Kokoda

by Alan Tucker

  Sunday, 16 August

  I slept late this morning. Working is much more tiring than attending school. I could give up the weekend job at the pool hall but I enjoy the work and listening to all the different American accents. It’s like listening to movie stars talk. And I enjoy helping Slim learn to do the job. He’s the best friend I’ve ever had. Moving to Townsville has been good for Mum and me. I hope my brothers can live here with us one day. That would make Mum really happy.

  The Saturday newspaper reported that Kokoda was re-taken by the Aussies earlier this week but has been lost again. The Japs are back in control. We assume Harold’s battalion is preparing to leave Port Moresby to join the fight. The McLeod brothers will soon be fighting side by side. That thought makes Mum proud but also frightens her.

  She was nervous this week for another reason: she was asked to the movies by the American officer who bought her the new dress. Before she accepted his invitation, she spoke to me and asked whether I approved of her going on a date.

  ‘I don’t want to be disloyal to your father,’ she said.

  I wasn’t sure what to say so remained silent.

  ‘Are you upset, Archie? Would you prefer if I stayed home or just danced with him occasionally at the base? It’s not a romantic thing. I just enjoy his company—and that of the other men I dance with. They’re all so far from home and desperately keen to talk to a woman.’

  ‘It’s all right, Mum. I’m not u-p-p-set. Truly.’

  She gave me a hug then told Auntie Dorothy who was very excited by the news. She and Shirley spent ages helping Mum do her hair and face and nails and dress. I could never take that long to get dressed and ready to go out, even if I was going to meet King George.

  Isurava, Sunday, 16 August 1942

  We have a yet another new commander:

  Lieutenant Colonel Ralph Honner. His orders (and therefore our jobs), are quite clear—hold the enemy at Isurava until we’re relieved by reinforcements. We’ve heard of and believed in these mythical reinforcements for weeks now. We don’t hold out much hope they’ll ever arrive. In fact, we can’t afford to believe in them. If we did, we’d drop our guard and that would prove fatal. The Japs probe and exploit any weakness.

  Isurava, Wednesday, 19 August 1942

  Men arrive daily: some who have been ‘lost’ in the jungle reappear, others who have been held in reserve, come forward. We are at full strength but still terribly undermanned. Lieutenant Colonel Honner praised us for what we’ve achieved so far and says he trusts us to continue to do a good job. That’s a turn-around from the previous commander who berated and belittled us for failing to defeat the Japanese. What’s given us hope is that Honner has a plan we believe in, unlike Cameron’s plan which split and weakened our small force and demanded a frontal attack on Kokoda. Honner’s is a holding plan. He’s done a recce of the terrain himself, worked out where the Japs are most likely to attack from and positioned men accordingly. His plan not only defends the Track but also aims to counter the Japs’ outflanking strategy. We’ve been ordered to dig-in in the key defensive positions and create forward listening posts. He’s positioned us in such a way that we have clear fields of fire (as much as that’s possible in a jungle). He has kept men in reserve behind predicted weak points to counter-attack if the Japs do penetrate our lines.

  Isurava, Saturday, 22 August 1942

  What I wouldn’t give for a change of clothes, a warm bath, some shelter from the rain and a good night’s sleep. We wait silent, night after night, watching and listening. We stare into the darkness, looking out for any bush that moves—it could be a Jap. They’re masters of camouflage. We also scan the tree tops in case a sniper has climbed into the canopy to get an easy shot at us. In our exhausted state it’s easy to see Japs everywhere. Vigilance is critical. Sentries have been knifed to death by Japs who have slipped into their weapon pits undetected. I suspect it’s fear that keeps me awake. If we ever get back to civilization, I’ll need to sleep for weeks to make up for the sleep I’ve lost here over the past seven weeks.

  Sunday, 23 August

  We received a letter postmarked New Guinea earlier this week. It was from Harold, not Des.

  August 1942

  Thelma and Arch.

  After nearly five months of filling in time when we could have been fighting (after all, that’s what we returned to Australia to do), we were finally given our marching orders and within 24 hours were on board ship and sailing north.

  Thank goodness the voyage was short because it was bloody uncomfortable. The latrines were disgusting (and I’m not fussy as you know), the water supply very limited and the sleeping quarters very crowded. When I got up to visit the ‘heads’ one night, my sleeping space was quickly taken by others.

  Our destination, which I cannot name, did not look as I expected. I’d expected lush green jungle and towering mountains, not a flat dustbowl. We’re camped about thirty miles inland—but not for long. We move into the mountains tomorrow. We’ve been warned the Kokoda Track is as tough to overcome as the Japs. After marching in the sandy deserts of Palestine and Syria, it’ll be a challenge. But I’m up for it. As you well know, Thelma, if someone tells me I can’t do something, I do it on principle.

