by Gary McKay
GOING BACK
Gary McKay served in Viet Nam as a platoon commander and has been back to Viet Nam four times in the past ten years. He has written several books on the war, including In Good Company; Delta Four; Bullets, Beans & Bandages; On Patrol with the SAS; All Guts and No Glory (with Bob Buick); Jungle Tracks (with Graeme Nicholas); and Viet Nam Shots (with Elizabeth Stewart). He is a full-time non-fiction writer and freelance historian.
GARY McKAY
GOING BACK
Australian veterans return to Viet Nam
First published in 2007
Copyright © Gary McKay 2007
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or 10 per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to Copyright Agency Limited (CAL) under the Act.
Allen & Unwin
83 Alexander Street
Crows Nest NSW 2065
Australia
Phone: (61 2) 8425 0100
Fax: (61 2) 9906 2218
Email: [email protected]
Web: www.allenandunwin.com
National Library of Australia
Cataloguing-in-Publication entry:
Going back : Australian veterans return to Viet Nam.
Bibliography.
Includes index.
ISBN 978 1 74114 634 9 (pbk.)
1. Vietnam War, 1961–1975 – Veterans – Australia. 2.
Veterans – Travel – Vietnam. 3. Vietnam War, 1961–1975 –
Personal narratives, Australian. 4. Vietnam – Description
and travel. I. Title.
959.7043394
Set in 11.5/15 pt Requiem by Midland Typesetters, Australia
Printed in Australia by McPherson’s Printing Group
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
CONTENTS
Foreword
Maps
Preface
Introduction
Part I: The veterans
1 Great expectations
2 The 5 RAR tour group
Part II: A pilgrimage
3 Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon) and surrounds
4 Inside the wire: Nui Dat
5 Outside the wire: Phuoc Tuy
6 Long Tan: The Cross
Part III: Making peace with the past
7 The gamut of emotions
8 Reflections
Epilogue
Appendix: Post traumatic stress disorder
Glossary
Notes
Bibliography
FOREWORD
Going back, gaining closure
Dare it be written that never, in the field of bringing closure to the personal equation of human conflict, has so much been done for so many by just one: namely Gary McKay as author of this book. With apologies to Winston Churchill, I have amended his famous Battle of Britain declaration to salute a most vital effect of this book, which provides many examples of the bittersweet experience of veterans returning to the very ground where they lost their legs or their mates or both.
The Viet Nam War was, in many ways, a young person’s war on all sides, in part because the National Service call-up in Australia reduced the average age of soldiers in combat to around twenty-one. In turn this has meant these veterans, post the Viet Nam War, have some fifty years or more to live, and so a long time to dwell on their memories of Viet Nam and all the agonies encountered there.
Matching this in recent times is a huge upswing in the affordability of overseas travel: as Viet Nam opened up its tourist industry many veterans became curious to return and, after a taste of modern Viet Nam and after overcoming any personal demons, they have kept on returning.
However, not all have had the time, desire or wherewithal to visit; for those veterans, this book offers the next best thing: a set of epic accounts of veterans ‘going back’ to read and be enriched by. Equally, those about to go back can prepare a whole lot better for that return visit by absorbing the good, the bad and the ugly that may be encountered.
Above all else, this book will help many to gain an enhanced sense of closure, something that was never going to be easy given the way the war ended for the allies. The defeat was not so much at the hands of the North Vietnamese but at the hands of the Pentagon and various US Defense Secretaries and other strategists, who made big mistakes and allowed the war to continue even after they had recognised they were on the wrong track.
As Gary McKay writes, no Australian who served in Viet Nam has anything to be ashamed of, but the losses remain a big cross to bear, including those veterans who made it safely back but then died prematurely due to post traumatic stress disorder and other ills.
The Vietnamese also sustained huge losses in this curious war and will write the war their way. But bit by bit the rhetoric moves towards the immortal words of Kemal Atatürk, then addressed to the mothers of Anzac soldiers, embracing and saluting their contribution at Gallipoli: ‘After having lost their lives on this land, they have become our sons as well.’
Gaining closure will be greatly helped by this book, a long overdue and necessary postscript to the Viet Nam War (or American War or, more accurately, the Pentagon War).
Tim Fischer
Ex 1 RAR and former Deputy Prime Minister
Phuoc Tuy Province (c. 1965–75)
PREFACE
As a young man I served in South Viet Nam in 1971 as a rifle platoon commander with the 4th Battalion of the Royal Australian Regiment (4 RAR). In 1993 I made my first trip back to Viet Nam because I was writing a book that was partly funded by a John Treloar Research Grant from the Australian War Memorial. I wanted to return to where I had served, fought and nearly died after being severely wounded. I saw very little of Viet Nam when I was first there at 23 years of age. All I had briefly seen was the port of Vung Tau, the 1st Australian Task Force (1 ATF) base of Nui Dat, and a very large number of trees and bushes as I patrolled through the tropical jungles of Phuoc Tuy Province.
