Mud and Blood on Kokoda
3rd January 1942
The ship anchored off Port Moresby at 3 pm and a ragged cheer went up. It had been a bloody hot day below deck and the heat sucked the energy out of you. The little time we got taking turns out on deck was only slightly better with the wind from the motion of the ship, there was no actual breeze, and the sun was relentless. Burning exposed skin and beating down on my shirt and legs. This was a far cry from Victoria, even in December. This felt like summer and then some.
We were issued with 10 rounds of ammo each. Two boats the Achilles and the Swan came out to take us ashore with our gear. We placed our packs on the wharves and looked around. It was a sleepy bush town alright. Untidy looking houses were built in tiers on the low hills around the port, made of weatherboard or fibro plaster with tin roofs. It was all a bit dreary except for splashes of scarlet and purple bougainvillea flowers.
We marched off in the heat in full kit. The air was humid and cloying and we marched into the night. We’d been on the ship for 7 days in sandshoes, so our heavy boots felt like lead, trudging on the hard ground watching the bloke in front. The road twisted along through gullies with gum trees around them.
When we arrived at an airstrip called 7 Mile drome at 2300 it was still hot. We were told to dig two man trenches and sleep in them. We were hot and wet and tired, our feet were sore from the long march. Mosquitoes had come out on the march and we were swatting and slapping and picking dead bugs off us. There were no tents set up when we got there, no cooking utensils for the kitchen and the meal was cold. And now we had to dig bloody trenches to sleep on the ground. Welcome to New Guinea I thought. Not a great start to our mission to stop the Japanese army coming through here to invade Australia.
4th January 1942
Mosquitoes ate us last night. Swarms of them. Its like they knew fresh blood was here. We got under our blankets to keep them away but they found their way in or bit the exposed parts. Drew and I both got bitten. So did Mo and Terry in their trench beside us.
All I can see around here is low hills covered in gum trees, and blue looking mountains topped with clouds off in the distance. There’s no shelter from the sun down here near the airstrip, the trees are small and stunted. Bright grass called kurukuru by the locals grows beside the runway from 4 to 7 foot high.
And the rumour going round is there is one tap. That’s it for 900 of us in the 39th Battalion. Someone didn’t know we were coming.
Johnny said the camp area used to be a rubbish dump. That makes sense with the amount of flies around here, the place is lousy with them.
We were loaded into trucks and taken to the wharf back in Port Moresby to help unload the ship.
In town there’s a Burns Philp trading post, a post office, a couple of native stores and two pubs where the beer is 2 bob a bottle. The women wear grass skirts and the men wear either nothing or an odd assortment of clothes. Shirts and grass skirts, worn and faded military jackets and grass skirts, old shirts flapping open, military shorts and bare chest, and one bloke just had some weird pipe on his dick tied to a string around his waist. Most odd and we tried not to laugh because he was a fearsome looking fellow holding a spear and with a twig or bone or something right through his nose, so we didn’t want to upset him.
“Jesus what have we landed in here” says Terry.
“A one horse town by the look of it” says Mo.
We were put into groups by Lt Boone, who drifted away and left us to it. He went off to explore the town, such as it is.
We sweat it out for the morning unloading boxes and boxes of stuff, mostly tinned food in packing crates. The natives were on the winches and we were unloading. We got into a good rhythm loading the trucks that were lined up. All the natives were big blokes, black as the ace of spades and real happy smiley fellows. We shared a smoke with them at break time and they shared one with us. Which we think they call twist because its like a short twisted rope or strands of tobacco about 10 inches long. It was bloody rough and raw and a few of us were coughing as we sucked it in. That made the natives laugh. The twist is a trade good up here and the natives often work for a twist as an agreed price for their labour.
When we stopped for lunch it was army dog biscuits and a cup of tea and the natives took off for a shady tree and didn’t seem to eat anything.
“Bugger this, after what we’ve been unloading we still get this shit?” says Oldy.
