by Gary McKay
It would seem that nothing has really changed, and probably won’t for at least a generation—and even then there may be nobody with the courage to rewrite the ‘official’ history that has been accepted for 40 years.
Leave the esky at home
The boorish conduct of some Australian men—presumably veterans—in the past at the battle site has threatened to have this sensitive location placed off limits to visiting Australians. Thankfully several groups have been able to convince the local authorities that the ill-mannered and stupid behaviour of a few is not typical of those who wish to pay their respects.
Bill Kromwyk was serving in the Anti-Tank (Tracker) Platoon of 6 RAR on their second tour when the Long Tan Cross was erected. His platoon provided some of the local protection and picketed the ground when the Cross-raising ceremony took place. He remarked:
I have heard a few bad reports about people going back with eskies full of beer and all that sort of stuff. And going in without permission and getting a lot of people offside. I have heard about these blokes and I think how stupid are you? I don’t know what they are thinking; maybe they are not thinking.25
Tour guide Garry Adams confirmed the stories of how several years ago a group took beer in an esky to the site ‘so the boys could share a drink’ and behaved abominably.
The Vietnamese people have classified Long Tan as a sensitive site—and it has to be remembered that it is also the site where hundreds of soldiers from 275 Viet Cong Main Force Regiment and D 445 Battalion also lost their lives.
There is now a large ceramic urn inside the Long Tan Cross site, and it is seen by the hosts as a sign of respect to place joss sticks in the urn, commemorating all who gave their lives on 18 August 1966.
As the former company commander of Delta Company 6 RAR, Major Harry Smith, MC, wrote in Wartime magazine, the official magazine of the Australian War Memorial:
Although nowhere near the same scale, Long Tan will be remembered alongside Kapyong, Tobruk, and Gallipoli. I am saddened by the loss of life, and the tragic loss to all the loved ones, on both sides . . . But we saved the Task Force base from what would have been a disastrous attack by the 5000-strong Viet Cong 5th Division, and their influence in the province was reduced thereafter. That is why Long Tan has become so significant and is feted as the icon of the war for all Viet Nam veterans to commemorate those lost or maimed between 1965 and 1972.26
Part III
MAKING PEACE
WITH THE PAST
Chapter 7
THE GAMUT OF EMOTIONS
The emotional impact of returning to a war zone will affect everyone differently. Education levels, ethnicity, religious beliefs, family upbringing and personal environment all shape the way we think and therefore how we react. We cannot throw a blanket over the group of individuals we call war veterans and expect them all to act the same way simply because they all served in the same war. Even men from the same rifle section or gun crew can experience different reactions on seeing their former tent lines, chopper pad and battle sites.
Tour guide Garry Adams is almost considered a ‘local’ as he spends most of the year working in Viet Nam. He was asked how he felt after his first trip back and he replied:
I wasn’t satisfied at all. I hadn’t seen what I wanted to see. In the view of getting it out of my system, it never happened that way. It took me not quite twelve months to come back again for the second trip.1
Without doubt memories will be stirred and if the veteran is accompanied by mates with whom he served, the odd phrase or saying will crank up the brain cells and soon a wave of images will come flashing back. Not everyone will experience that feeling; some will be totally blank and offer ‘I don’t remember that’ when everyone else will say, ‘sure you do’.
But we are also talking about a war that happened more than three decades ago. A lot of water has passed under the bridge since then, and memories do fade. I recently saw a photograph of myself in Nui Dat, and simply cannot remember when and why the photograph was taken or who took it. Such is the impact of age upon the memory banks, as Ron Shambrook discovered when he returned to Long Son Island with the 5 RAR group, and couldn’t reconcile the adjutant’s recollection of the operational fly-in with his own version of events. They were able to clarify the situation with the help of a map, which showed that there had been two landing zones, which accounted for the conflicting memories. As Ron mused:
Some of our memories aren’t as good as we thought they were. And between your collective memories, it helps a lot. And I’m so delighted that I’m going back with a much broader and much clearer understanding of things . . . I wouldn’t have enjoyed it near as much if I were doing it by myself.2
Garry Adams has seen hundreds of veterans return to Viet Nam and offered these comments about the reactions he has observed:
I think perhaps a few get rid of the ghosts that they may be harbouring, but I think for most of them it more or less gives them an idea of what Viet Nam is like now rather than what they think it was 30 years ago. They can see the Vietnamese are real people; they have lives. They can be quite generous and friendly and it should give them a different perspective on what Viet Nam is like, but in peacetime rather than in war. I think all this business about ‘lifting all the ghosts’ and this sort of thing, maybe in some cases it works, but in a lot of other cases I think whatever memories they had about Viet Nam in wartime are still going to be there. But at least they can go back and look at it in a new perspective, and say, ‘Well look at the country now’, and maybe it is time to move on.3
Some men react in a fashion that others might find upsetting. I have seen men break down and cry, in some cases almost inconsolably. And on a personal level I’ve been ‘hit between the eyes’ when suddenly and unexpectedly a vivid memory came flashing back, and literally stopped me in my tracks. I needed to just sit down and think about what I had experienced and collect my thoughts before moving along. But these feelings will pass and it is one reason why returning with someone who understands what you have experienced in war is a good thing. Total strangers will not have a clue as to what you are feeling or why you are looking at a dry paddy field and sobbing.
