Dawn reveals that little has changed in the years since the tumultuous four-day battle was fought here. Although the jungle has continued its relentless cycle of growth and decay, there are many clues that point to the event. The remnants of weapons pits are still scattered throughout the area. They were desperately scraped out of the jungle floor with bayonet and tin hat (the Diggers had no entrenching tools) and served as their only shelter from Japanese mortar, field guns, machine-gun and rifle fire, and the torrential rain that drenched them every day and left them huddled together and shivering each night.
In August of 1942, in this remote stretch of jungle, a band of young Diggers stood as our last line of defence against a massive Japanese invasion force, some 14,400 strong. By that stage the Diggers here numbered little more than 400 men. They were Militia troops who had joined up in October and November of 1941 and, before Christmas that year, were on the steamship Aquitania heading for Papua New Guinea. They had never fired a shot in anger before being thrust into the jungle. Isurava was their baptism of fire. (In 1942 there were two sides to the Australian Army: the Militia, who volunteered to defend Australia, and the AIF troops, who had volunteered to go wherever necessary in the world to fight. The AIF troops initially looked askance at the Militia. They called them ‘chockos’ – short for ‘chocolate soldiers’ – because they reckoned they’d melt in the sun, or ‘koalas’ because they were a protected species. Until Isurava, the two sides of the Army had never fought alongside each other.)
By the time they had fallen back on Isurava, the Militia troops of the 39th Battalion had been in the jungle for almost six weeks, during which time they’d been savaged by the first waves of the Japanese invaders around the village of Kokoda, about halfway between Buna and Gona – where the Japanese had landed – and Port Moresby. The troops had been sent to Kokoda township to secure what was the only decent airstrip on the Track. But they’d lost their two most experienced leaders, their commanding officer, Lieutenant Colonel Bill Owen, a veteran of the Lark Force retreat from Rabaul, and their company commander, Captain Sam Templeton. By the time they regrouped at Isurava they were short of food, their clothing was rotting on their bodies, many were already malarial and some had dysentery or dengue fever. They had little ammunition, no artillery, mortars, nor heavy machine guns. Japan had air superiority – and a recent raid on the airstrip at Port Moresby had trapped and destroyed virtually the entire fleet of transport planes on the ground – so they had little prospect of being resupplied.
They made their stand at Isurava because the area around the tiny hamlet here formed a natural citadel. Due to the nature of the Track, they knew the Japanese would find it difficult to bypass them. They correctly assumed the invaders would choose to confront and try to destroy them rather than taking the alternative of bush-bashing around them through almost impenetrable jungle. So these young Diggers waited – hungry, frightened and exhausted – to challenge a hitherto undefeated Japanese invasion force. It’s difficult to imagine a more one-sided scenario.
The Japanese invaders, the Nankai Shitai (or South Seas Force), had been hiding in the Bonin Islands, about 800 kilometres south of Tokyo, waiting for the signal that Japan’s attack on Pearl Harbor had been successful. Then, under the command of General Tomitaro Horii, it attacked and captured the US base on Guam before heading for New Guinea.
On 23 January 1942, the South Seas Force overwhelmed Lark Force, the 1400-strong Australian garrison at Rabaul. (The subsequent massacre of about 150 Lark Force troops who had surrendered at Tol Plantation, where they were tied with wire and used for bayonet practice to ‘blood’ young Japanese troops, set the tone for the subsequent combat on the Track and elsewhere in New Guinea. It was a grim reality check for our young Diggers.) For the first time in our short history our territory had been invaded (Papua New Guinea was then an Australian Protectorate under the League of Nations), and mainland Australia was under direct threat. And, as we have already seen, we were not prepared.
With our most experienced troops fighting in the Middle East, the sudden entry of Japan into the war and her remarkable run of conquests, culminating in the fall of Singapore and the capture of virtually our entire 8th Division there, sent shockwaves through the Australian population. Our harbours, beaches, public buildings and streets soon sprouted concrete and sandbagged defences and gun sites. Families hurriedly dug trenches and bomb shelters in their backyards and sent children off to the relative safety of the country. Blackouts, rationing and a general air of panic saw property prices plunge and recruitment numbers soar. Prime Minister John Curtin called for ‘total commitment’ to the war and said that, for the first time, Australia was ‘inside the fighting line’. Having seen the abject failure of Britain’s ‘Singapore Plan’ for the defence of the region, Curtin had no qualms about turning to the United States for assistance:
Without any inhibitions of any kind, I make it quite clear, that Australia looks to America, free of any pangs as to our traditional links of kinship with the United Kingdom. We know the problems the United Kingdom faces. We know the constant threat of invasion. We know the dangers of dispersal of strength. But we know that Australia can fall and that Britain can hang on.
Once Rabaul fell and the Japanese were on our doorstep, few disagreed with Curtin’s approach. While Curtin’s government tried to extricate our AIF troops from the Middle East to bring them home to defend Australia, and until the Americans could be persuaded to commit troops to help defend us, it was forced to rely on untried Militia troops as our only defenders.