  Harold

  PS: It gripes me to write this but it’s obvious my lot don’t have much respect for Des’s militia battalion. The fact we’ve been called in to relieve them and put an end to the retreat down the Track, reinforces the impression that militia boys can’t do the job of AIF trained men. I say nothing. I prefer to remain loyal to Des. I’ll make up my mind when I see his lot in action. They left here six weeks ago. Who knows, maybe Des and I will be fighting side by side in a week or so’s time. It depends on just how tough the Track really is. My lot believe that if the militia boys found it hard-going then we’ll find it a walk in the park. They’re pretty cocky but that’s what makes them such a good fighting unit.

  Isurava, Monday, 24 August 1942

  Our patrols tell us the Japs are close by and are assembling a powerful force. We’re as ready as we’ll ever be to oppose them. Our food supplies have improved slightly in recent days. The airdrop zone’s not far from here—it’s a God-send. But if they can drop in supplies, why not men? We desperately need those long-promised reinforcements.

  Isurava, Wednesday, 26 August 1942

  The Japs have suddenly produced an artillery piece and have been pounding us for hours. How on earth did they get big gun up and over the mountains? Surely they didn’t drag it? The Track is only just passable for men on foot travelling in single-file. Lieutenant Colonel Honner sent a patrol forward to destroy the gun but they were unable to locate it. It’s reassuring to have a commander who takes the battle to the enemy. The shelling went on until it grew dark. Night descends early and quickly in the jungle. Usually that’s a source of complaint from the lads but not tonight. Tonight the early darkness brought an early end to the shelling. If the Japs had continued shelling us after dark, they’d have risked giving the gun’s position away. The flash from the barrel would have been spotted, despite the thick jungle. Bert led a second patrol forward on a different mission. They crawled through the long grass to where Japs had earlier been spotted. They crept up and killed eight of the enemy for no loss of life. It’s good to know we can beat the Japs at their own game.

  Isurava, Thursday 27 August 1942

  Just when I felt we couldn’t hold out for another day, the first of the long-promised reinforcements arrived: they’re a mix of fellows from the 2/14th and 2/16th battalions. Some of our lads shed tears when they suddenly appeared out of the jungle last evening. The impact they had on us is impossible to put into words. They look like supermen: tall, strong, suntanned, fresh, clean-shaven and energetic. We’re the opposite. Our uniforms are filthy and in tatters, our boots are rotting on our feet, and our faces and bodies are battered and gaunt. We look and smell like jungle creatures. There was no time to exchange pleasantries. Heavy enemy gunfire put us on high
alert. I feel vulnerable here. I can only imagine what it’s like for the blokes in our forward listening post. At noon our position, even with the reinforcements, was becoming desperate so thirty of our wounded were ordered to evacuate. They’ve headed back down the Track towards Myola. Bert, I’m sad to say, is amongst them. He copped a nasty leg wound first thing this morning. Most of the wounded were still able to walk, some with the support of a wounded cobber, but Bert and two others were stretchered out by the Angels. I wished him luck. He joked that he was looking forward to lying back for a few days and letting others do the hard yakka — then enjoying a relaxing cruise back to Australia.

  Thursday, 27 August

  The weather was perfect this week for riding on the wagon. Mr Jensen let me take the reins this afternoon. Blackie stopped outside one house and wouldn’t move so I flicked the reins. I flicked again then shouted at him to ‘Get up’ but he stood stationary. Mr Jensen remained silent for a while then laughed and told me Blackie wouldn’t move because we’re out the front of the house of one of our regulars.

  ‘The old fellow knows our customers better than you, Archie,’ he said and laughed some more.

  We have five different delivery routes, one for each working day. On each of our routes Mr Jensen has pointed out council slit trenches so that if the Japs attack we’ll know where to seek safety.

  The report compiled by the visiting Home Defence official a couple of weeks ago was presented to the council and military authorities this week. Uncle Jim’s disappointed that Townsville’s defences have been classified as ‘unsatisfactory’.

  ‘That’s unfair, dear. You and your team have worked so hard to get the town ready for attack.’

  ‘Yeah, but he’s concerned that key sites such as the power and water pumping stations are undefended. He says that if they were captured, the town would be without essential services.’

  ‘Whose responsibility is that—the council or the military?’

  ‘He says the powers-that-be have to decide and decide quickly.’

  ‘Did he have anything good to say?’ Auntie Dorothy asked angrily.

  ‘He seems happy enough with the quality and quantity of air raid shelters and slit trenches around town.’

  ‘You have to take a lot of the credit for that, Jim,’ Mum said kindly then added, ‘I wish reports coming out of New Guinea were as detailed as this one. I’m desperate for news about Des’s battalion.’

  ‘No news is good news,’ Auntie Dorothy told her.

  What we do know is that Australian soldiers made contact with Japanese forces north of the Owen Stanley ranges then staged a fighting withdrawal back towards a small village named Kokoda.

  ‘A native village doesn’t seem worth fighting over,’ Auntie Dorothy commented.

  ‘And yet men will die trying to hold onto it,’ Mum said softly. ‘I just hope my son’s not one of them.’