Indeed, the first time I saw Tan Son Nhut airport in Ho Chi Minh City was in late 1993, when 23 former members of Delta Company, 4 RAR, and a few ex-soldiers from 3 RAR and a sprinkling of wives landed for a three-week visit. It was stinking hot, extremely humid and had the rotting-vegetable smell of the tropics—just as the town of Vung Tau had smelt when I went there on a rest and convalescence (R&C) break two decades before. Many other memories came flooding back almost straightaway, and I was constantly bombarded by flashbacks and recall of times good and bad, funny and sad.
I have since been back another five times, and always on a research trip of some description. With each new visit I have expanded my trips and taken in more of that beautiful country. In 2002 my 21-year-old daughter Kelly joined me on one such sojourn. She also fell in love with Viet Nam.
I realised that as Viet Nam veterans are approaching retirement and their kids are off their hands and their responsibilities have waned, many are now taking to the highways as ‘grey nomads’ and discovering Australia’s beauty, or are taking off overseas. The number that are returning to Viet Nam for holidays and pilgrimages is growing, and I wanted to write this book to help other veterans decide whether to revisit the land where they served our nation in conflict, or whether perhaps to stay at home and buy the Winnebago instead.
To document the memories of those who have already made the journey back to Viet Nam, I gathered first-hand accounts from the men and their
partners through interviews and letters, and I am indebted to them for allowing me to intrude into their private thoughts and recollections in compiling this book. I strongly suggest that those contemplating returning to their old battlefields grab a copy of my book Australia’s Battlefields in Viet Nam for guidance; it also contains some suggested itineraries for those wanting to visit the Task Force area of operations. I also recommend that travellers obtain a copy of the latest edition of the Lonely Planet guide to Vietnam; it is well worth the money and has some very useful tips.
At times in this book I have used the term ‘the American War’. The Second Indochina War (or Viet Nam War, as the west referred to it) began after the Viet Nam Communist Party decided early in 1959 to sanction greater reliance on military activity and to start infiltrating South Viet Nam. Inside Viet Nam this war became known as the American War.
I am indebted to my publisher Ian Bowring of Allen & Unwin for allowing this little book to proceed. It is a niche book, but as befits Australia’s Publisher of The Year for at least seven years, they do publish ‘books that matter’. My thanks also go to my editors Clara Finlay and Katri Hilden, and to the 5 RAR tour group of 2005 who allowed me to accompany them to Viet Nam as a case study for this book. Their assistance, forgiveness and friendship are truly appreciated.
INTRODUCTION
For many veterans returning to Viet Nam, the visit will partly be a pilgrimage—a trip that will see them return to a place where normality was subsumed by abnormality, and where killing fellow human beings was tragically taken as the norm. A co-author of mine, Elizabeth Stewart, a historian at the Australian War Memorial, wrote a paper on pilgrimages and I am indebted to her for allowing me to quote extensively from her very well researched work. On the subject of pilgrimages she wrote:
Pilgrimage: the Macquarie Dictionary definition describes it as a journey, especially a long one, made to some sacred place as an act of devotion. In the past, pilgrimage has been most often associated with religious customs and travel. Today, though, pilgrimage is increasingly associated with secular events. Think of the crowds that flock to Gracelands on the anniversary of the death of Elvis Presley, of the survivors and relatives and friends of those who died in the Bali bombings who congregate on Kuta Beach every year, and of course, the thousands of people who make the journey to Anzac Cove in Turkey every Anzac Day. Although many of the ceremonies held at these places have some religious content, they are largely held to commemorate loss and offer a chance for public bereavement.1
For Viet Nam veterans, there are no national or state Viet Nam War cemeteries like we see at Gallipoli, on the Western Front in France, or in New Guinea. Those who died in Viet Nam were initially buried in the Australian section of the British War Cemetery at Terendak in Western Malaysia. This practice followed the Australian Government’s longstanding policy of interring war dead only in cemeteries overseas. The policy was changed in 1966 after several Training Team members killed in action were brought home to Australia to be buried, their passage paid for by both American and Australian advisers.2
War historian Elizabeth Stewart suggests ‘two types of people have traditionally made battlefields visits—the pilgrim, and the tourist’.
