by Alan Tucker
‘I don’t know whether we treat Aboriginal people any better,’ Uncle Jim replied.
Sunday, 26 April
Yesterday was Anzac Day. Mum, my brothers and I have attended the Dawn Service and veterans’ march as long as I can remember. This year, the ceremony seemed more meaningful to me. I think that’s because we’re living in a town surrounded by servicemen and because both of my brothers are serving—and because the war is on our doorstep. Uncle, aunt and the cousins attended the dawn service with us. I found the ceremony very moving and felt a closeness to my father I’d not experienced before. The Americans supported the event even though it wasn’t a day of significance to them.
‘It must have seemed a bit tame to them,’ Uncle Jim said. ‘The average American prefers a lot more pomp and ceremony than the average Australian.’
‘I think you’re a bit hard on them,’ Mum replied. ‘The men I’ve met at the dances are quiet and polite. They’re proud of their country and traditions. I think we should take a leaf out of their book and display our national pride more often.’
‘That’s a bit hard in Townsville at the moment, Thelma, when our town’s been overrun by them.’ He snorted. ‘It’s funny when you think about it. We’re fighting a war so we won’t be taken over by a foreign country but we’ve let the Yanks do exactly that.’
‘They’re our allies.’
‘True,’ Uncle Jim replied, ‘but a man can feel a bit put-out when he’s part of a minority in his own town.’
Uncle Jim’s construction jobs are gradually being taken over by US engineers. He’s not worried though. He says there’s enough to do constructing, maintaining and repairing civilian facilities.
‘The roads alone could keep me busy seven days a week. They were never built to withstand the volume or weight of traffic they’re being subjected to at the moment. They’re falling apart and this is the Dry season. When the next Wet comes their foundations will be washed away and we’ll have a major problem.’
The Governor, Sir Leslie Orme-Wilson, came to town this week. He visited us at school. We had to assemble and stand to attention while he gave a speech. Mum said he visited the hospital too and spoke to patients and staff. He urged townsfolk not to panic. His message was that although the war’s not going well, when bases like Townsville are fully operational, Australia and the US will be better able to hit back at the Japanese. He was confident that if our military personnel and citizens work together then it’s only a matter of time before the Japanese advance is halted.
Despite the Governor’s wish for us to ‘work together’, an unfortunate incident occurred on Thursday night. A house in a nearby suburb caught fire. The owner ran to a neighbour’s and rang the fire brigade but he couldn’t get a line through to the exchange. By the time he did so, his house had burned to the ground.
‘Surely that’s just bad luck,’ Mum said.
‘In normal times his phone call would have got through,’ Uncle Jim explained. ‘But these are no longer normal times. Military calls get priority at the telephone exchange. Poor old Jack had to wait for a line to become available—and by then his house was a smoking ruin.’
‘People are fed up. They want their town back,’ Auntie Dorothy added.
‘But, Dorothy,’ Mum commented, ‘if the military pull out, there’ll be no-one to stop the Japs landing.’
‘I know that, love. We’re caught between a rock and a hard place.’
We received a letter from Harold on Friday.
April 1942
Thelma and Arch.
We arrived back in Australia filled with high hopes. The Big Brass told us what a great job we’d done in the Middle East and how valuable our combat experience would prove in the fight against the Japs. After a few weeks’ rest and recuperation we assumed we’d be given our chance to have a crack. The army, however, moves at a different pace. We spent three weeks doing drills just out of Adelaide before entraining to a camp near Glen Innes in northern NSW which is where we’re now camped. We had hoped to move to the far north of Queensland. Jungle training’s what we need to prepare us to oppose the Japs in New Guinea. It seems the military have other plans although none of us foot-sloggers has the faintest idea what they are.
Harold
PS: If we’re here for a while I may be able to get the Family Leave I missed out on in Melbourne. If it’s granted I can come north to see you.
Sunday, 3 May
A mysterious plane flew high overhead today. Rumour has it that it was a Jap reconnaissance plane. Cousin Stanley pointed it out to me. He’s alert and never misses a trick.
