Australians at War Film Archive

I was born on the 19th of August, 1917 in Windsor. My father was away at the war and I didn’t see him until I was two. I grew up, on his return – in 1919, we

moved to Caulfield where I lived until the Second World War. I went to Caulfield North State School. And the local church, and had a pleasant childhood although with memories of war. In 1937,

I’ll go back a bit, I attended Caulfield North Central School, became dux there and then went to Wesley like my father on a scholarship. I changed careers – choices – while at Wesley, and decided to become an actuary. I joined the militia in 1937 and I was a sergeant by the time the war broke out.

I was in the 2nd Medium Brigade and was seconded to other regiments for particular reasons. The 15th Field Artillery Regiment. Later I returned to service with the Mediums

but in 19 – I was commissioned in 1940, too, I was transferred to the 2nd Field Artillery Training Regiment in Puckapunyal, later moving to Greta. And I tried to get into the air force at one stage, but the war took an unusual turn. I

was – people were competing, well I was competing for where to serve. Although I tried to get into the air force I finally was transferred to Melbourne to become a ballistician in the last two years of the war, helping to make range stables for the short 25 pounder gun. During the war, in September ’41, I married and had

a wonderful marriage lasting nearly 54 years. After the war I resumed my actuarial studies and qualified; I became manager of the Collective Insurance. At the age of 60 I was

approached by the government and I became a consultant actuary to the State Superannuation Board, working there until I was 70. In the meantime, three lovely children had arrived and they’re grown up with their families. And although I suffered from serious illness in the 1990s

I am still have plenty, so much to be thankful for today, of all the families and friend – all my family and all the friends I’ve made. I think that’s about it.

My early childhood was in fact very tragic for my parents. When I was only about 3 weeks old my mother received a telegram and later confirmation that my father had been killed in action with the 60th Battalion at Polygon Wood.

A fortnight later, oh my mother was absolutely grief stricken; there were obituary notices in the paper. And then she was informed that he was alive.

She never really got over it. As I say, my father who returned home and resumed his civilian life as an auditor. But as I grew up in Caulfield, there were pretty constant reminders of the war. The

with my father I visited the Caulfield Military Hospital and I can remember the sounds of the moaning, the sight of the crutches, the smell of the chloroform. When I was 5, and I started kindergarten and school and also church and Sunday school,

which I attended regularly for years. And there was another reminder, the minister, the Reverend Hugh Burns had lost his own son. And that son was the author of the very well known poem, The Bugles Of England Are Calling On The Sea. I had a happy time at Caulfield North.

I emerged from obscurity the first time I announced dux of the form, not that that made me any more popular, because I can remember because I put my hand up so often and so frequently, I’d get a jab in the shoulders and – “Ando the Dictionary” and “Teacher’s Pet!” However, I

won a scholarship to Wesley which was the same school my father attended, despite our Scottish ancestry. And I had a very interesting time at Wesley. It was a time of swotting mediocrity and academic achievement. I grew 8 and a half inches in two years,

10 and a half inches in 3 years, which made me the tallest boy at the school. But not much of a ruckman, although I had a rare sporting triumph in the Wesley junior crew. I was also in the debating and dramatic society. And in 1933,

I managed to beat Rohan Rivett to become dux of year 11, got your name on the honour board and all that. And this turned out to be a very significant event in my life. When my father was at Wesley he was friendly with a Campbell who

became a maths master. And later moved to the T & G [insurance company]. And he happened to be in Melbourne at the time. And he saw my father and me with my pile of books and he said, “What are you going to do with the lad, John?” And Dad said, “I don’t know, something academic, he’s good at passing exams,” and Mr Campbell, “Don’t let him be an academic, let him be an actuary.”

So I said the fatal words, “What’s an actuary?” And, I decided not to go to university but to become an actuary. The first time I sat

I failed and I couldn’t believe it, but it was correct, I was placed in a very different league, where the pass results where half those of university. So I settled down to harder study. In 1937, I joined the militia. And by the time the

war had arrived, in fact the very month, I was promoted to sergeant.

Yes I do. And to his dismay,

the first words I said to my father were, “Take that man away, Mummy,” which must have been very disappointing for him. That was when I was two.

It’s hard to say but I was virtually in all female company for the first couple of years of my life.

