by Tony Hill
Simpson arrived in Moresby at the end of 1943 to confront his first problem: he could not type and for some time afterwards, he had to pay gratuities to women in the Army orderly room to do his typing, while he practised, pecking at the unfamiliar keys. For a while Fred said he found it hard to think and type at the same time and he hand-wrote his early letters to the director of Talks, BH Molesworth – often beginning with the cheery salutation ‘Dear Chief’. George Fenton of Army PR was keen for Simpson to see the forward positions as soon as possible. Fred was willing and on his second day in New Guinea he headed for Finschhafen on the Huon Peninsula and then inland to Mount Sattelberg, which was still held by the Japanese.
What’s the Time, Fred? – Sattelberg
The high ground of Sattelberg commanded the area around Finschhafen, and the 2/48th Battalion of the 9th Division, forced at times to cut their way through thick jungle and bush, were now engaged in hard fighting against Japanese positions on the slopes of the main ridge. Simpson began sending telegraphed despatches soon after he arrived. From an observation post, he watched artillery fire striking the slopes of Sattelberg as he talked in whispers with the Australian soldiers because of the presence of snipers and other Japanese who were dug in very close by.
A day later, Sergeant Tom ‘Diver’ Derrick led his platoon in a scrambling, clambering assault against Japanese machine-gun posts on a steep, jungle-covered ridge.
He climbed down a less exposed section of the gorge together with his platoon and continued to press on. They met very heavy machine gun fire and grenade assault so serious that they were ordered to withdraw. Sergeant Derrick asked for another twenty minutes. He then advanced up a precipitous slope through thick timber. The platoon cleared out six Jap strong-posts – Sergeant Derrick himself cleared up a Jap machine gun post. The automatic fire and grenade defence was very serious and determined.4
Simpson’s spare, telegraphed account from the field, if anything, minimised the extraordinary individual action by Derrick, in which he single-handedly captured several Japanese positions, and for which he was later awarded a Victoria Cross. Sattelberg was captured the day after Derrick’s action on the slopes and Simpson described ‘a scene of desolation’ as he walked among the destruction of the Lutheran mission house, school and native huts of the small village.
Rain at this time was pouring down in torrents. Naked men were taking advantage of the downpour to clean their bodies. The numerous defence pits they had dug were already feet deep in water, shell holes made by our twenty-five pounder artillery were everywhere to be seen. The most bizarre note of all was a skull sitting on top of a twelve foot pole. Once again my eyes turned to the flag of Australia, emblem illuminative of the indomitable spirit and fighting capacity of these men of Australia, qualities which as General Lethbridge told war correspondents a few days ago – ‘It was almost an impertinence to praise’.5
Two months later, Tom Gurr, the editor of the Sunday Sun newspaper, bumped into Charles Moses and the ABC Chairman, WJ Cleary, in the street in Sydney. Prompted by the chance encounter, Gurr wrote to Moses a few days later, recalling how he had met Fred Simpson in Moresby just after the capture of Sattelberg.
He had just come into Moresby from the Finschhafen area, where he had been with a unit which was surrounded for five days by the Japanese, and which had a pretty thin time. Simpson returned with an infection of the ear and looking a little battered. He quietly admitted that the day after reaching New Guinea he had gone into the Finschhafen show. He sat right down and wrote without ceasing for some hours, ill though he was, and had to be dissuaded from going back the next day. I, myself, went into the Finisterres that day and did not see him again, but I do want you to know that the courage and real devotion to duty of your man Simpson were remarked upon with admiration everywhere.6
Simpson wrote two stories about the high points on the ridges near Sattelberg – Pabu Hill and Pino Hill. One was about the Australian unit at Pabu that was cut off for several days and forced to live on emergency rations and supplies dropped by parachute. At Pino Hill, a little further from Sattelberg, Fred recorded his experiences of several days and nights in the Australian dug-outs – or doovers.