Garry Adams recalled a few instances where this type of reaction occurred:
I have had a few occasions, particularly with the ‘bush soldiers’ . . . mostly the infantry and the field soldiers; you get to places and some of them do have problems. A place I have found that stirs up more memories than anywhere else is Cu Chi and the tunnels in Cu Chi. But especially at Cu Chi when they walk into that narrow track and they are back in the bush again for the first time, and I have had guys that have stopped dead and can’t take another step. I then have to take them by the arm and say, ‘It’s okay.’ I was quite moved when you hear that drivel [Viet Cong propaganda] on that film [shown at the site] and I am more content to just walk away and sit down for a bit, and for some of them it never goes away. It doesn’t, no matter what you have done in the meantime; whatever happened on those tracks always stays with you when you get back into that situation. It always comes back.4
Of all the places I have visited, Cu Chi is one that will bring back memories more than any other. The smell of the jungle, the proximity of the bush, the footpads and the dress of the soldiers that work in the military reservation all combine to evoke often powerful memories. The incident Adams was referring to at Cu Chi occurred on a visit in 2002 and involved former 6 RAR rifleman Steve Campling, who was suddenly overcome with emotion when he entered the jungle at the now very popular tourist destination. Steve needed to sit and relax and understand that what he experienced was common for a veteran; he was soon his normal self again. It was a reminder to all in the touring party just how much we can keep a lid on certain things and how easily it can be prised open. As Steve said of his visit to Viet Nam in 2002:
The only downside was the visit to the Cu Chi tunnels and my first encounter with the real ‘J’ [jungle] as I remembered it. It was raining; loc
als were walking along tracks through the undergrowth, and the sound of AK-47s being fired on the rifle range all combined to bring me ‘undone’. I was overwhelmed . . . It took a good hour to regain my composure, along with the help of a couple of my travelling companions who were on their third or fourth trip back.5
The tunnels at Cu Chi are almost as they were during the war, but veterans who haven’t been there should be warned that halfway through the complex there is a small theatrette that shows a propaganda film that is really quite offensive to anyone who fought against the Viet Cong. It is defamatory to Allied soldiers and also insults the intelligence of those who view the film. However, there is little point getting upset about it. As I said to my 21-year-old daughter Kelly after she watched the film in 2002 and asked me, ‘Surely that’s not right, Dad?’, ‘Winners are grinners and can rewrite their own history.’
Cathartic or not?
Some people believe returning to the war zone will have a cathartic effect and cleanse the suffering of the past. However, the term ‘catharsis’ is popularly misunderstood. As The Macquarie Dictionary notes, in psychological terms catharsis implies ‘an effective discharge with symptomatic relief but not necessarily a cure of the underlying pathology’. In other words, just going back to Viet Nam will not necessarily resolve any underlying mental issues one might have with having served in the war zone. Dr Ted Heffernan was asked if going back had been cathartic for him and he replied:
Ah, no. To be honest I don’t think so because I don’t know that I have too many hang-ups about it all—I think because our role [as doctors] was a bit different. I wasn’t coming out of there having killed people; I was really trying to help everyone. So that was pretty easy to do and in line with what I’d done before the first time I saw dead Diggers here. I’d seen dead people occasionally in car accidents and although it’s terrible because they’re young, it’s not as much of an effect as it was on their fellow soldiers that were all looking and saying, ‘There was a mate . . . from this morning.’ But it was sad and the only time I really reflected on the total wastage of young life was when I had to go down to Vung Tau and identify Peter Williams’s body after the mine incident at An Nhut.6
You don’t actually have to kill someone to be affected by the horrors of war. Ted was asked to go to the morgue and identify the bodies of the Australian soldiers killed, and the American sergeant in charge of the morgue (this was before the Australian morgue had been established in the field hospital at Vung Tau) began unzipping several body bags to find the Diggers. Seeing the rows of dead in the morgue, Ted thought, ‘Well, jeepers. Look at this room full of plastic bags that were all fit young men three days ago.’ When Ted returned to the site of the mine incident at An Nhut in 2005 it all came back. ‘I thought about it again,’ he said. ‘I’ve often thought about that as the futility of war really, to be honest.’7
Ron Shambrook also didn’t think there was too much catharsis in the trip; for him, it was more a case of ‘the camaraderie with my colleagues. Reminiscing.’ However, he added: ‘It’s brought back a lot of memories, mostly good. You can’t turn back the past. If somebody’s dead or wounded, that’s occurred. You can’t turn that back.’8
Ben Morris did find that his three trips back have been cathartic, and have gradually helped him to deal with post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD):
Being back on the ground I have been able to scope it back down. It’s a bit like peeling an onion. So this has been part of the onion-peeling process and I’ve been in this for fifteen years.9
Ben did, however, have some guidance for other veterans with PTSD who are thinking about returning:
My advice would be first go to the Vietnam Veterans Counselling Service and talk some of your issues about Viet Nam through first. Because if you don’t start to look at those, they’re going to come out and grab you.10