I adjusted to him but he was rather, he did suffer from war nerves, as I later learned, and he was rather a stern parent of the ‘because I told you so!’ variety. But he was a good parent and it was

a very good marriage between my parents. My, oh incidentally, I had a sister born in 1922, my only sibling. I mentioned joining the militia in 1937 and in 1938 came another major event of my life.

I, at the T & G, I formed a friendship with a Jeff Holt whose people owned Tudor Court, a big reception place in Caulfield. And when his mother was away we would get on the phone at the T & G and hurriedly organise a party. Which Graeme Bell and his band would play for nothing until they had had too much to drink.

And we played chariot races around he ballroom. It was despite my barely studying, and I emphasise that my course involved 10 years of part time study, do it yourself, after work. In spite of this we had our share of fun, and on one particular occasion. Another member

of the group who was in the university high school lacrosse club team, sold me some tickets for a picture night at the Athenaeum Theatre in Collins Street, Annabelle and the Winds of the Morning. In the foyer of the Athenaeum, he introduced me to a fellow member of the team, a Fred Watt, who introduced

me to his cousin, Ellen Halt. This was love at first sight. She had been an angel on the float that day and I, things never looked back from there. We got engaged in Easter 1940, married in September ’41, half way between Hitler invading

Russia and Pearl Harbor. Going back now to my army career.

Surely. We made our own fun a lot.

There was free cricket and I joined the, joined the scouts.

I joined the scouts which was quite an outlet and I played, well very little sport in the 20s but in, will I get to the 30s?

You want more about the 20s. Well, we had no car. And no phone. I can remember the arrival of the crystal sets [radio]. I can remember learning to do the Charleston in 1926. We had the evenings around the piano

and family gatherings in the garden. It was time when you had holidays with relatives rather than go away. And I enjoyed Caulfield North Central School. We could move to Caulfield Park for our various games.

And overall it was a happy settled childhood. You got to know most of your neighbours in the street and family gatherings and picnics were quite the order of the day. I can even remember getting to Charlie Chaplin films, and serials at the

theatre on a Saturday. There was a variety of entertainment, but by today’s standards it would be, pretty quiet. I also inherited from my father a love of reading. And I

found life was very full and interesting. I can’t think of much more of the 20s.

Oh yes. I certainly can remember the fashions, the revolution from pre war. The flapper fashions, the short skirts, the

flat chest, and in particular I can remember the Charleston. Because as I said we learnt to do it, we would roil up the carpet in the front room, put on the old 78 record and kick the heels up. It was quite a dramatic change in women’s dress. And I can remember in my autograph, one of my naughty uncles had written –

“Half an inch, half an inch, half an inch shorter, go the skirts of mother and daughter, when the wind blows, each of them shows, half an inch, half an inch more than they oughter.”

Yes, yes. We would tinker with it to get the right tone.

I can also remember on the crystal set the cricket and the simulation of a ball hitting the bat. And when a wicket fell, they would yell out, “Rickety Kate, Rickety Kate!” And they tried to do their best to give you a simulated broadcast.

I don’t remember listening to serials much. I was more into the more serious programs, but I can, well, Blue Hills came much later, but what I can remember very vividly and I did enjoy so much were the sing songs

around the piano. I mentioned earlier about being dux and one of the reasons was I was gifted with a pretty photographic memory. And I can remember the words of hymns, scout songs, Vaudeville songs, army songs, and I learnt a lot

from my mother and we really did enjoy the sing songs around the piano. I remember singing the Desert Song, the Goodbye Song Of The White Horse Inn, they were the – it was a very pleasant community occupation, singing around the old piano.

My friend once

said to me, “You’ve got a great memory for songs, John, but what a pity you can’t keep in key.” You’ll have an opportunity to judge that, I intend to sing something to you.

Very much so. We played street cricket, and there was hardly a car to disturb us.

And we really, a lot of the kids in the street went to the same state school and Sunday school that I did and I can remember vividly the street cricket and the trucks. We’d come down the hill, sometimes the breaking arrangements weren’t too good times

but that was quite a common, racing down the hill in your trucks and playing street cricket, and yes, I knew at least a dozen kids in the street, yes.

