by Alan Tucker
He and Mum gazed at each other and held each other’s hands until they both stopped crying. Then she wiped his eyes with her handkerchief before wiping her own and blowing her nose.
‘It’s very kind of you to contact us, Bert,’ Mum said.
‘That’s what mates are for. I didn’t fully understand that before Kokoda, but I do now.’
The nurse signalled that it was time we left so we said goodbye. Mum promised Bert to visit him again.
‘You don’t need to do that, Mrs McLeod.
‘We’re you’re family while you’re in Townsville, Bert.’
Uncle Jim didn’t ask any questions or say much on the drive home. Mum hugged Des’s diary and Harold’s letter to her heart.
‘What do the boys have to say?’ Auntie Dorothy asked when she saw the diary and letter.
‘I’m too nervous to read anything. My eyes can’t focus,’ Mum replied. ‘That’s foolish isn’t?’
‘You sit here, Thelma,’ Auntie Dorothy said pointing to her armchair. ‘The rest of us will sit and chat in the kitchen so you can have some private reading time. I’ll bring you a cuppa.’
I turned to follow but Mum asked me to stay. ‘Sit by me, Archie, please—while I read Harold’s letter.’
‘What are you nervous about?’ I asked.
‘I’m not sure, dear.’
August 1942
Thelma, Arch.
Des and I are dug in on the same ridge facing the Japs—not that we can see them unless they make a full-frontal attack on us. And then we’re confronted by faces so frenzied that they seem inhuman. They scream ‘Banzai’ as they charge. I’ve never heard anything like it. And I’ve never seen conditions worse than this. Combat in Palestine and Syria was a stroll in the park by comparison.
I’m proud to tell you, Thelma, that my lads, although they’ve only been with Des’s lot for a few days, have changed their opinion about the militia’s fighting ability. Those boys have been through weeks of hell—it’s written on their faces. How they’re still standing and why they weren’t wiped out by the Japs, I don’t know. Yes I do: guts and courage—in spades.
When Des gets back to Australia, tell him I have nothing but admiration for him and his mates. I want to tell him to his face but conditions here are so chaotic and the Japanese attacks so relentless that, firstly, finding an individual and secondly, finding time to talk, is nigh on impossible. A fellow can’t afford to take his mind off the job at hand for one minute or a Jap’ll be on him. I’ll write no more on that subject. I’m sorry if what I’ve already written upsets you. The point is, my little brother is a credit to you, Thelma, and a credit to the Anzac fighting tradition. Tell him I’m proud of him and that Dad would be proud of him.
I’ll finish now. I have to hand this letter to Bert, a mate of Des’s, who copped a leg wound and is being stretchered down the Track. I would hope a wounded Digger is shipped back to Australia more quickly than an aif postal bag.
Love you Mum, Harold
Mum hugged me tighter as she read then sobbed. Tears rolled down her cheeks and dropped onto the paper. I asked her what was wrong.
‘It’s Harold,’ she said.
‘Is he hurt?’ I asked fearing the worst.
‘No, love. No. He called me Mum. He hasn’t called me Mum since … since Errol died.’
When she calmed down I asked if I could read the letter but she said no. ‘Maybe tomorrow. There are things in here that are not really suitable for a boy.’
‘Mum, I’m a working man not a b-boy.’
‘Tomorrow, Archie. I just need some peace to absorb things before I share the full contents with you.’
As we ate Auntie Dorothy asked if everything is all right and Mum said it was but didn’t provide any more detail except to say Harold and Des have caught up with each other on the Kokoda Track. After tea, Auntie Dorothy wouldn’t let Mum help with the dishes. She told her to have an early night so she could read Des’s diary. I hope she lets me read it—and Harold’s letter. How can I look after her if she tries to protect me from unpleasant things that upset her?
Monday, 14 September
Mum sat alongside me while I read Harold’s letter this evening. I didn’t think there was anything upsetting in it.