The big news this week is personal: I left school. I start fulltime work at the ice works tomorrow. My life has changed so much this year. Mum’s given me a chance to become more independent. I owe that change in her largely to Uncle Jim. Mum respects him enormously and accepts his advice about what I should and shouldn’t be allowed to do. The ice works is quite some distance from home but Uncle Jim told mum he’d give me a lift to work each morning.
‘I go near there,’ he told her then turned to me. ‘You have to be up and ready though, Archie. I leave at 7.15 a.m. sharp and by then you must have eaten breakfast and packed your lunch. Be on time because I won’t wait for you.’
I promised I’d do that and went straight to the kitchen to get food prepared. Normally I get up at 7.15 and by then Mum’s made my breakfast and cut my lunch. Uncle Jim told me that those days are over.
‘A working man must be able stand on his own two feet.’
Sunday, 3 May 1942
Dear Harold,
Oh how delighted we’d be to see you. Young Archie has grown considerably since you last saw him eighteen months ago. He has left school and has two jobs—at the ice works and at the snooker hall.
I enjoy working at the hospital and have gone out dancing once or twice with Auntie Dorothy.
Jim, Dorothy, Shirley and Stanley continue to be great company and are very supportive of Archie and me. That means so much to us and compensates in a small way for your (and Des’s) absence.
Stay clear of trouble, son. Love, Thelma
Sunday, 10 May
The first large contingent of Australian troops arrived by train from the south today which meant a lot of overtime for Cousin Stanley. He worked closely with the military to coordinate the movement of heavy vehicles and rail carriages and to make sure everyone was safe. The new arrivals were trucked to Oonoonba Staging Camp. When I asked him what ‘staging’ meant he explained that it’s a camp where troops are temporarily housed.
‘Oonoonba is a stage in their journey not the end of the journey,’ he explained.
‘D-Do you think the new arrivals at Oonoon-d-d-da are going north to New Guinea?’ I asked.
‘Very likely.’
My boss at the ice works is Mr Jensen. He’s not the big boss. He doesn’t own the business, he’s just my boss. He and I do house-to-house deliveries so customers can refill their ice boxes. He needs help because he only has one leg. He lost the other one during the Great War. I told him my father was gassed at the Somme.
‘No-one came out of it unscathed,’ he replied. ‘But we get on with life as best we can.’
I didn’t tell him that dad died because of the gas.
Each morning we load the wagon with ice then deliver it street by street to the customers. The wagon’s pulled by a horse named Blackie.
‘If we’re on the road after dark, the old fellow will meet the black-out regulations,’ Mr Jensen told me with a laugh. He needs a sense of humour at the moment. Many of the women we deliver to are angry that the price of ice per block has increased dramatically.
‘I used to be able to order an extra block during a hot spell but since those Americans moved into town there’s not an additional block available for love or money. In fact I’m lucky if I can get my usual quota. I often have to make a block last an extra day which is impossible when the temperature soars,’ one customer told us.
During
Friday’s delivery round every person we met asked about the increased activity at the air force base. They’d noticed, as had we, that lots of bombers had been taking off and landing.
A radio broadcast that night solved the mystery. Mr Curtin said a major sea battle was underway off the north-east coast of Australia. He refused to give details. The battle must be going our way or the Prime Minister wouldn’t have announced anything.
We received a letter from Des on Friday, the first in two months.
Thursday, 2 April 1942
Dear Mum and Archie,
There’s still very little to report apart from the fact that the Japs continually bomb and strafe us. We’ve potted an enemy plane or two because we’ve improved our defensive tactics in recent weeks. My lot have shifted camp—we’re now further inland at what’s called the 12-mile camp. I don’t know if our new location is part of a bigger strategic plan or not— we’re told nothing.
The rain continues to fall and the mosquitoes to bite.