Oh it was quite, it was quite mixed, just moving along the block, there was a

two doors away was a Methodist parson, the person next was Mary Mack, who married a Colonel Gillespie at the church, who was a famous singer. I lived – further up the street was a Bill Stride, who became manager of the Commercial Bank. There were the –

another bank manager immediately opposite. Two people who had shops in Hawthorn Road, and there was, the best batsman of the team, his father was a butcher. And the, another member had the ham and beef shop, as they called it before, delicatessen. We were quite mixed and

it was a friendly street. And I can remember one lady, we called ‘Little Ray of Sunshine’, because she was so quick to dash from house to house with the latest bad news.

Oh yes,

there was certainly gossiping. And getting back to the 20s again, I can, when I consider my poor mother, on washing day, the, it was just the old copper, fuel stove, the clothes lifted out and put painfully through the ringer. The bath heater was lit by paper and

we, the, as I mentioned before, refrigerators, we had a Coolgardie safe. It was nothing like the range of modern conveniences we have today.

Oh but yes, the green grocer came.

And I can also remember, and this was fairly racist – the, you took your collars to the Chinese launderer, “Cheeky chonkey Chinamen, vely vely bad”. And they were quite racist rhymes. We were not free from racism in the 1920s.

“Chinkey chonkey chinaman, vely vely sad”, no I’ve forgotten that one despite my boast. But oh yes, “Mr Woo, his naughty eye flickers when he is ironing ladies knickers, Mr Woo, that shall I do”. I remember that one.

Yes, and one was the – quite a tragedy, he had been a surgeon, he’d been at Wesley with my father, and he’d seen some awful action. And some malicious kids would rattle a wooden, a stick over the wooden fence and

it resembled the rattle of a machine gun, and he would throw himself down on the ground in cover, terrible thing for the kids to do. And as I say, there was another serviceman in our street, that was Colonel Mackenzie. And at my church there were certainly servicemen,

some who later rose to high rank in the war. But the memories of the war did affect – and they were around in the 1920s.

Took me to Caulfield Military Hospital, were some of his own unit served. And that was the reason I went

with him and I mention the memories before. And I must also say this in the 1920s, I mentioned earlier that my mother never really got over that terrible experience. And Dad would march off to Anzac day which he would put proudly in his diary. And I have vivid memories of Mum looking out the window with a very sad expression. And

Dad was keen on his smoke nights as they called them, his regimental reunion, as he was on the school one. No, the memories of the war were quite strong in Caulfield.

Yes I have, excellent. And I can parallel the experience quiet a bit as a – I thought it was excellently written, and of course some of that is in the very era I am talking about –

Yes, that’s right, I had a similar experience there. It was a very good book.

I mentioned it before, but I rather dreaded going, the moaning

in particular. And I am repeating myself, but the moaning and the crutches and the chloroform. You were aware of the damage the war had made. In Caulfield particularly, being so near that hospital, yeah.

Yes, oh yes. And people on crutches, yes.

Yes, the gas was terrible, that’s right, yes.

Oh yes, my father had very good friends. People he worked with were some of the nicest friends. The Auburn family

my father had become a public servant before World War II. And we would visit them in Hampton, and they had three girls, a boy arrived later. And the whole family would play together as an orchestra. And, let me be frank about this, I was brought up in some anti Catholic sentiment.

With a Presbyterian background, and recent memories of Mannix [Catholic Archbishop], and I can remember how admirable and how likeable this Catholic Auburn family was. So that did me quite a lot of good. He was about the closest friend, but there were other ones from the office, that we saw occasionally, including a Colonel McNamara who was associated with the regiment I joined with.

I can also remember, not quite the same thing, Dad introducing me to ‘Pompey’ Elliot, how thrilled I was.

Pompey Elliot is a famous Australian general who was renowned for, highly efficient, and was renowned for saving lives. And he was adored by his men. He became a senator, the party and later committed

suicide, it was very tragic. I’ve known more than one returned service person who committed suicide. My Dad had a particular regard for him.

Well I’ve got even more than that, I intended to mention later but I will mention now, is that I was interested to hear Dad talk about the war. But I

only had an incomplete grasp of what had happened. In that two years, or more that they were separated, my mother and father exchanged 200 letters. Which I have used in my own family history. And I will be, I’ve showed Barbie where later on I worked as a genealogist. And

unfortunately I wasn’t able to read the letters while he was alive. And they added just so much, I didn’t realise, whether I tell you know or later, my father’s brief career. But I did know some of it. Will I tell you about it now?