I try to get some rest in my pit but before lying down I look anxiously through the thin screen of undergrowth to the enemy position – 150 yards away and across the open kunai stretch – my cape is in the bottom of the doover – my hat is my head cover and pillow in the same way as it is for my mates. But there is no rest. The rain now begins in a devastating downpour . . . I call in a whisper to Stan Robinson. ‘How’s she going, Stan?’ ‘Pretty wet, Fred, how are you?’ It looks as if we are all in it together tonight. Silence for a while – then another voice ‘What’s the time, Fred?’ I’ve got a luminous dial watch and we’ve got to know the duty hours. Most of the boys have lost theirs [watches] in long campaigning. I answer – there’s a bit of time to go yet before we’re relieved – and I give the time. Silence, long silence. Broken only by the torrential downpour and the heavy drops from the foliage overhead hitting the soft ground with a put, put, put. I’ve long since been standing up. I peer through my sheaf of undergrowth. Nothing seems to be stirring. Suddenly above the sound of the storm is the shattering sound of explosive – silence for seconds – My voice! ‘What’s that, Stan?’ ‘One of our booby traps gone off, Fred.’ The rain probably has caused part of the gadget to slip. Again a deep throated boom. Our artillery again. The shell whistles overhead. It’s dead of night and the Japs must not be allowed to rest. As if its rest has been disturbed, a night bird flying low, slowly wings its way across my night vision. A single firefly very close to me sheds the radiance of its golden light even in the rain. I look at it fixedly – it looks to me from its movement up and down that it might be caught in some spider’s web. And I think of my mates round and about, all of us enmeshed in this gigantic web of war.7
Simpson became closely involved with the soldiers in the field and he was often impressed by the fortitude and dry humour of the men he met – ‘Ah, a man ought to pack up and go home,’ was one comment he heard as the Japanese were shelling the positions at Pino Hill. He revealed a little more of his own experience at Sattelberg in a brief personal letter to Molesworth soon after he returned to Moresby.
Dear Chief, I have just returned from the lines . . . In Pabu and Pino I fought and lived with the men. To get into Pabu they loaded me up with grenades, rifle and rations – These were the terms upon which I was able to get in with a small patrol. On Pino I did night picket-duty – In broadcast material I shall not dwell on these matters.8
Although he had yet to master the typewriter and was still writing by hand, Simpson was organised and disciplined and made quick progress in assessing the situation at Moresby – ‘Moresby is a very considerable base. For action material it is limited where Australians are concerned . . . The real stories are only to be obtained at the fighting fronts – That is the kind of material we want.’9
He pushed for the delivery of long-promised lighter recording gear to overcome the transport difficulties in New Guinea but even then he did not discount the problems for the correspondent reporting and recording from the field. It would be a ‘very arduous job. I should like to be clearly understood that I do not exaggerate this. His work all day over the distances involved is heavy, his writing and recording would be under serious difficulty – But again – I know it can be done.’10
Simpson would eventually manage to get recording equipment back to the frontlines and over the next two years would spend probably more time than any other correspondent reporting and recording in the field. Much of this field recording would be with the technician Len Edwards. They had worked together back on the mainland and got on well and Fred found that the younger Edwards matched his own hard-working style. ‘It does not matter how many hours I have thought it necessary to work, Mr Edwards has also thought it necessary to work at the same time.’11 Simpson’s stories of the war would be marked by his eng
aging first-person narratives, but also for their focus on the men, their own words and voices, often told with a light and engaging touch. He explained that, in reporting war, he was interested in ‘the attitude of men rather than the analysis of events’12 – the ‘human experience’ was most important.
As the technician, Len Edwards’s work ranged from the grim realities of the battlefield to lighter fare, and even a fleeting contact with Hollywood. In 1944, the world premiere of the Bing Crosby film, Going My Way, was held in a kunai grass paddock adjoining an American military hospital in New Guinea. ‘The first-night audience comprised American nurses and sick and wounded soldiers. Dress circle seats ranged from borrowed camp stools to empty bully beef cases.’13 Edwards recorded the views of the soldiers in the audience at the bush screening and the voices were later played at the American premiere of the film at Radio City, New York.
