers-that-be will let us off the leash. Soon, I hope. I’m getting toey.
Harold
‘Harold never was any good at sitting around or biding his time,’ Mum said. ‘If there was nothing happening, he would do something about it. What he made happen wasn’t always socially acceptable.’ She couldn’t help smiling before she said, ‘Trouble was his middle name.’
I remember many a cold Melbourne night lying in bed and hearing a knock at the front door. Mum would get out bed to talk to the coppers who brought Harold home, rather than lock him up. They gave him lots of second chances because the local sergeant had served with dad in the 5th Battalion and knew he suffered ill-health because of his war service.
Harold would always be full of apologies the next morning and promise not to do it again—but within a few weeks we’d get the late-night knock on the door again.
Mum says what she fears now is the daylight knock. It could be the telegram boy delivering bad news. Mr Jensen and I arrived at a customer’s house the other day soon after she’d received a telegram. Her son had been killed at sea. Mr Jensen apologised for interrupting the family’s grief, unloaded a block of ice into the icebox and left without asking for payment.
‘The company can pay for that one,’ he said solemnly. ‘The family has paid a big enough price for today.’
When Mum told Uncle Jim that Harold has been busy building defensive works and a military road, he shook his head in dismay.
‘What a waste of our best fighting men. That hot-shot general, MacArthur, is supposed to be the big military strategist but he’s got our best and most experienced fighters digging defences hundreds of miles from the action.’
A senior Home Defence official is visiting Townsville to compile a report on how prepared the town is for a Japanese attack. Uncle Jim and military officials drove him around town inspecting air raid shelters, slit trenches, searchlight placements, radar stations and gun emplacements.
‘He wouldn’t be silly enough to visit if an attack was imminent,’ Uncle Jim told us. ‘We should take comfort from that.’
‘How do you think we’ll rate?’ Auntie Dorothy asked.
‘Compared to six months ago, we’re well set. A lot of planning and construction work has gone on around the town. There’s strong cooperation between civilian, US and Australian military leaders.’
Mum was reassured to hear that.
North of the Owen Stanleys,
Tuesday, 21 July 1942
It’s been tough going but my feet have held up nicely. Captain Templeton’s done a reccie (and to think that because of his age, I doubted his capacity to cope!). He’s reported that the Japs have established a beachhead and are pushing inland. We should expect their forward scouts any time. It’s reasonably flat on this side of the mountains so they’re travelling fast—on pushbikes. It was a tactic that caught the British with their pants down on the Malayan peninsula. Captain Templeton’s determined they won’t catch us unprepared.
Wednesday, 22 July
We heard on tonight’s news that three small New Guinea villages (Gona, Buna and Sanananda) have been occupied by the Japanese. Cousin Stanley helped Mum locate them on the map.
‘Japanese ground forces are within striking distance of Port Morseby,’ she gasped.
‘What hope have Des’s lot got against such ferocious, unmerciful men? None.’
We tried to console her but to no avail.
Awala, Wednesday, 22 July 1942
We’re on high alert. Scouts report that the Japs are close by. We’ve been ordered to Stand To but Hold Fire until told to do otherwise. When we do cut loose we must avoid shooting the Japs’ native porters. The official view is that we can’t afford to put the locals off side, even the ones working for the enemy, because we’ll need their help when we turn the Japs around. I’ve never been more nervous in my life. I suspect, when the shooting starts, that it won’t be possible to shoot the Japs and miss the natives.
Wairopi, Thursday, 23 July 1942
Jap numbers are greater than originally reported so we’ve been ordered to fall back. The Kumusi River is now between us and the enemy. The river is swift flowing and wide and will allow us to get a clear sighting of anyone moving towards us from the north. Our first real test is fast approaching. The plan is to ambush them. Everyone is nervous. The Japs have a fierce reputation. We have none. Are we good enough? I am dripping with sweat. It’s a mixture of humidity and fear.