‘One day, when you’ve got children of your own, Archie, you’ll better understand what I’m feeling. It’s frightening to know your children are at great risk and experiencing terrible hardships and you can’t do anything to help them.’
‘B-But they’re g-grown-up, Mum. They’ll b-be all right.’
‘I pray they will,’ she said and hugged me even tighter. ‘And I pray this war will soon be over.’
Friday, 18 September
Mum read Des’s diary one night, then re-read it the next. I pestered her to let me read it too. Initially she wanted to sit alongside me like she did with Harold’s letter.
‘Mum,’ I said as confidently as I could. ‘Please, Mum, d-don’t treat me like a little k-k-kid. I won’t be scared, I p-promise. I’m g-growing up.’
‘I can see that, love,’ she said then looked me firmly in the eye. I held her gaze. She smiled slightly. She warned me again that there were things recorded that might upset me as they did her—then handed the diary to me. I went to my room last night and began reading.
Ilola, Friday, 3 July 1942
This was the most miserable day of my life—and I can see there’s worse to come….
I read the diary in one evening.
Sunday, 20 September
Mum was right—Des’s diary entries are upsetting.
The content disturbed me more than I first thought. I’ve had a recurring nightmare over the past two nights. Des and I are fighting alongside one another when he’s surprised by two Japanese soldiers who raise their bayonets to kill him. I turn to shoot them but my rifle is jammed with mud and won’t fire. Luckily, on both occasions, I awoke before the dream ended.
This morning as I lie in bed I compared Des’s situation to our lives. Townsville people’s complaints suddenly seem so trivial. They complain that they can’t get an extra block of ice or the exchange operator doesn’t put their phone calls through quickly enough or there are too many soldiers in town. But, at least we have ice and telephones and thousands of soldiers. Des’s lot can only dream of those things. They’re doing it tough, very tough.
I imagined how sad Des must feel knowing that most of the men he trained with in Melbourne just nine months ago are either dead or wounded. I feel sad at times because I have only half of my family at home but my missing family members are not dead.
I wondered if my handwriting says something about my state of mind on the day I’m writing a diary entry. I can tell from Des’s handwriting when he’s exhausted or upset. The words are scribbled and almost illegible. The atrocious conditions he’s writing in no doubt affects his handwriting too. Every page has runny and smudged ink and water and mud stains. Mum has pulled some pages apart where moisture had glued them together. A couple of pages have dried blood smeared across them. I wonder whose it is.
Mum has asked me to keep Des’s diary with this one. She said that’s what he’d expect – he was the one who asked me to keep the family record of the war.
Later
We received a wonderful surprise this evening. There was a knock at the door. Mum opened it and burst into tears. Des was standing there with his arm in a sling. She embraced him tightly then apologised for squashing his damaged shoulder.
When he stepped inside everyone talked at once. He was bombarded with questions.
‘Why didn’t you tell us you were coming back?’
‘What happened to your shoulder?’
‘Where’s Harold?’
‘Are you hungry? ‘
‘Are we winning the fight in New Guinea?’
‘How did you know where we lived?’
Des looked embarrassed to receive so much attention.
Uncle Jim clapped his hands and called for quiet. ‘
Slow down everyone. Let the man gather his thoughts.’ He turned to Des. ‘Welcome to our home, mate. We’re surprised but delighted to have you here. Sit down.’
Auntie Dorothy asked if he’d like a cup of tea.
‘I would,’ he replied then winked at Uncle Jim, ‘but I’d prefer a beer.’
‘A beer it is,’ Uncle Jim said and stepped towards the ice box. ‘We have an excellent supply of ice, thanks to Archie.’
‘Mum wrote that you’d left school,’ Des said. He looked closely at me. ‘You’ve grown up in the past twelve months, matey.’
‘And you’ve grown a b-beard,’ I replied with a smile.
‘Shave it off, please honey,’ Mum said. ‘I liked my boy just as he was.’
‘The face beneath the beard’s not the same one you remember, Mum. A lot can happen in twelve months to age a fellow.’