By the beginning of 1944, Simpson and the other war correspondents were covering a theatre of war where the momentum was now with the Allies. The New Guinea campaigns in the Huon Peninsula and the Finisterre Ranges to the north east were still underway, but the initiative was with the Australians and the Americans. Within the year, the Allies would have control of most of the north coast of Australian and Dutch New Guinea and the islands further north and MacArthur would open the campaign to re-take the Philippines. To the east, the Americans were in the Solomons and had contained the Japanese on Bougainville. The New Britain campaign had begun with the landings at Arawe and Cape Gloucester in December, and the massive Japanese base at the port of Rabaul was largely contained.
Frank Legg joined the group of ABC war correspondents in Port Moresby at the beginning of January. He was an experienced soldier and broadcaster and the ABC intended he would only spend a few months in New Guinea and would then move on to train with Australian paratroopers. According to Legg, the ABC general manager Charles Moses had an image of a war correspondent with one of the new portable wire recorders strapped to his back, parachuting into adventure with his microphone as his weapon. Thankfully for Legg, who had a fear of heights, the paratrooper part of the plan never happened.14 Legg was born in Kent and from the age of ten until eighteen was educated at an English boarding school, where in his last year he won the prize for best all-round boy at school, excelling in soccer, rugby, hockey and cricket.15 He had a good education and a comfortable family life but none of the social standing that would normally land him a job at the Bank of England. His first job, as a Bank of England clerk, came through his father’s contacts in the Royal Marines, but Legg believed the bank was mostly interested in acquiring a good, slow bowler for the cricket team and a centre half for the rugger season.16
Frank was an adventurous spirit, and in 1927, at the age of 21, he arrived in Australia by ship as the welfare officer in charge of a group of young male migrants. At one point during the voyage to Australia, the captain had called in Legg to defuse a looming fight between a group of miners and his own young charges – Legg had accomplished this delicate political feat by getting comprehensively drunk with the miners. In Australia, he struggled to survive by selling insurance, then started writing as a freelance journalist for newspapers and eventually began broadcasting radio talks for the ABC under the name of ‘The Prattler’. A genuinely warm and engaging man, Legg became a popular ABC radio personality and broadcaster on several national programs, including as the cohost of a daily early-morning session, while he continued to write freelance articles and features for the papers.
When the war came, he enlisted for service with the AIF and served in North Africa and the Middle East – he was one of the Rats of Tobruk and also fought in the bloody battles at El Alamein with the 2/48th Battalion. The 2/48th would become the most decorated Australian battalion of the Second World War, and Legg was Regimental Sergeant Major at Alamein.
Legg had married since his arrival in Australia from England. The relationship failed and he was estranged from his wife and young son, and after his return from North Africa and the Middle East, he left the Army and become an ABC war correspondent. In Moresby, one of the first people he met was the technician Bill MacFarlane. Like Simpson with Len Edwards, Legg would spend a lot of time with MacFarlane recording in the field over the next two years. It did not take Legg long to decipher the apparently phlegmatic persona of the young but experienced MacFarlane and his fondness for a drink and amiable company.
He was the oldest hand among the correspondents then in Moresby. Short-sighted, black-haired, sardonic, he gave a first impression of being indolent and unenthusiastic. An avid reader of digests, he invariably grumbled when anyone mentioned work. I was, however, soon to discover the qualities that lay beneath his slow manner and caustic humour. When things were tough, under the most appalling conditions, Bill MacFarlane conjured from his mysterious gear discs of flawless quality such as no other technician I have known has ever rivalled, even in the air conditioned studios of Sydney.17
The Footslogger’s Friend – New Guinea and the Admiralties
With Bill Marien covering the fighting around Shaggy Ridge in the Finisterre Ranges and Fred Simpson doing recordings around Moresby, Legg flew out alone to Finschhafen and to catch up with his ‘mob’ – his mates of the 2/48th Battalion. From Finschhafen he travelled by jeep along the jungle and beach tracks of the Huon Peninsula coastline, through territory only recently captured by the 9th Division as it pushed northwards. The terrain drew inevitable comparisons with Legg’s experiences in North Africa.