Wairopi, Friday, 24 July, 1942
A rare radio communication (our radios don’t work well in the mountains) estimated Jap numbers approaching us as between 1500 and 2000 men. Our platoon numbers only fifty men. The odds obviously aren’t good so we’ve been ordered to destroy the bridge across the Kumusi then fall back. A few hand-picked men (Bert’s one of them—he’ll volunteer for any dangerous duty) will take care of the first Japs who attempt to ford the river then they’ll fall back to our position. We’re under strict orders not to engage the enemy head-on. We’re to fight a rear-guard action as we fall back towards Kokoda and so delay the enemy’s advance along the Track. We assume supplies and reinforcements will await us at Kokoda. Captain Templeton is proving an excellent leader. He issues clear orders and seems to have faith we can carry them out. He moves amongst the men talking to each individual. Despite his apparent confidence, I’m scared. Maybe I’ll feel less tense once we’ve seen some action. A fire-fight can’t be worse than sitting around waiting for a fire-fight, can it?
Gorari, Saturday, 25 July, 1942
We’ve been staring down the Track for hours, looking for (and often imagining) movement. It’s only a matter of time before the Japs improvise a bridge across the Kumusi and advance towards us. We’re lying in ambush under strict orders not to fire. I hope I can control my nerves and trigger-finger. I don’t want to be the one to let the platoon down. We mustn’t give our position away until we can do maximum damage to the enemy’s advance guard.
Saturday, 25 July
‘I didn’t panic. I used the darkness to my advantage,’ Shirley told us. ‘I saw one of the council’s slit trenches and quietly dropped into it. A minute or so passed before the man appeared. He walked stealthily, pausing regularly. I held my breath and ducked. The footsteps drew closer then stopped.’
‘You shouldn’t have exposed yourself to such danger,’ Auntie Dorothy said crossly. ‘I told you not to walk home after dark. Why didn’t you telephone? Dad or Stanley would have escorted you home.’
‘I know I should have but I didn’t,’ Shirley said with tears in her voice. ‘It won’t happen again, I promise.’
‘You’re lucky there is a next time. If he’d caught you….’
‘Calm down Dorothy,’ Uncle Jim said firmly. ‘Let Shirley tell us how she escaped.’
She blew her nose and continued. ‘I waited and he waited— waited for me to panic and give away my position. But I held my nerve and eventually he moved away. I stayed put and I’m glad I did because a second man appeared, moving just as stealthily as the first. He stopped on the edge of the trench. His silhouette towered above me.
‘He would have seen me soon enough if his mate hadn’t suddenly shrieked. I assume he fell into a nearby slit trench. The second man ran to his aid and I ran back to the base where the duty officer arranged transport home.’
‘Would you recognise either man if you saw him again?’ Uncle Jim asked.
‘No. It was too dark.’
‘Tomorrow morning, I’ll drive you to the police station and we’ll lodge a report.’
‘What can the police do?’ Shirley asked. ‘They have no authority over soldiers.’
‘True,’ Cousin Stanley replied, ‘but the police have an excellent working relationship with the provosts.’
Mum’s experience with servicemen is very different from Shirley’s—the Americans treat her with great respect.
‘That’s in a supervised environment, Thelma, with their officers watching on.’
‘It’s mostly officers I dance with,’ Mum said with a smile. ‘They’re more my age and besides, with a limited number of women to choose from, they pull rank to ensure a dance partner.’
Oivi, Sunday, 26 July 1942
I held my nerve until an officer gave the command to Fire. We took out most of their advance guard. Those following quickly returned heavy fire but we gave as good as we got. When our sentries reported we were in danger of being outflanked, we withdrew. A few hundred yards down the Track we passed more of our lads who had set up the next ambush. We’ve now repositioned ourselves some distance behind them to repeat the process: ambush, withdraw, ambush, withdraw. The more we slow the Jap advance, the more time Moresby’s got to air drop supplies and reinforcements into Kokoda. Thank God for that airstrip. It will be our saviour. We heard shots while we were digging in and minutes later men from our forward position ran passed us and continued up the Track. We’d barely camouflaged ourselves when the Japs appeared. Again we waited until their forward scouts were almost upon us before we fired. Our barrage of shots did not deter them. Those who survived ran at our guns shrieking ‘Banzai’. It was frightening but we held our nerve and kept firing. Japs were shot dead several yards away but such was their momentum that some tumbled into our foxholes.
