A New Place

by Andrew Wareham

  They crossed the Astrolabe Range slowly, marking out a track, contacting villages that saw a kiap once every two or three years and giving away all that they could by way of beef and rice. Bob spent hours dressing sores and ulcers and giving worm tablets to the children, all of which was appreciated by the people. Unspoken was the obvious question – they were poor and ill, why did the Administration do nothing for them?

  There was a wider valley leading up into the Owen Stanleys, perhaps twenty minutes flying time from Port Moresby. They had taken more than a week to reach it overland and now sat down with their maps, swearing as they tried to locate the features they could see and come to some agreement with what was printed.

  “Thing is, Blue, there’s False Valley and True Valley and they ain’t about five miles distant, one from the other. Which one’s this?”

  Blue was uncertain and Pat did not know either. Both had flown from Moresby to Lae in small planes and knew that the pilots had taken great care to enter the correct winding valley. One led the fortunate flier up to six thousand feet and through the passes and safely out to Lae; the other led to a blank and very tall wall of rock, decorated with the wings and broken fuselages of a dozen planes that had made the wrong choice.

  “It’s the left-hand valley of the pair, George.”

  “I know. Which one’s this sod in front of us?”

  The high rain forest limited their visibility. By the time they were high enough to see, they would be inside the valley, their view blocked by its sides. Choose the wrong valley and they might walk for a week before being forced to turn around and try again.

  They debated tossing a coin but were rescued by a courier with a message.

  “Captain Hawkins return Laloki soonest. Report. Half company to remain at head of gorge base camp under command Lieutenant Piggott.”

  “Away we go, Blue.”

  “Going down on your own, George?”

  They had reached the base camp in late afternoon, discovered a full company of Militia in occupation as escort to Engineers. They had thrown a timber foot bridge across the ravine at the head of the track and were working on levelling out a roadway along the top. They said that the remainder of their people were busy at the bottom, had already put a mile of road into commission.

  “No. Better have a couple of men with me.”

  “Take a platoon, mate. Safer for them and you if you get caught in a rain squall going down.”

  “The Engineer sergeant said they had ropes up on the steep stretches to act as hand rails.”

  “Easier if you got ten blokes, even so.”

  It was good practice in the bush. Small parties were an unnecessary risk. They set out at dawn, reached the camp at the Laloki plantation by four o’clock.

  The camp had become a permanence. There were huts now and the whole of the plantation had been taken over by the army. The plantation manager was gone, transferred out to another Burns Philp place, and the house had become an officer’s mess.

  George looked about for familiar faces, saw none. He stopped a sergeant.

  “Who’s senior here, mate? Where do I find him?”

  “Brigadier Lowry, sir. His offices are next to the mess building, in the bungalows there.”

  “Thanks, mate. Where can my platoon get their heads down tonight?”

  “Going back up the hill tomorrow?”

  “Christ knows, mate. I’m trying to find out what I’m doing. Just been called back down and don’t know why.”

  “No worries, sir. I’ll see to a tent for them, and food. I’ll get a message across to you telling you where they are – you’ll be in the officers mess, probably.”

  “Thanks.”

  George was tired and footsore, made his way slowly across to the bungalows, peering up at the orchids in the rain trees and on old trellises around the small gardens. It was dry season and few were in full bloom, but they still made a display.

  ‘Left something behind you, Old Man. Well done, mate.’

  A lieutenant with red tabs came out to him.

  “My name is Merrett. Are you looking to report in, Captain?”

  George glanced at the staff officer, taking in the clean, pressed uniform and the air of privilege, carefully dropped into a slouch.

  “Yeah. Hawkins. Got an order to come down from the back of the Astrolabe Range. Two and a half day’s walking.”

  “Brigadier Lowry did not expect you until tomorrow, sir. He can see you now.”

  George followed the young gentleman, up the steps and onto the deck and inside the old bungalow. He wondered whether it had been his father’s.

  He came to an approximation to attention and saluted the figure at the desk.