After lunch about the 3rd load Big Mac says “alrigh’ Jacky le’ ‘er go”. So the native let go of the winch and down came the boxes, smashing open on the dock. “Tinned fruit anyone?” asks Big Mac. So we took it in turns to go under the wharves and have a decent feed and put more in our bags to go back to camp.
The officers wandered back in the afternoon as we knocked off and they’d been in the pub all day. More than a few had the wobbly boot on. Bastards.
5th January 1942
It rained last night and we all got soaked.
More unloading of stores today.
We’ve settled into a temporary bivouac site. Battalion Headquarters is in front of McGraths house, some local plantation owner. A, B and HQ companies are on the left, C in front, D & MG (E) companies on the right and left rear.
We get water from a stand pipe near HQ. For 2 days we’ve been eating dog biscuits and tinned beetroot, washed down with tea brewed in kerosene tins. Some bright spark packed our gear first so it’s in the bottom of the ships cargo. And each night the mosquitoes have attacked us relentlessly. By day it’s stinking hot and by night it’s still hot and we’re to wear battle dress and carry loaded weapons at all times. We’re wondering what we’ve got ourselves in to.
We’re to take over guarding the 7 mile drome from the 49th Battalion when our equipment gets here.
We heard that the Japs have bombed Rabaul and we were ordered to put 5 rounds in our magazines.
Port Moresby is the capital of Papua, an Australian territory that used to be called British New Guinea. We pored over my old school atlas that I brought. Terry and Drew thought I was mad packing it, but I wanted to keep up with the war in Europe because I’ve been following it on the maps since Hitler started invading countries and Thommo went away. And it’s coming in handy here, even though it’s sketchy for this part of the world.
If New Guinea looks like a giant bird flying over Australia with a big fat belly, then Moresby is on the underside down near the tail, the southern side. The whole left side of it is Dutch and the other side is ours. Down the middle of its back runs a high mountain range, like it’s spine. That is the Owen Stanley range and its higher than anything we’ve got in Australia. The highest mountain here is twice as high as Mt Kosciusko back home. To cross through the middle to get to the north coast you have to cross the range, which apparently only the locals do and rarely at that. Its rich in natural resources like copper, oil, gas, and gold and the economy is mainly mining, agriculture, fishing, and forestry.
In March 1939 the Royal Australian Artillery arrived, and another militia battalion from Queensland, the 49th arrived here last year.
6th January 1942
More rain last night. We wish they’d get some bloody tents up here from the port. We know we packed them so we don’t know why they weren’t the first thing off the boat with us.
Apparently there’s no detailed maps of the area so someone is going to have to make a proper recce so we know what’s around. They’re not very prepared for us to be here.
From here we can see hills around the drome. As we marched in there were a few hills behind the port covered in houses and then it was mostly flat as we marched up the road to the drome here.
Another sleepless night being bombarded by mozzies and another 5 blokes on sick parade with diarrhoea. Chippy Mandle is one of them, he’s our Bren gunner. The Doc is very busy.
We unloaded tents from the ships and they were allotted to companys today thanks heavens.
In the arvo we worked on improving our camp sites, clearing the area, putting up our tents and getting organised a bit better.
Sunset is about 6.15 pm and by 6.45 pm its dark and the malaria dive bombers are out, as some of the boys are calling the bloody mozzies. They come swarming out of the grass looking for blood.
At night we can see the reflection of a volcano far away to the northeast.
7th January 1942
We unloaded ammo today and stacked it on the side of the airstrip.
The engineers and hygiene section are to build trench latrines for us.
Poor old Theo Oates a riflemen from company HQ has been bitten so badly by the mozzies his arms and legs are swollen.
“Must be my sweet blood” he said trying to make light of it, but you could see he was in itching agony.
8th January 1942
More blokes on sick parade today. Robbo reckons its our deep semi circular WW1 issue mess tins that we can’t clean the corners out properly and there’s no boiling water to do it with.