Later
It’s dark. I can’t see more than a few yards in front of me. I fear we have been outflanked because the occasional shot crashes into our position from the rear. To add to our fear and confusion, voices claiming to be our wounded mates, plead for help in English. They ask us to come to their aid. We’ve been ordered not to respond. The ‘wounded’ are most likely Japs playing mind games with us. I’m very weary—we’ve been on full alert for three days now. We maintain morale and concentration by quietly talking to each other. Bert’s a rock. I’d never known how comforting a mate’s voice could sound. I’ve never been afraid of the dark either but the inky blackness and the fear of the evil lurking just beyond our foxhole, terrifies me. I never knew life could be this bad.
Sunday, 26 July
We’ve been bombed! The air raid sirens wailed their warning and, in a flash, I was out the door of the snooker hall and into a slit trench. I waited, fearing the worst. Having others around helped to keep me calm. I expected exploding bombs, burning buildings and screaming casualties at any moment. What occurred was an anti-climax. The few bombs dropped fell well out of town and did no obvious damage.
When the All Clear was sounded I returned to the snooker hall with a crowd of others. Four local men were still playing. They had ignored the sirens.
‘You idiots could have been killed,’ one of the soldiers said angrily.
‘Yep. We could have – but we weren’t.’
‘It was a common problem,’ Uncle Jim told us later. ‘The military lads and most civilians followed safety procedures but some locals think they’re above following an instruction.’
‘Which is why they are not in the army,’ Cousin Stanley added. ‘They have no sense of personal or social responsibility.’
Mum was working at the hospital at the time of the raid. She said she felt sorry for the patients who were bed-bound.
‘The poor old things couldn’t do anything but wait for one of the nursing staff to move them to safety. I’ll never forget the look of fear o
n their faces. If the bombing had been more widespread who knows how many would have been killed.’
Uncle Jim told us the bombs fell safely in the estuary of the Ross River. ‘By my reckoning eight bombs exploded. The military will conduct a recce to find any unexploded ordinance.’
We’d heard so much about the power of Japan’s air, land and sea forces that it seemed unbelievable that only three planes were sent on the raid. Perhaps the Japs aren’t as formidable as they’re said to be. Mum will be pleased if they’re not because the papers are reporting that a contingent of Australian soldiers called Maroubra Force, are moving towards the Japanese stationed on the north coast of New Guinea. We know from Des’s last letter that his lot are very likely to be amongst that advance party.
The police and provosts took Shirley’s report seriously and have increased night patrols around town. It’s quite funny what else they’ve done. They’ve painted a couple of their jeeps, white. The locals immediately nicknamed them ‘ghost cars’. The air force authorities have tightened security since Shirley was menaced even though she admitted she didn’t know if the stalkers were air force personnel.
‘They told me that didn’t matter—they like to protect all their workers.’
Uncle Jim laughed. ‘Tell that to the rear gunners working on their bombers,’ he said.
They’ve allocated a driver to drop Shirley and her friend home after every shift, even if it’s daylight.
‘If I had a choice between fighting the Japs or driving two pretty young women around, I know which job I’d prefer,’ Uncle Jim said with a smile.
Deniki, Monday 27 July 1942
Thank God Bert is so steady. Just when I think I can’t take any more he says something that brings a smile to my face. We’ve had no sleep (again) because we were nearly overrun last night. The order to fall back came in the nick of time. And so we (well, most of us), live to fight another day. Every day seems an eternity. I’m beyond exhausted. Life here on the Track is chaos. My lot made it to Deniki the easy way by using the Track (not that the moving along the Track is ever bloody easy); a second lot bush-bashed their way here through the jungle; a third lot are missing. Fingers crossed they make it back sometime soon in one piece unlike our much loved Captain Templeton who has been killed. His leadership will be greatly missed.