  “Hawkins, sir, Lae Militia.”

  “Sit down, Captain. I am glad to meet you. I gather that you managed to get the military in Moresby off their backsides and start doing something. The Americans will be here within the week and are expecting to build a road inland. At least we can show them where to go now. They have prefabricated metal bridges, I am told, and will have a road built inside the month. I have read your report and see that you say that the terrain becomes impossible about twenty miles in from the head of the gorge.”

  “A bit less than that, sir. Narrow transverse valleys with sides at about one in three and torrents at the bottom. Be possible to put in foot bridges and cut steps down one side and up the other. No chance of wheeled vehicles. Not even sure you could get mules up and down those slopes.”

  “So be it. Your orders came from General Curtis. You may be interested to discover that he has been posted away, acting rank lost. He has been sent to Egypt, in fact, to the Red Sea, to command the garrison of a small port as a brigadier. He is to patrol the coast with a pair of locally raised battalions and prevent landings by hostile natives and Arabs.”

  George began to grin; he could imagine few worse places or more pointless.

  “Did he take his staff with him, sir?”

  “Of course.”

  “Very good, sir. Couldn’t have happened to nicer people.”

  “So I gathered. I met him some years back – the Australian Army was small, you got to know almost everybody. The bulk of the Australian High Command will be in Moresby but you are now under my command, Captain Hawkins. Your orders have changed, slightly. I want you to push north as quickly as you can and try to make contact with the Japanese, so as to find out just where they are. I am adding four more platoons to make your company up. They will be riflemen, of course. Militia, under a Lieutenant Perceval.”

  George grimaced, imagining that he had to educate yet another officer.

  “Yes, sir. Can they be equipped for the bush, sir? Half of them, if possible, should have automatic weapons. All should have grenades. I could use a second medical orderly, sir. One man will be overworked trying to look after eighty. I have one sergeant, sir, and could use a second. My present man is good – he’s an old hand in the bush, sir, been about the Territory for twenty years. Another of the same sort would be useful.”

  Brigadier Lowry nodded.

  “They told me you knew the land up here. How are your forty equipped?”

  “One Bren; fourteen Lewis Guns; four Lanchester Carbines; a Boys Rifle; my Thompson Gun; a pair of repeating shotguns with ball and snakeshot; four snake pistols. Twenty rifles. Assorted handguns. A bush knife to every man. A single axe, could probably use more. The bush is a short-range place, sir. You can’t see more than twenty yards in the rain forest, and it can be less when the kunai grass is tall. Get to a valley and you might see a quarter of a mile, but that ain’t very often as they don’t run straight.”

  “I’ve been told that. I believe you. Have you got carriers?”

  “No authority or money to recruit them, sir.”

  “That changes. You’ll have cash and we’ll send trade goods up. Tell my people what you need in the morning. We’ve got boys here to carry up to the top. I understand you had them flown out of the goldfields?”


  “They’d have died if they’d been left there, sir.”

  “Fair enough, Captain Hawkins. Recruit up top as you can. The armoury will tool your new men up to your demands, to the extent that they can. There is a shortage of automatic weapons. I want you up the hill inside two days. Can be done?”

  “Will be done, sir.”

  “Good. Lieutenant Perceval is an older man for his rank. He was some years in down at a place in the Trobriand Islands, I gather, working a gold mine. We are getting wireless equipment sent up to the top base. As we get it, I will have more pushed along the track towards you. There are smaller and lighter sets coming, we are told.”

  “Makes a change, sir. We need them. Good to hear that Perceval will be able to take care of himself. What provision is being made for anti-aircraft guns, sir? The bush at the top and over to Sogeri is thin in places and the camps will be visible from the air. The Japs are coming in low over the bluffs, sir, and the head of the track will be vulnerable.”

  Brigadier Lowry noticed that George’s accent had become far less Digger, had reverted to formal usage. He said nothing.