Reinforcements arrived recently. They’re AIF men. They’re not happy about being assigned to a militia unit. One of them told Bert, ‘No offense, cobber, but you chocos are second-rate soldiers.’ He can count his lucky stars that Bert didn’t punch his lights out. I suspect it will take him and his mates a long time to be accepted into the battalion because of their poor opinion of us. They shouldn’t judge us until they’ve seen us in action. Our performance might surprise them because negative comments in the past helped galvanise us as a group and spurred us on to bigger and better efforts.
I’m pleased to report that the food has improved greatly since we arrived. It’s supplemented occasionally with goat meat, brought in by Bert and a couple of other fellows. They’re the best shots in the battalion. Before the war I would never have voluntarily eaten goat but here I’ll give anything a go—at least once. My verdict? It tastes a bit like young veal (if cooked properly).
Cheerio to all family members and relatives,
Des
PS. Not sure what the Japs are up to—they’re suspiciously quiet in this sector. It’s probably the calm before the storm.
Sunday, 17 May
We now officially know the reason for the increased air activity last weekend. US and Australian air forces teamed up to attack a Japanese naval fleet. Most of the aircraft were American, of course, and took off from aircraft carriers in the Coral Sea but a few bombers flew from Garbutt. Apparently neither fleet sighted the other throughout the battle: aircraft did all the attacking and damage. Both sides lost aircraft carriers, destroyers, support ships and scores of planes and pilots. Casualties weren’t mentioned but Cousin Stanley estimated the death toll could be a couple of thousand men.
It is believed the enemy fleet was en route to attack Port Moresby. Because of their losses, the Japs no longer have the naval or air strength to do that and have turned back. The newspapers have named the battle, The Battle of the Coral Sea. Cousin Stanley and I studied the wall map and have located where the action took place. The Japanese fleet certainly was close to Port Moresby and Australia.
‘Maybe this set-back will encourage the Japs to put on hold any plans they have to invade Australia,’ Uncle Jim commented.
‘Mr Curtin does not appear to think so,’ Cousin Stanley replied. ‘And if he does, he is not publicly prepared to say so. He has made it clear that he wants us to stay firmly on a war footing and continue with our plans to defend Australian soil.’
More Aussie troops have entrained into Townsville. Cousin Stanley reported that none are from Harold’s battalion. We did, however, hear from Harold again this week.
May 1942
Thelma, Arch.
Didn’t the air force and naval lads have a wonderful victory on the Coral Sea? They’ve probably saved Australia from invasion. My lot is hoping we’ll soon be let loose on the Jap army in New Guinea. We’re a step closer. We arrived at a camp named Yandina, yesterday. It’s north of Brisbane, close to Nambour. We’re still some distance from Townsville but Yandina’s a step in the right direction.
You’ll be surprised but delighted to learn, Thelma, that I’ve kept my nose (and fists) clean since we arrived back in Australia. Why? Just so, when I apply for Leave, it’s granted and I can visit you. Believe me?
Harold
Friday, 22 May
We received a wonderful surprise last night. Harold arrived unannounced. He’s so much more muscly and brown-skinned than when he left Melbourne to join the army. Mum burst into tears when she saw him.
‘Come on, Thelma, surely you haven’t missed me that much? I bet you threw a party the day I went into the army,’ he said with laugh.
She told him not to say things like that then hugged him tightly. He towered over her and looked a bit embarrassed. He got his height from Dad, as did I. Des is short, like Mum. Eventually she drew breath and told him off for not letting her know he was coming. Luckily we didn’t have to work this morning because the three of us sat and talked last night till very late.
Harold didn’t sleep in. He got up early and went to check on some road repairs with Uncle Jim. Mum told Auntie Dorothy that Harold’s not one for sitting around doing nothing. They arrived home at lunchtime.
‘We got on like a house on fire,’ Uncle Jim told Mum. ‘He’s a laugh a minute.’
‘He caused me many anxious nights in his younger days,’ she replied. ‘He was a very naughty boy and always in strife as a teenager. His fists and mouth got him into a lot of trouble.’
‘Maybe he’s grown-up, Thelma. Army discipline’s probably been good for him and no doubt, what he saw in the Middle East, will have shown him at close quarters the brutal consequences of fighting.’