He looked sad but cheered up when Uncle Jim reappeared carrying two glasses of beer.
‘Cheers,’ Uncle Jim said. ‘Here’s to a swift victory over the Japs.’
‘Cheers,’ everyone chorused.
‘I don’t like your chances of achieving that wish,’ Des said with his sad look again.
I’m sure Mum would have loved to speak to Des alone but it wasn’t possible. He was too much in demand. Eventually it became obvious he was tired.
‘Stanley’s working tonight, Des,’ Auntie Dorothy said. ‘You can have his bed. Show him to his room, Archie.’
‘Are you sure Cousin Stanley won’t mind?’ I asked. ‘He’s quite fussy about the way his bed is made.’
‘There won’t be a problem, love. I’ll speak to him. He’s very fond of you so any brother of yours will get his tick of approval. Besides, Des is army trained – I’m sure he can make the bed to the standard Stanley expects.’
Des thanked everyone, said goodnight and followed me.
‘We’re sh-sharing a room, Des, just like in the old days,’ I said happily.
I was keen to talk to Des and ask him a million more questions but could see he was exhausted. I turned off the light, hopped into bed and said, ‘I’m g-glad you’re home, D-Des. Mum’s been very worried since we read your d-diary.’
‘You’ve read it too?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’
‘I know I said I’d keep a diary when I couldn’t send a letter, but what I wrote wasn’t really meant for young eyes like yours,’ he replied. He paused. ‘When I made that plan with you before I shipped out, I had no idea of the things I would write about. I only wrote it because … because things were happening so quickly, so bloody quickly, and I needed a way to make sense of it all.’
‘Your l-last entry was three weeks ag-g-go. What happened after that?’
‘I’ll tell you sometime,’ he replied. ‘Have you heard from Harold?’ he said changing the subject.
‘A letter arrived with your diary.’
‘He’ll be doing it tough,’ he said quietly. ‘From what I hear the Japs have pushed the lads back so far, they can see Port Moresby. We slowed them but we weren’t able to stop them. No one has for the past nine months but I reckon we did better than anyone else.’
‘D-Des, what ha-p-pened to your shoulder?’
‘I’m too tired to talk about it now. I’ll tell you another time,’ he replied. ‘I’ve got to grab some shut-eye now. I have weeks of sleep to catch up on.’
‘G-goodnight, Des.’
‘Goodnight, Archie.’
I lay silent for a few minutes then said, ‘I’m g-glad you’re home, Des.’
He didn’t reply. He was already asleep.
Monday, 21 September
It seems nearly every diary entry is an extra one nowadays. There’s so much to write about. The day dragged at work. All I wanted to do was go home and talk to Des. He visited Bert at the hospital this morning. It’s a good thing he did because he’s entraining south this evening.
‘His health’s stabilised,’ Des told us. ‘He’s keen to return to Melbourne so he can see his family and soak up some home comforts. He told me to tell you two he appreciated your visit.’
Des reported to AIF headquarters to get news of his battalion.
‘Same, same,’ he told us. ‘No better, no worse. They’ve stalled the Jap advance again at Imita Ridge. You won’t find it on a map but hopefully in the years to come the name won’t be forgotten. Both sides have been dug in there for ten days. The Japs must be feeling the effects of an over-stretched supply line.’
‘I pity their wounded,’ he added unexpectedly. ‘It took me several days to make my way down to Moresby and proper medical help—and I copped my injury close to civilisation. The Jap’s wounded are a couple of weeks walk away from their base hospitals, longer by stretcher.’
‘Are you really sorry for them?’ asked Cousin Stanley.
‘No, matey. The only good Jap’s a dead Jap. It’s just that I don’t like to see any man suffer.’
Cousin Stanley agreed to let Des continue sleeping in his bed. ‘I am honoured to be of service to a fighting man,’ he said proudly.
That night, as Des and I were lying in bed, I asked again how he got his wound.