  “It will be weeks, months probably, before we can get three inchers up top, Captain Hawkins. We have some American fifty-calibre machine guns on high-angle mountings which could be hauled up the track. They might do some good.”

  “Probably would, sir. We shot down one of their bombers – a Betty, it was called – with Lewis Guns. The signals sergeant said that they are unarmoured.”

  Brigadier Lowry was surprised – there had been no reference to that success in the files he had taken over.

  “Curtis probably claimed it for a battery commanded by one of his favourites, sir. I trod on his toes fairly thoroughly, so he won’t have given any recognition to my people.”

  “You’re right, I suspect. Your reports have all been attributed to a Lieutenant Carter, I saw. Luckily, Captain Hawkins, I was put into contact with a number of knowledgeable sergeants who had no hesitation in putting me right. It seems that very few men with local experience have been given commissions. Many of the sergeants and corporals are businessmen who would normally be found in the officers mess and who have no hesitation in making their opinions known among the higher ranks. Several of them knew you from before the war and one, a gentleman named Mick, was a close friend, I believe.”

  “Mick? I wondered where he was when I came through Moresby. Didn’t have time to chase him down. A sergeant, you say, sir? I would not have thought he was the sort to make a soldier. Bloody good man, mark you – he took me on when I left school and showed me how to work a firm up in Lae.”

  “He’s in charge of a detachment of carriers now. He can get them to work and looks after them well. Good man, as you say. His commission is in the pipeline.”

  “So it should be, sir. One thing, though. Make sure he ain’t ever posted Down South. I think some of the warrants are still live, sir.”

  Brigadier Lowry made a quick note and nodded.

  “I won’t ask what for, Captain Hawkins.”

  “No need to know, sir, not too specifically. Thing is, sir, people up here are mostly two sorts – a few like me who were born up in the Islands and belong here, until we get thrown out when independence comes. That’s bound to happen. Most of us are sending money Down South so that we’ve got some place to go. Then there’s the other sort, blokes who left Queensland and New South Wales, England sometimes, one jump ahead of a warrant. Most of them settle down here and make themselves useful. A few end up being deported; a few get shot. Mostly, they’re up here for being queer, poor buggers. Can’t see locking a bloke up because of that, meself.”

  Brigadier Lowry made no comment.

  “There’s mail for you waiting in the offices. I’ll send it across to you. You’re married, I understand?”

  “With a baby son, sir. Couple of months old. Brought Mary out of Lae six months ago, when it became obvious that the Japs were coming. Her mother and mine came down about the same time and Mr Tse flew out a couple of hours ahead of the Japs.”

  “Your father was caught though. I have seen the reports. He did well, Captain Hawkins. A brave man.”

  “He always was, sir. A good man, too. A pity he could not get out himself, but there was no run in him if there was a job to be done.”

  “He evacuated the nuns from a mission near the plantation. They delayed too long, it seems, unwilling to leave their patients in the hospital. He got them out, by the skin of their teeth.”

  “He would have, sir. I shall miss him.”

  “So you should, Captain Hawkins. Your father-in-law has been able to give very good advice, I am told. Another fine gentleman.”

  “Again, sir, a remarkable man. The old hands, those who made a go of it, were all of them out of the ordinary, I think. The Territory ain’t a forgiving place – you don’t make a success unless you’re able.”

  Brigadier Lowry made a few more notes.

  “What must we do, Captain Hawkins? How do we defeat the Japs in your bush?”

  “Don’t, sir. While you can, just hold them. Let the bush kill them for you. Sink their supply ships and leave them stranded, no food, no medicines, in wild country they can’t handle. Don’t let them get to the Papuan Coast – they might be able to get hold of food down here. You might not believe it, but this area is richer than most of the bush, and it’s still too bloody poor to feed all of its own people. Set up forts to hold the passes and use planes to bombard the Japs. Pay the locals to collect their heads. Recruit twenty battalions of local militia and send them to hold their own lands and push out as and when they can. Cheaper in lives, and probably in money too. You’ll end up with the locals on our side as well. Twenty years from now and they’ll be willing allies if we need them. Better than trying to keep them down.”