Tours to battlefields often contain a mix of both. The tourist is there out of interest; perhaps keen to make a family connection with a particular gravesite, or to see the places they have heard so much about. The pilgrim is a different kind of tourist. He or she is often a veteran or a relative of one, undertaking a mission which aims to help heal emotional wounds, or to pay tribute to fallen comrades. Members of a pilgrimage are a group with a united purpose—they want to revisit the past, learn more about themselves and gain a greater understanding of their war experience. Not all are searching for closure or resolution— some may be going out of interest to see old battle sites, and to once again enjoy the mateship that they experienced at the time of their war service. There is no one overriding reason why people undertake these journeys. To try and seek a simple explanation for them may indeed ascribe false motives to groups or individuals. To say that all Viet Nam veterans return to Viet Nam for closure on their wartime experience is too simple an explanation. Having said that, there is no doubt that for many of those who participate there is often a sense of anticipation and even fear beforehand, with a build-up to an often cathartic commemorative event during the tour, followed by a defined sense of relief and happiness. Pilgrims return home, richer for having undertaken the visit, and still closely bonded with those with whom they shared the experience.3
Prime Minister Robert Menzies committed Australian troops to the Second Indochina War on 25 April 1965. On 29 April he announced the deployment of a battalion of soldiers from 1 RAR to South Viet Nam, to help what he claimed was the struggle against incursions by the Communist north. Although initially widely approved by the Australian public, the Viet Nam conflict became Australia’s longest military commitment, and the most divisive social issue of a generation.4
When Australian servicemen returned from South Viet Nam, they were sometimes accorded a parade through the streets of some of Australia’s major cities, and occasionally regional centres such as Townsville in north Queensland, where a large military garrison was billeted. However, these were not celebratory homecoming parades of the sort Australians witnessed at the end of the Second World War. A few parades were marred by demonstrators, but overall there was precious little recognition for the Viet Nam veteran. What also differentiated the Viet Nam veteran from other returned servicemen and women was that there was no overall victory, no important military success to celebrate: the fact that Australian units were never defeated on the field of battle meant little in a war that was eventually abandoned and ultimately lost to the Communist cause.
As Elizabeth Stewart so perceptively noted:
When Viet Nam veterans returned home to either apathy or outright hostility, many chose to remain silent, burying their wartime memories for many years. Most got on with their lives—married and worked, some with more success than others. Viet Nam memories were only revived occasionally— at Anzac Day reunions, or local unit gatherings, and shared only with those who had the same experiences to remember.5
In October 1987, Viet Nam veterans were given a Welcome Home Parade in Sydney, and thousands turned out to cheer on the men and women who had served their country either as Regular or National Servicemen. But as many veterans cynically observed, ‘it was only fifteen years too late’. On the fifth anniversary of the Welcome Home Parade in 1992, a National Memorial was unveiled in Canberra’s Anzac Parade, the avenue leading up to the Australian War Memorial, and veterans finally had a place of homage on Australian soil where they could gather and reflect as the occasion arose.
However, for many veterans the draw of Viet Nam remains powerful, and often conflicted. Issues of recognition, ‘guilt’ and involvement in an unpopular war all invite doubt and questioning: should they go back, or shouldn’t they? Hopefully this book will help answer these questions.
In Viet Nam itself, the one constant is change. Very little has stayed the same, especially in the southern regions, which have witnessed spectacular economic development in the last few decades. When peace finally came to Viet Nam in 1975, the population was approximately 40 million. By 2006 it had more than doubled. Economically, growth in gross domestic product averaged 6.8 per cent per year from 1997 to 2004, despite the Asian financial crisis and a global recession, and hit 8 per cent in 2005, when it was estimated at US$235.2 billion. Meeting the demands of a booming population, of which a quarter are under the age of fourteen, has required massive change to cater for infrastructure and industrial growth, and membership in the ASEAN Free Trade Area and the US–Vietnam Bilateral Trade Agreement have precipitated even greater changes in the country’s trade and economy.6 The place is on the move.
As a result, much of what existed in the 1970s has been upgraded, or demolished and replaced by something more modern and twice the size, or sub
sumed by other development. For example, the macadam road between Vung Tau township and the provincial capital of Ba Ria (Phuoc Le) was a two-lane road that wound its way up the Vung Tau peninsula through small villages that specialised in producing nuoc nam (fish sauce) and left an indelible olfactory memory on the senses. Today that road is a four-lane kerbed and guttered tollway.
In the 1990s, increasing numbers of tour operators responded to the opening up of Viet Nam. They organised tours solely for tourists, but a growing part of their market was war veterans and their families. One veteran who began as a tourist but ended up running highly successful battlefield tours there was Garry Adams, who had served with 6 RAR in 1969–70. Towards the end of his tour of duty, he recalled sitting aboard an Iroquois, flying back to base, enjoying the view below of jungle, paddy fields and distant hills draped with mist. He thought then that it would be a good place to visit after the war. In 1994 he again saw the Viet Nam coastline from the air, this time on a flight from Singapore to Hong Kong. As he glimpsed the familiar ground below he felt he had to return, and did so in 1996. Dissatisfied with his first trip back, which he thought would give him closure on his war service, Garry returned again to Viet Nam with a tour company that he later joined, and has been taking veterans back to their battle sites ever since.7
Garry has some thoughtful insights into why Viet Nam veterans are returning in increasing numbers. Tourism has improved enormously, and many veterans have reached a point in their lives where they are financially able and emotionally ready to deal with their Viet Nam memories by confronting them head-on. While the dominant reason veterans return is for closure, many want to again experience the close mateship they shared during their tour of duty by returning with a group of veterans from the same unit. Their families are pilgrims too: many have lived with their father’s or husband’s Viet Nam experiences in one form or another, and want to see for themselves the places they have heard about. As well, they want to support the veteran as he confronts his memories, and gain a better understanding of what he went through so many years ago.8