Apparently there was a radio broadcast last night on Radio Tokyo and they said Port Moresby had been invaded by the Japanese. We started laughing at that because no one told us they were here! Jap bullo and propaganda.
But the reality is they’re on their way. All of us are a bit apprehensive about the Japs. We spoke about it on the ship on the way up here. After they bombed the American naval base at Hawaii in December the Japanese made a series of stunning attacks on the British base at Hong Hong, Burma, Borneo, the Philippines and some other small islands in the Pacific. So we’re here to protect New Guinea and the approaches to Australia.
Today I met my old mate Georgie Parkins from back home! We were swapping over with the 49th Battalion to take over guarding the drome. We commiserated with each other about the death of my brother Tom in Crete and his brother Jimmy in North Africa last year. They joined up together in 1939.
After I left for Victoria he went north to Queensland to enlist in the 49th with Mick Dawson, a bloke from school. Micks sister Marj is a nurse in Casino with my sister Vicki. Mick wasn’t with him as he’s in hospital with dysentery. Georgie told me that’s rife up here. Most of their blokes have had it, and so is malaria, but it knocks you out for longer.
He’s been up here since July last year, digging trenches and labouring, they haven’t done much training.
He introduced me to his mate Pete McCauley or PJ who’s from North Queensland and they’ve become good mates. He’s got Scottish heritage and is from St. Laurence in North Queensland. He says it’s a drinking village with a fishing problem! Funny bloke. He’s a wicket keeper batsman for their battalion team.
They’ve been here 6 months, came up as reinforcements. The whole Btn got here in March 1941, after an advance party of 200 came up in mid 1940.
We talked about the Japs sweeping through the Pacific after they bombed the American naval base in Hawaii.
“Ahh Japs mate they’re all short and they can’t see for shit” says Georgie.
“Yeah we’ll sort ‘em out” PJ chips in, rolling a durry.
“So neither of us are in our home states militia battalion eh?” Georgie says looking at the unit patch on my tunic.
“Yeah mate when I followed Nancy down to Victoria I joined the 39th militia battalion with her cousins Terry and Drew.
“Yeah mate I heard you were going round with her. She a good sort there mate, and she’s going to inherit a shit tonne of land eh? No boys in that family.”
“Yeah well that’s all well and good but it’s not the land that got me interested.”
“Billy you dirty bugger” he said slapping me on the back.
9th January 1942
Woke up scratching as usual. It’s a constant thing. But I’ve become quiet adept at clapping at them as they buzz by and squashing them. I got 3 at once the other evening.
Bull Birmingham and Crystal Pistol from our platoon HQ are down with dysentery. The Doc tells us it’s not just diarrhoea, its worse than that. Chippy is back though, he recovered quick.
Ammo of 50 rounds per man plus coy reserve of 50 rounds per man is to be stored in our company area.
D company is still unloading the ship.
We’ve only got one pick and one shovel in the company. It’s a constant job to dig latrines because one hole only lasts one day, and the engineers haven’t been around to make anything better for us like they were supposed to.
10th January 1942
0700 1 NCO and 16 OR guard at Port Moresby power house, they are to prevent civilians from going into the radio area and to watch for signals from Paga Hill post and raise the alarm if necessary.
Slobber and Spud from 10 platoon are in hospital with chills and fevers and they reckon it’s malaria.
Still unloading ships.
We were allowed to go into the Papua Hotel for a couple of beers. There were some 53rd battalion boys in there who thought the pub was theirs and we were invading their space and a blue started. Whistles went off and as the Lt of the military police led them in through the door to break up the fight he copped one in the face! It was the funniest thing. We got out the back door in time but a few of the others had their names taken.
Mosquito nets issued to B and C coys so we can get some sleep and peace from the malaria bombers.
The RAP moved away from Btn HQ.
Charlie Turner is feeling queasy and reckons he’s caught something.
We’ve been in New Guinea a week.
11th January 1942
Terry and Oldy took Charlie off to the RAP today because he’s as crook as a dog. Spent the night in the latrines squeezing his ring out.