  “I expect you’re right, Captain Hawkins, but the politicians won’t tolerate it. Nor will the missions.”

  “Sod the missions, sir. Keep them well out of the way, if you can. Use them to provide the hospitals we’ll need; other than that, slap ‘em down hard.”

  Brigadier Lowry made another note.

  “We’ve got a sick rate of one man in three at the moment, Captain Hawkins. How do we improve that?”

  “Get their malaria pills into ‘em first. Do you still have a pill parade in the morning? General Wythenshawe introduced them – every man to line up and take his pill under supervision and going down with malaria made a military crime.”

  “I’ve not seen such parades, Captain Hawkins. I must imagine that General Curtis found them unnecessary. I will send the message to Konedobu and will bring the parades in from tomorrow.”

  “Good. After that there’s not much you can do by way of prevention. Rigorous cleanliness, obviously, but not a lot more. Sick parade after breakfast every day and force the men to report every least little thing wrong with them. Get them while they’re just unwell, before they get really bloody ill. Teach them to cover up scratches before they can go rotten. If you can cut the rate to one in four, you’ll be doing bloody well. Send all of your sick Down South. More will recover there. This is a bad country for sickness – and not just for the whiteskins, either. One thing you can do – socks!”

  “Socks?”

  “You know, them things you put on your feet?”

  “Yes, I wear them myself, quite often, Captain Hawkins.”

  “Good. Each man to have a dozen pairs and change them at least twice a day. Keep their feet dry and clean. I’ll show you the scars on my feet if you want. I walked out through swamp once, without spare socks. Not a good idea.”

  “You’re serious.”

  “You can look at me feet, if you want. You can look at the kitbag too – full of bloody socks.”

  “I’ll just talk to the Quartermaster, thanks. He’ll think I’m bloody mad.”

  “I’ll show him me feet, if you want.”

  “I’m not that bloody mad. What about boots?”

  “Every man to
have a spare pair; for use, not for parade. Can you get high boots, lacing up to the calf? Dry feet make a big difference up here. Have a look at the locals, inspect their feet, sir.”

  “They mostly go barefoot, don’t they?”

  “Yep. That’s how come it’s easy to count their toes. They get cut, infected, go gangrenous – time after time you see that. They chop them off before they can die of the gangrene, mostly. A sharp bush knife down between the next joint. Hard bastards to do that!”

  “Harder than me, Captain Hawkins!”

  “And me, sir. They have a bad life, sir. I would like to think that the carriers will get more than a tin of mackerel a day, sir.”

  “Point taken, Captain Hawkins. I will do what I can.”

  “If you can’t recruit militia, sir, you might give a thought to police. The coppers here are armed, sir…”

  “You mean… Better not said aloud, Captain Hawkins. Again, I shall do what I can. It might be an idea for you to remain here in Port Moresby, Captain Hawkins. I need advice from a knowledgeable source.”

  “There’s plenty of older men hanging about, sir. Most of them are willing to fit in with the army, as well. Start with Mick, sir. Intelligent man and knows more about the Territory than most. Not me, sir. I don’t get on with officers and gentlemen, sir. My old man was a dock rat from Southampton who managed to fight his way up; he brought me up to think that being born wasn’t a reason for being a boss. As for gentlemen – most of those I’ve met have been useless bludgers – if you can’t pull your weight without a servant to wipe yer arse you’re no bloody use to me.”

  Brigadier Lowry shook his head, thought about protesting that not all gentlemen were useless…

  “Better you’re up at the sharp end, Captain Hawkins. You’ll be safer there. For what it’s worth, most of the American officers I’ve met are born to money. They get into West Point for having the right parents – it’s just the same in the States as here, but they won’t admit it. Neither will we, thinking on it. I’ve had the devil’s own job getting rid of dress rules in the officers mess here – half the bastards wanted Mess Undress for dinner. Can’t eat in working dress, shocking!”