‘Nothing much to tell,’ he replied. ‘I was part of an ambush. The Japs were on us quicker than anticipated. That shouldn’t really have surprised us. They move through the jungle like ghosts. When we realised we were in danger of being cut off we got out as quickly as our feet would carry us. The only way out was up the hundreds of steps. It was unfortunate that after weeks of living in impenetrable jungle, at the very moment we urgently needed cover, the vegetation offered little.
‘We climbed the steps, exposed to gunfire. I was slow from lack of sleep and decent tucker and because my feet were swollen and sore. I’d almost made it to the top where cover was plentiful when I felt as if a wasp stung my shoulder. I touched the spot with my hand and it came away bloodied.
‘I won’t say what I said. I was pretty angry. After all the failed close quarter chances the Japs had had to shoot or bayonet me, they put me out of action with a lucky shot at long range. The other reason I was angry was that the wound slowed me down even more which slowed down my mates. I knew the Japs were hot on our heels and I didn’t want my mates’ lives put at risk because of me.
‘I was greatly relieved when we passed some of our lads in ambush position. We knew they’d slow the Japs down and give us time to get to our next position. We fell back through Templeton’s Crossing to Myola. Myola was paradise. Supplies had been dropped nearby and were in ample quantities. I discarded my filthy uniform and boots, washed weeks of mud off me then received medical attention to my wound and my feet. They were puffed up and peeling and mouldy after being wet for weeks. And they stank. Not that they stank worse than any other part of me or stank worse than anyone else’s. We were all rank.
‘I can’t tell you how beautiful it is to lie here safe and warm, Archie, in clean sheets and with a clean body, and with a belly full of home-cooked food. I’ll never take Mum’s meals for granted again.’
We lay silent for some time before Des continued.
‘My rest at Myola was cut short by news that the Japs were again closing in. I walked south with my fellow wounded. The Track was in a terrible state. The constant rain had washed away many of the steps making walking difficult, especially because I was only able to use one arm to support myself. When conditions got really bad, however, there was always someone to give me a helping hand.’
‘You were very br-brave, Des,’ I said.
‘It was never about bravery, mate – mine or anyone else’s. We fought and died as a team.
‘I caught up with what was left of my battalion at Menari. My shoulder was throbbing but the pain was forgotten as soon as I was amongst mates. I joined the men at parade for the last time. We were down to less than 150 men, all ranks. A message from Brigadier Potts, the Commander of Australian Forces in New Guinea, was read out. It praised us for our splendid service.’ Des paused. ‘But it was Lieutenant Colonel Ho
nner’s words that meant most to us. “All of the Australian army is proud of you because when the heat was on, you did not buckle. None of you should ever forget your fallen comrades but … some things might be best to forget.”‘ Des’s voice became very emotional and he fell silent. I heard him sniff and saw him wipe his eyes.
‘How did you g-get to P-Port Moresby?’ I asked to take his mind off unpleasant memories. ‘Is there a road?’
‘Not until we reached Ilola,’ he replied. ‘It was rough but good enough for an ambulance to ferry us to the base hospital. It was such a relief to get off our feet and to be issued with our second set of clean uniforms in a week—and experience the luxury of a hot bath. I spent several days at the hospital before they flew me home to Australia for convalescence.’
‘New G-Guinea sounds like a hard place to move around,’ I said.
‘It is at the best of times but the presence of the Japs makes it even harder. They’re relentless in their pursuit and their attack. I now know why they’ve proved so difficult to defeat.’
‘Will they inv-v-vade Australia?’ I asked.
‘Not while there’s one Digger standing,’ he replied fiercely. ‘We’ve got more to fight for than they have. They’re fighting for the Emperor. We’re doing it for our mates, our family and our country.’
Thursday, 24 September
Mum was rostered off and spent the day with Des. I could tell when I got home from work, that she was very, very happy.
‘Only one thing would make me happier, she said. ‘To have Harold home too.’