Other veterans also expressed caution about expectations of catharsis. Peter Isaacs, whose main reason for undertaking the pilgrimage was ‘to remember those young men’, said he would recommend it for other veterans, ‘But only on the basis of nostalgia and pilgrimage. Not to overcome any nightmares they might have.’11
The medicos in the group offered a similar view. John Taske advises veterans, ‘It can be cathartic for them, but some people it may affect differently—they may just open old wounds.’12
Tony White agrees that ‘veterans have a huge range of different ways of responding to the experience’. As a doctor, he notes:
For some it’s been a crushing thing. And some, I think, make the mistake of actually dwelling on the past and wallowing in it. I think that in a way is bad for them. But my feeling is that you don’t live in the past, but you should be able to visit it. And this is what in fact we’re doing. We’re visiting the past and it’s clarifying it in my mind, it’s clarifying it for Doffy and Rupert. And so it’s very good. For me it has always been the most important single year of my life. And, you know, most intense and vivid and so on. And so I wasn’t expecting it to be any more or less than that. And that’s how it turned out. It’s been spot on.13
When Paul Greenhalgh was asked if he found the trip cathartic he initially said no. Then his wife Wendy chimed in, pointing out gently: ‘Yes, but you had a change of heart—you didn’t want to come. So I think that in itself is cathartic. That you decided you would come.’ Paul looked at his wife and replied, ‘Alright. Yes babe.’ And she looked lovingly at her husband and rejoined with, ‘And you’re smiling about it.’14
Grieving
When servicemen were killed in Viet Nam their bodies were flown back to Australia, normally on a C-130 Hercules RAAF transport aircraft. At first, the dead were to be buried locally, but following protests by serving soldiers Kranji Military Cemetery in Singapore was chosen as the burial place. Then those who died in Viet Nam were buried in the Australian section of the British War Cemetery at Terendak in Western Malaysia. This policy was later also overturned, and remains were repatriated to Australia for burial or disposal at the next-of-kin’s request.15
If a serviceman was killed during an operation his body would be choppered or driven out of the battle site, then repatriated back to Australia. His mates would continue patrolling and fighting and maybe not return to camp for weeks after the event. A memorial service might have been held for those killed when the unit was back in Nui Dat or Vung Tau, but the pace of operations often meant that this service might not be attended by those wanting to grieve or to say goodbye. Consequently, there was often very little closure to the loss.
Returning to Viet Nam will often reignite that need for grieving, and it will not be uncommon to have those emotions impact upon the veteran when those memories are stirred up again. It is part of the process and should be allowed to run its course. Laying of wreaths is a delicate issue in Viet Nam today, and veterans are urged to instead place a single flower at a place for remembrance to avoid upsetting local feelings.
Don’t rush it
The returning veteran should avoid being pushed and hurried through the experience. Avoid the ‘Day 5, this must be Da Nang’ syndrome, and make sure that there is time to see everything that you want to, and have enough time in the itinerary to simply stop, look and listen. As Ben explained:
I had a bit of trepidation in the fact that I’d seen some earlier tours go through Vung Tau when I was there and I felt sorry for the people because they were rushed into Vung Tau and rushed out. They really didn’t have a chance to see anything. I think the design of this tour—having three days to be able to go over the ground reasonably slowly—is what was needed. There is this need to be able to stop, reflect and to relive.16
Ben explained, ‘The memories are vivid every day. Going back over the ground in some ways, it gave me a chance to demystify some of it and put it in perspective.’ As his group walked around Nui Dat, Ben found value in ‘sitting at 5 RAR headquarters, and then standing on top of the hill . . . and just being able to stop, reflect and just enjoying it’.17
Tina Wainwright believed Roger had felt the impact of returning to his old lines and conducting a small memorial service at Tiger Pad in the rubber plantation. Such events can take time to digest. When being interviewed, she looked at her husband and said:
. . . that night you were pretty emotional if you remember, because you felt like you would have liked to have spent more time. But I remember you said to me, ‘That was my home for a year.’ You know. ‘It’s like that was where we pushed off from.’18
Time to look, reflect and ponder is important on a pilgrimage; after all it is why you are there. Roger understood that there were limitations to time and space on the tour, but simply added: ‘I would have liked no more than half an hour just to wander round and reflect. [Look at] not just my positions but some of the other platoon positions as well and where the company kitchen was.’19
Also, it takes time to retrace old steps—but carrying old maps and records can help. Roger claims he has a good memory (he still owes me $10 from a bet in 1985), but said he did some homework before returning with the 5 RAR pilgrims:
I think I’ve got a pretty vivid memory of everything that happened over that period of time. And I did refresh myself by perusing Bob O’Neill’s book Vietnam Task again. And I had a marked map with me that I carried in 1966 . . . I showed it to Tina when we stopped on Route 15, and I could identify the exact spot where I was wounded and nine people in my platoon were also wounded. And down on Long Son Island, Gary [McKay] and I went round and I had the grid reference of LZ Dagwood where we landed, and Gary actually identified it from a distance through his binoculars. And I said, ‘Yep. There it is. There’s that spur where the helicopter landed.’20