‘Do me a favour,’ Mum said quietly. ‘Don’t let him near a pub. Alcohol and Harold are not a good mix.’
Uncle Jim laughed. ‘Getting a drink is no easy matter these days, Thelma. There’s a shortage of beer and, with all the troops based in town, an oversupply of drinkers. Some nights the queues outside the pubs and clubs stretch around the block.’
Sunday, 24 May
We’ve been shocked by rumours (which are yet to be confirmed) that at midnight Friday, a shoot-out occurred at the Kelso Field Camp housing the black Americans.
Some rumours say it was a riot, others a mutiny. Black soldiers allegedly turned on their white officers and fired machine-guns into their tents. The story’s been hushed up so we don’t know if anyone was killed or not—or if the story is true or not.
‘The authorities deny the incident. According to them, the whole thing is a figment of everybody’s imagination,’ Cousin Stanley said. ‘They claim war games were taking place in the camp at the time of the alleged disturbance.’
‘I d-d-don’t think the rumour’s true,’ I said. ‘Soldiers wouldn’t fire on their o-own officers.’
‘I could name a few officers I’d like to shoot,’ Harold said with a laugh, ‘especially our drill sergeant. He took particular delight in pushing me to my limit during our initial training. I snapped a few times and copped detention which delighted him further. He hasn’t been able to break me, though, since we came back from the Middle East. I encountered nastier pieces of work than him over there.’
Late on Sunday night, Harold and I had a long chat. We’ve never really talked before. Before he joined the army, he was rarely home. And besides, I’m a lot younger than he is so we didn’t have much in common. Plus, I was scared of him. He was rough and often grumpy. I was nervous because I wanted to ask him about Dad.
‘I don’t know much, mate. I was pretty young when he died.’
‘D-Des said you were old enough to remember him.’
‘He was skinny, like you. I think he was thin all of his life but the gas in his lungs knocked him around in his later years and killed his appetite. And the sicker he became, the skinnier he got. There wasn’t much left of him by the end. Not that I saw a lot of him. He was always in bed. I hated seeing him like that and didn’t go into the bedroom u
nless Thelma insisted. That was just one of the things we argued about.’ He paused. ‘Des often sat with him. He’s good like that. Des’ll put time into people. That’s not my style.’
‘What was D-d-dad’s style? I asked. ‘What was he like?’
‘I don’t know, mate. He was my father. He told me off quite a lot—which I deserved. He couldn’t come outside and kick the footy or do stuff like that which is what I wanted him to do. He spent a lot of time holding you when you were a baby. He …’ Harold stopped to think. ‘He and Mum never argued, I remember that. He was grateful to Mum for all she did for him and for us.’ He paused again. ‘I guess if I learned anything from him, I learned that. It took me many years—I’m a slow learner— and in the meantime I tested Mum’s patience. I appreciate her now, now that I’ve seen things in the Middle East that shocked even me. I thought I was tough but, well, war brings things home to a man.’
‘D-Dad m-must have seen some b-b-bad things t-too,’ I said.
He nodded. ‘Far worse than me, mate, far worse. What went on in the trenches of the First World War makes what I’ve experienced pale by comparison. He went through hell. But, it didn’t make him bitter.’ He laughed. ‘I was bitter before I went to war.’
‘B-B-But you seem nicer now,’ I said very nervously.
‘You haven’t seen me with a gun in my hands, Arch. I’m still a handful when I’m riled but … I’ve learned to control my anger.’
‘D-Do you think I’m like Mum—or D-D-Dad?’
He looked at me long and hard before he replied. ‘I think you’re your own man, Arch. And that’s how it should be.’
Sunday, 31 May
Harold caught the train back to camp early on Wednesday morning. There’s always a seat if you’re going south. The train’s travelling north, however, are choc-a-block with men and supplies. I had great fun with him during his stay. He’s still rough and swears a lot (never when Mum’s around) but he’s friendlier. Or maybe I’m growing up and know how to handle him better.