The Australian High Command rushed two Militia battalions to Port Moresby immediately after Pearl Harbor. The 39th Battalion was largely drawn from Victorian volunteers and the 53rd Battalion comprised young men from New South Wales. Their training was virtually non-existent. Because of the shortage of weapons and ammunition, they drilled with wooden ‘rifles’. They were denied any chance of proper training as jungle fighters, or indeed as infantrymen, because as soon as they arrived at Moresby they were set to work unloading ships on the docks and preparing the defences around the town’s airfield. This lack of training made the young Diggers’ later achievements even more praiseworthy.
The dramatic difference in the experiences of these two Militia battalions on the Track is a powerful example of the critical importance of training and leadership in combat. The young men of the 39th Battalion had the great fortune to have Lieutenant Colonel Ralph Honner assigned to them as their new CO. He was one of our finest company and battalion leaders during World War II and, by the time he was posted to Isurava, had already shown outstanding leadership as a company commander with the 2/11th AIF Battalion in Libya, Greece and Crete. His inspirational guiding hand would prove critical during the Battle of Isurava and in subsequent battles down the Track. The 53rd Battalion, on the other hand, had suffered an unfortunate start. They had been given very little proper training before they were rushed onto the Aquitania, many without even the chance to say a final farewell to their loved ones. Then, in the first contacts with the Japanese, they lost two key leaders, their CO and his adjutant, before they could gain confidence under fire. This disastrous beginning was to have serious later consequences.
Ralph Honner had only two weeks back in Australia after returning from the Middle East before he was rushed first to Moresby and then Isurava, arriving after the 39th had begun digging in there. He immediately reorganised their defensive positions and began to assess their teamwork, moving quietly around the position, speaking individually to his troops and clearly outlining their responsibilities and his orders. He later reflected on his rationale:
War is largely a matter of confidence. If the troops have confidence in their mates, confidence in their weapons, confidence in their leadership and sufficient confidence in their numbers – in that they’ve got a fair chance and are not hopelessly outnumbered – they’ll fight well. When that confidence goes, then something snaps and the force can be dissipated.
Without
the chance to build a similar combat confidence, the 53rd Battalion suffered a series of setbacks in its initial contacts with the enemy. With the loss of their CO and some key officers and NCOs, the unit struggled to regroup and suffered a crisis of morale. This was observed by the medical officer of one of the AIF units that later fought alongside the 53rd, the 2/16th Battalion’s Captain H.D. ‘Blue’ Steward, in his memoirs:
The problems of our companies at Abuari [across the valley from Isurava] were aggravated by the poor state of the Militia 53rd Battalion whom they were supposed to be supporting. Many of these lads, mostly from Sydney, were only eighteen. They had been dragooned into service, given a hurried medical examination and pushed through their embarkation procedure in 24 hours. They had no chance to arrange their affairs, nor even farewell their families. It all savoured of the press gangs sweeping the London streets to shanghai men into the Royal Navy. Their training was abysmal, and in Port Moresby they had been … employed more as labourers than prepared as soldiers for a fighting role. Many of them resented the harsh manner of their conscription, their patent lack of training, their inferior weapons and the uncertain quality of some of their officers.
Ralph Honner also observed his brother battalion’s problems:
With the 53rd they had good blokes and bad blokes. They must have had some good leaders and some poor ones. It’s a combination of factors. I think what counted against them is that they weren’t all volunteers and a lot of them were unwilling soldiers. The 39th were all volunteers although they were a Militia unit. They had had time to breed confidence in each other and it’s your own mates you stand by first and next your own section and next your own company, next beyond is the battalion, possibly beyond that, the brigade. But beyond that, who cares?
Ralph Honner immediately set about trying to make up for one of the key elements denied to his 39th Battalion – sound training. He began establishing patterns of defence, creating interdependence between the various positions and trying desperately to boost the confidence levels of his charges:
We rehearsed what we could do. See, we were holding a perimeter at Isurava where we didn’t have enough troops to hold it. We couldn’t have a reserve. We could only post battalion localities where the enemy could get through between them. We could only rehearse counter attacks by planning that if the enemy get into this territory and wipe it out, it’s already being forced back by a counter attack from a company on the other side.
We rehearsed the counter attacks and we rehearsed the co-operative fire between neighbouring companies. And when the troops could see these working and could see that something was being done to give them the greatest possible security against loss, I think they began to grow confidence in each other. They saw a battalion working as a battalion and being prepared to use its best efforts to save them if they were in trouble. They weren’t alone. I think that sense of reliance on your mates is the most important thing.