There’s been only one light shower of rain in the last fortnight. And this particular track – in New Guinea of all places – is probably the dirtiest, dustiest road in the world. It’s far worse than the Western Desert ever was. The earth’s been churned into a surface of 18 inches or so of fine, black, choking dust . . . And when it rains, of course, the whole track turns into a vast bog.18
Legg followed the Australians as they pushed the Japanese along the coast with mortars and Matilda tanks. ‘When the mortar fire ceased, the two Matildas rumbled forward along the track (widening it as they went, by crashing down the trees on either side) and the accompanying infantrymen were enabled to force the Japs out of their positions at the expense of five men wounded.’19
With a forward patrol Legg came across an abandoned Japanese camp and the bodies of dead Japanese soldiers. ‘Already I was beginning to experience the strange callousness with which most Australians regarded dead Japanese.’20 He again found this different from his experience in North Africa and thought it was probably due to the fact that the retreating Japanese had often left their own dead to ‘the flies and the horror of bloated decomposition’. Legg did not express any thoughts about the effects of Japanese atrocities on the Australian attitude to the enemy dead, but he was aware of the brutality of the Japanese style of warfare and was carrying a revolver: ‘In view of the Japanese treatment of civilian prisoners most of us were sensible enough to have some means of self-protection on hand.’21
His army service with the 2/48th in North Africa gave Legg a closer identification with the rank-and-file troops than many other correspondents. He had close friends in the army and there was an everyman quality to his wit, and his characterful face expressed his gregarious charm and humour. As he talked with the frontline soldiers of the 9th Division on the hard coastal push north, he found a common grievance. ‘Resentment was now running high’ over comments by the Minister for the Army that even the frontline soldiers ‘had fresh meat every day, hot meals and other comforts’.22 The soldiers wanted the true story told and Legg was their man. One of his first stories for the radio audience back in Australia was about the contrasting conditions between the ‘base wallahs paradise’ of Moresby and the conditions at the front for the ordinary infantryman or ‘footslogger’.
The forward infantryman lives with what he can carry on his body. Whether it pours with tropical rain, day and night, for weeks on end or whether he’s covered in sweat and the thick black dust of the coast-tracks, h
e wears the shirt, trousers, socks and boots he stands up in with a pair of long gaiters round his ankles, and a battered, filthy old hat on his head. What gear he has in his pack may catch up with him once a fortnight – or once a month. And then he gets a change of clothing . . . One unit I’ve been living with for a few days exists chiefly on bully, M and V – that’s a tinned mixture of meat and vegetables, and very dull it becomes after a day or two – and biscuits. They get bread every now and then – sometimes quite regularly. And they get dehydrated potato – and nearly every day a little dehydrated cabbage or carrot to eke out the bully . . . if I may say so, when next you feel like grumbling at the horrors of rationing, think of the fighting man and . . . well, don’t.23
After a brief return to Moresby, Legg headed back to the north when news was received of the capture of Sio on the top of the Huon Peninsula. Ahead still was the coastline to Saidor, Madang and on to Dutch New Guinea. Not many of Legg’s scripts have survived, but one of the few that has, about the Sio campaign, summed up the general feeling that the Japanese were now on the back foot in New Guinea.
We are now roughly 120 miles from Madang – and pushing on a mile or two closer every day. Halfway between our troops and Madang is the American spear-head at Saidor. It may take a month – perhaps longer – for those two forces, and our troops in the Ramu valley, to meet, and crush the enemy in between. But when that time comes, the days of the Japanese in New Guinea will be numbered. And a very low number it will be.24
Legg made other brief trips north, including to join PT boat raids along the New Guinea coast, but from even these short periods away he had picked up the dengue virus, and back in Moresby his writing and recording were interrupted by episodes of fever, severe aches and an itchy rash. He returned at one point to find Fred Simpson was also ill and in hospital battling with a bout of malaria. The army was about to open a radio station in Moresby, 9PA, to be run jointly by the ABC and the army, and Simpson had been preparing special programs to mark the opening. Legg took over production and hosting of the programs and the station was opened by General MacArthur and Charles Moses. What is believed to be a fairly accurate copy of MacArthur’s opening speech highlighted the impact of radio on the life of troops in the field.