  Isurava, Friday, 28 August 1942

  Things go from bad to worse. We experienced our most intense shooting yet. The Japs are as thick as the mosquitoes and even more deadly. We shot two last night trying to infiltrate our lines wearing the uniforms of dead Diggers. It’s been confirmed that a separate Jap unit is trying to encircle us by using an alternative track east of here. If they succeed, we’ve had it. As it is we’re copping a terrible mauling and losing men by the hour. Our left flank’s copping the worst of it. The Japs are fanatical and fearless. They charge out of the jungle straight into our guns. Most of them are mowed down before they make it to our lines. Some are wounded but lie doggo as if dead, then rejoin the fight when the next assault charges towards us. Those who reach us try their luck with the bayonet. But our boys have the upper-hand there. Lieutenant Colonel Honner’s plan is working well. Our defences are spread very thin but he’s placed our reserves in exactly the right spots. They deal decisively with any enemy troops who force their way through a gap. More 2/14th Battalion lads arrive every hour and join our reserves. They don’t muck about. Given a job to do, they do it forcefully.

  Late afternoon

  When the last of the 2/14th Battalion men arrived, my lot, the 2/39th were supposed to be relieved but so dire was the situation that we stayed where we were and fought alongside the newcomers. The 2/14th were not only fresh, they were also armed with mortars and bombs. What we wouldn’t have given for weapons such as those for the past two months. We needed every bit of that firepower — and every man. The Japs began a series of suicidal frontal attacks. Bodies piled up. Enemy commanders, I suspect, hadn’t realised we’d been reinforced. They attacked fronts that had, until the 2/14th arrived, been undermanned. Now they weren’t, as the Japs learned the hard way. It was a cold, wet day but we had some reason to feel positive—they couldn’t crack us. I have another reason to feel positive: I’ve confirmed that Harold’s somewhere near. I approached one of the 2/14th officers and explained who I was. He said he’d arrange a meeting between private McLeod and me when things quieten down.

  Evening

  Harold saw me before I saw him. He shouted ‘little brother’ as he grabbed me from behind and lifted me off the ground. He commented that I’d lost weight and joked that the army obviously wasn’t looking after me properly. ‘They’re supposed to feed you three solid meals a day, Dessie.’ ‘Tell that to the Japanese,’ I replied.

  ‘They won’t stop fighting during the regulation meal breaks.’ He said he’d only been here 24 hours but he’d already worked that out. He was his usual boisterous self and instantly lifted the spirits of, not only me, but also the men around me. I introduced him to Bert. They shook hands firmly and competitively: neither wanted to be the first to release his grip. I laughed and told them they were tarred with the same brush. They both laughed. Harold couldn’t chat long: he was running a message from his commander to ours but had been given approval to stop off briefly to see me. We spoke for a few minutes before he said he’d better get a hurry on and deliver the message to headquarters. He gave me a parting bear hug and said he’d speak to me at length as soon as we’ve put the Japs back in their box. Bert laughed, lifted his arm and said, ‘I’ll drink to that.’

  Isurava, Saturday, 29th August

  There’s no brotherly love between us and the Japanese. Their attacks increased in intensity today. They mortared us mercilessly and charged at us from dawn till dusk. We’ve been called forward several times to counter-attack. Much of the fighting is hand-to-hand. At times we dare not risk firing into the scrum of bodies in case we hit one of our own men. I was moved to tears this morning when out of the jungle to our rear came the walking wounded who had evacuated a couple of days ago. They looked like ragged scarecrows and could hardly stand but they had returned to lend us a hand. ‘We heard you blokes were in a spot of trouble so we came back,’ one of them said as he lowered himself gingerly into a foxhole. Another told me my mate Bert was in good spirits when he left him.

  Isurava Rest House,

  Sunday, 30 August 1942

  To have stayed at Isurava was to risk annihilation. We pulled back late yesterday evening. Despite the name, there is no rest here. The Japs are hot on our heels. Luckily we now have the 2/14th Battalion to cover our bums. They’re magnificent fighters. Thank goodness they held the Japs at bay otherwise our wounded would have been easy pickings. Lieutenant Colonel Honner ordered a parade this morning. We’re down to 150 men and none of us are in good condition. The good news is that the lads on the eastern track have stopped the Japs’ advance which means the main Track south of here to Alola, is still open. The bad news is that Jap reinforcements have arrived. The fellows we’re up against at the moment are giants in comparison with those we’ve been fighting for weeks. Several we’ve killed are well over six feet. They’re so tall that one of the 2/14th boys said he thought he was back fighting the Germans. When I asked if any of them knew where Harold McLeod was, they asked why. When I explained I was his brother, they welcomed me with open arms. One of the men told me he’s where he often is — in his home away fr
om home, the forward listening post. I can’t think of a more dangerous place to be. We worry about our 2/14th brothers-in-arms. They’re more inclined to stand and fight than our lot. As a result, their losses are high. Our commanders ordered us to fight briefly, pull back — then strike from the shadows when the Japs least expect it. Despite employing those tactics, our battalion has been decimated in the past two months. I hope Harold takes care. When I returned to our reserve position I was told we’re falling back immediately. Catching up with him will have to wait.