Ralph Honner could do little more. His patrols soon told him the Japanese were preparing their advance. The 39th were hopelessly outnumbered, by at least ten to one, even allowing for the restrictions the Track placed on the numbers that the invaders could bring to bear against the Australians. But, despite their youth and their lack of combat experience, the men of the 39th drew on some inner strength. They knew they were fighting as the last line between the Japanese and their homes and their families. They were hoping that the AIF units rushed back from the Middle East would reach them in time. They resolved to stay and fight, as Private Kevin ‘Spud’ Whelan recalled:
We got a message from Port Moresby that the 2/14th were on the way and we had to fight to the finish. There was no give in at all. We had to stay there – fight till death. And that was a bit horrifying. I thought well I won’t see my family again. I won’t see Australia again. But I was prepared, like the rest of us, to stay there and fight to the finish.
Ralph Honner was gratified at the transformation he observed in his young soldiers despite their rapidly deteriorating physical condition:
Indeed, the strangest feature of their story is that the weaker they became the stronger and fiercer waxed their resolution to hold on at all costs until the long-promised relief should become a reality. In the testing crucible of conflict, out of a welter of defeats and disasters, of mistakes and misfortunes, of isolated successes and precipitate withdrawals, they were transformed by some strong catalyst of the spirit into a devoted band wherein every man’s failing strength was fortified and magnified by a burning resolve to stick by his mates.
Much of the credit for this transformation must go to Ralph Honner and his dynamic leadership. He understood the essence of the Digger and what motivated him. One example of his decision making exemplified his approach. Shortly after he assumed command of the 39th at Isurava, the temporary CO told him he believed B Company was ‘unreliable’ and ‘finished as a fighting force’, and that it should be taken out of the line. Some of the men from this company had been separated from the main body and had taken to the jungle after the chaotic early skirmishes with the Japanese advance parties around Kokoda. Although they had struggled back to the 39th’s lines after a few days wandering in the jungle, he regarded them with suspicion.
Ralph Honner had a different attitude and took a completely different action. Far from shunning them, he gave B Company the most important position to defend – the high ground on the left flank – where the Japanese were most likely to attack. Many years later, he explained his reasoning:
Should I leave the key to our stronghold in such frail hands? I felt that to replace these unfortunates with another company could be the lethal act of contempt, destroying where I should be building. I appointed Lieutenant French to command and made it clear to him and his men they now had the most dangerous sector to hold – the post of honour. When the testing hour did come, B Company bore the heaviest burden and held on doggedly.
It was classic leadership. Ralph Honner gave his support and confidence to the men of B Company and they reciprocated. Through his leadership he was able to turn a group of young men riddled with self-doubt into a cohesive force, which played a vital role in the defence of Isurava. He gave them the chance to show they possessed the spirit of the Digger, and they repaid him handsomely.
The Battle of Isurava raged for four days and nights, from 26 to 29 August 1942. The Japanese bravely attacked up the steep gullies in waves of 100 and 200 men. The defenders hurled them back, first with grenades, then rifles and machine guns, and finally in ferocious hand-to-hand combat. When you walk around the battle site, you can imagine the intensity of the fighting. Because of the nature of the terrain, this was combat at its most basic – man against man in a terrifying collision of noise and chaotic action, all played out along razorback ridges and sheer gullies. In his inimitable style, Ralph Honner recorded the scene:
Mortar bombs and mountain gun shells burst among the tree tops or slashed through to the quaking earth where the thunder of their explosion was magnified in the close confines of the jungle thickets. Heavy machine-guns – the dread ‘wood-peckers’ – chopped through the trees, cleaving their own lanes of fire to tear at the defences. And while bombs and bullets crashed and rattled in an unceasing clamour that re-echoed from the affrighted hills, the enveloping forest erupted into violent action as Nippon’s screaming warriors streamed out of its shadows to the assault. No pygmy figures of fun these, but hardy men of war – tall veterans of unflinching valour and powerful physique, trained in the mountains of their homeland and the jungles of the East for just such desperate warfare and they waged this day.
There were countless acts of unrecognised courage as the young Diggers held on grimly. They ignored their lack of sleep, their hunger and their fear as they waited for the next assault. Some positions rebuffed as many as ten human-wave assaults in a day. The Japanese dead piled up around their perimeters like sacks of grain. But they kept on coming. And the pattern was always the same, as Ralph Honner recalled:
&
nbsp; A platoon or company attack was heralded by a shouted order from the rear, echoed by subordinate commanders farther forward, and then succeeded by a wave of noisy chattering right along the front, almost as if the men were assuring each other that they were all starting out together to die. And as the chatter ceased they crashed from their concealment, leaping to the attack in a coordinated line.
The more the Japanese attacked, the more determined the defence of the young Diggers. But by sunset of the second day of constant fighting, Ralph Honner knew their time was almost up. Then, just in the nick of time, relief arrived. Honner and his desperate defenders watched in awe as the first of the AIF troops surged in:
I do not remember anything more heartening than the sight of their confident deployment. Their splendid physique and bearing, and their cool automatic efficiency – even the assembly-line touch as two platoon mortar-men stepped one on either side of the track to pluck bombs from the haversacks of the riflemen filing past them without checking their pace – made a lasting impression on me. And they were to prove even better than they looked.
The Spirit of the Digger Page 18