And even Big Mac has got a cut on his arm that’s swollen and red like its infected.
More guards on the drome now, that’s where Drew, Terry, Mo and I were today.
1000 a plane landed with a passenger from Wau which is up north somewhere.
Some of the boys got called before the CO and put on charges this morning for fighting. They got the old red ink in their paybook, meaning loss of pay for 2 weeks.
The Japanese have occupied the Dutch East Indies which is relatively close to here.
We’ve been building our own cookhouse with a roof.
1605 A RAAF Lockheed Hudson arrived from Townsville loaded with bombs.
Carriers arrived today. The Carrier coy is formed from transport drivers from HQ coy and some of the machine gunners (mug gunners as we call them) from E coy.
The carriers are small like a horse cart and real versatile and they go anywhere because they’ve got tracks on them. They can carry Bren guns into battle and take wounded back from the front. But their first job here is to go round and map the area. We were talking to Andy Moore from the carrier company and they’re excited to get them and have a go. We knew him from our militia days back in Melbourne and he was a driver, so he naturally progressed to the carrier section.
12th January 1942
Last night Tokyo Rose called us mice because we burrow into the ground for our protection, like the Rats of Tobruk. So we’re the Mice of Moresby and we quite like that, because we do bloody dig a lot.
Mottsy from 10 platoon and Darkie from 3rd section in our platoon have been carted off to hospital with suspected malaria.
Big Mac is back from visiting the Aid post. The doctors says his small cut has got infected and turned into tropical ulcers. He said they had to cut it and clean it out because it was full of pus and goo. Charming. But he did warn us to wash any cuts we get in clean water. If we can find such a thing.
The Carrier coy is taking the 2ic and Adjt around Moresby plotting the tracks and finding their way round. Lucky buggers to get out of all the digging work we’re doing.
Now Terry’s crook but he doesn’t want to go to the RAP. He said he’s heard how full the RAP is with blokes with the shits and he couldn’t stand the smell.
13th January 1942
And Mo is crook too now. He and Terry are in their beds looking like death warmed up. We joked they’d been sharing spoons or something and Terry was going to have a swing at me even as sick as he was! So his brother Drew and I have been looking after them and getting them water and soup, putting wet cloths on their heads and all that.
We were back on the drome today on guard, hanging around in full webbing, which is the belt and over shoulder straps we hang our ammo pouches, haversack, shovel and other gear on.
At 0930 a Hudson bomber arrived riddled with bullet holes, then took off again two hours later. Not long after that a small biplane landed from Wau. Looks like they’re getting people away from the north coast in case the Japs land up there. We were talking to the pilot and he said in the remote valleys of the Sepik river near Aitepe up on the north coast, there’s still tribes of cannibals and head-hunters that haven’t seen many white men. That’s bloody wild and remote.
14th January 1942
Now Oldy’s in the RAP. He woke up with the chills this morning and we knew something was wrong because it’s so bloody hot here even by 7 o’clock in the morning.
We got trucks allotted one per coy today so we can move stores.
0900 the mail plane landed from Australia so we hope we’re getting mail. Then late in the afternoon another plane landed bringing spare parts for the mail plane because it broke down.
1 platoon C coy moved to battle stations in the Bootless Bay area, that’s south of here down on the coast.
I went to see the pay office today. Big Mac our radio operator was telling me I could send money home to Nancy. It’s called a remittance and I filled out a WF131a form and handed it to the pay Sergeant with my pay book.
“Why didn’t you do this before you left Australia son?”
“I didn’t know I could Sergeant.”
“Well you missed a lecture then sonny boy, give it here, let’s set it up for you.”
“Strewth you’re sending this bint £1 every week mate, she must be a good root eh?”
I could barely control myself “I’d rather not talk about my fiancé like that thanks Sergeant” I managed to get out between my gritted teeth because I wanted to punch him in the face.
“Alright alright settle down young fella, didn’t mean nuthin’ by it. I see a lot of blokes send money home to some floozy they met the night before they left and they regret it. Clearly that’s not the case here.”
“No sergeant its not. I’m going to marry her.”
“Well good for you son” He stamped my paybook handed it back to me and put the form on a big pile of papers
“Thank you Sergeant” I managed through gritted teeth and left.
15th January 1942
Terrys looking better and he says he’s feeling better too. So’s Mo.
“That’s because you’ve got good nurses” says Drew.
“Yeah they’re bloody ugly though” Mo says.
“Steady on there Mo or I’ll piss in your next cuppa you ungrateful swine.”
“Fuck Off McLean.”
Guards posted on the ammo dumps at 7 mile and 12 mile dromes, 1 NCO and 4OR at each.
A few planes landed and took off again, one with 3 passengers.
Mail arrived today and I got a letter from Nancy. It’s so nice to hear from her in this bloody heat and flies and mozzies and sickness. A bit of normality from home.
16th January 1942
Now Briggsy and Slim from 2nd section are crook and have been sent to the RAP tent. Bloody mozzies are claiming us before we’ve even seen a Jap.
We’ve been digging air raid trenches and putting barbed wire entanglements out.
It occurred to me at dinner time, that our food is ladled into our mess tins with the same ladle for everyone of course. But then we rinse our cutlery in a drum of water where everyone else does. So we’re just passing the germs around. And we joke that the water is the basis for the next days stew anyway. No wonder they’re all getting dysentery and the shits in this place. Apart from the flies that sit and shit on our food as well.
17th January 1942
If we’re not unloading the ships stores we’re on guard duty or digging bloody trenches and weapons pits. Not that we’ve got too many heavy weapons or machine guns (MG’s).
More planes landing, some Wirraways, which are our Australian planes.
We went to see Oldy in hospital and he looks pretty crook. The Doc say he has malaria from being bitten by mosquitoes. Geez we’re lucky we all don’t have it then because we’ve all been giving the bastards our blood.
We got some frozen meat for dinner. Better than what we get from tins I guess.
18th January 1942
Plane arrived loaded with rifles, bayonets and equipment.
The natives are about camp trying to sell coconuts or offering to wash our clothes. They say ‘short a bob’ or ‘shirt a bob’, so we think that’s what they mean! Its fun trying to work out what they’re saying and we all have a laugh, them too. Many of them have their faces tattooed and their ears and noses mutilated with holes. And they all wear their bright coloured sarongs.
19th January 1942
Still unloading at the wharf.
Charlie’s back from the RAP and he’s got his colour back. Said he couldn’t keep anything down for 2 days and then finally he could have some soup.
20th January 1942
Arty Ward from platoon HQ is sick with a fever.
Captain Eaton our company commander has been sent back to Australia as unfit for tropical service. We’re not surprised because he must be pushing 50 and when we’ve seen him lately, which is not a lot, he looks sallow and burnt out. The rumour is Lt Timmons will take over the company and that’s good because he’s well respected and we all like him.
Wireless reports of Japanese landings at Rabaul, an island north of here.
2100 we heard a plane and scrambled out of our beds, grabbed our rifles and took off for the drome. They had word it was one of our bombers coming in so they lit flares on the drome but no plane landed. Maybe it was a Jap. Everyone’s a bit jumpy with what’s going on Rabaul not too far from here.
21st January 1942
Spent the day digging and filling sandbags.
Intel section has done another recce of Tupuselei Head, south east of here on the coast.
Notices up about pilfering canteen stores, supplies, ordnance and engineer stores and civilian property. Heavy penalties will apply. Too late! We’ve already nicked some stuff that we’re using in our tents and mess tent to make it more comfortable.
All of us have lost a few pounds, some more than that. With the shit food we’re getting it’s no wonder. Plus a good dose of the squirts tends to shave off the weight. Sometimes we only get rice and a bit of tinned beef. It’s not enough to keep going on, especially when we work so hard during the day.