I

met my, my father went to Wesley in its hey day. And there were wining all the boat races. And he joined the cadet corps. And that was of service to him, he enlisted in September 1915, did the course at Duntroon. He

left on the Miltiades in 1916. Had a long spell of training and, before finally getting to France. And his Polygon Wood experience was quite amazing. He kept a diary and it accords very much with the diary of – Bean’s official account. And he went for a week without sleep,

with actually cut off, the severity of the German attack, and he did survive and he was later made brigade bombing officer in the big August 1918 breakthrough. And he was highly regarded by his troops. And

he was a very patriotic proud man. He recorded with pleasure that he had shaken hands with the Prince of Wales. And he had the most stirring patriotic account of the King reviewing the troops. And I did pick up from him another relative, I got some ideas of the horrors of trench warfare. And what

they had to put up with. It gave me greater understanding of, Dad had a bit of a temper, but I did have some appreciation of what they had been through, yeah.

In 1977. We are getting a shade out of order, but it doesn’t matter. I

will tell you right now. I mentioned my mother, never really got over it. And in the depression years, she had a nervous breakdown, it happened to be on holidays, and I looked after her and that’s where I learned how to cook.

And I didn’t see much of my parents in the war years for pretty obvious reasons. And my mother died in 1946. And my father just went to pieces, I got him the best psychiatrists in Melbourne. And we had electric, convulsive therapy, and

it did no good. And he spent 31 years in bed at home being looked after, with a nervous breakdown. When he died in 1977, I was able to, I found among the archives, a suitcase with 200 letters from World War I, years after. And they were so – such a revelation.

Oh yes I knew, I’m like my father, he was a hoarder and a recorder. And I knew he kept a diary, which I do. And – but I couldn’t ask to see it while he was alive. I’ve had so much material that I

decided to write a family history. So that’s how all that finished up.

He told me that very hectic week in action, and the night he that he was reported killed, half of the officers in his battalion were killed. I remember him telling me that.

Later, when he wasn’t well, and I had this project in mind, I would try and get more information from him. Sometimes he’d stop and say, “What do you want all this for?” He was going to die, so sometimes I didn’t get more. Dad told me how

well the boys marched. “I was proud of them.” He told me about the Anzac Day marches. He didn’t talk often. Mum wouldn’t join him in those conversations. But over the years, I did have some appreciation, not a full

appreciation of what he had gone through. My mother would visit Geelong, to be near him in the camp. I got some news from him, yes.

He had incredible difficulty getting his car license. He kept failing. He finally got it in the country, so we had very little to do with cars. The other thing, not so much war nerves, but as I read in his diary, later, that it was

partly caused by the war. But he would rarely lose his temper with me. I remember getting the strap, and I remember my mother’s concern, and my own, he would sit gasping, his face all red,

the veins in his neck contorted, with the anger, and I think some of that was directly connected with his medical condition, the war nerves. He certainly suffered. And my very cheerful uncle, who was invalided out because of meningitis and he

commented that Dad won a so-called ‘Rhodes Scholarship’ from the Eagle Hawk State School. How very much Dad was a leader. He was a prefect. And how he organised battles on the slump heaps and muck heaps. He was full of life. I can remember he was a pretty serious person. He didn’t smile very often, and I think that was due to the war.

And he had difficulty in completing his accountancy exam. All these, I think, were residues of the awful trauma he went through.

I have copies of the telegram, the

arrival and the obituaries.

A fortnight later. She went through hell. She refused to open the door after that. Because the clergyman would deliver the telegram.

And also, she had an extremely painful and difficult birth with me. I was so big and tall, as a baby. She had a

very lonely couple of years. She lived with her sister part of the time, then by herself. They lived in St Kilda, my parents met in St Kilda, the Presbyterian Church there. I wasn’t aware of it, but I do know that she, according to her friends, had some of the liveliness, the laughter taken out of her as well.

Her letters were absolutely tragic, really. “John, I went through hell.” They were very

much in love. The letters were absolutely tragic. As I say, she nearly died. She went days without letting people come into her rooms, at times. She went through hell. All of this affected my later life.

She did say, to my wife, “Start out how you mean to finish.” She said, “I gave in too much to my husband. I was so glad he was alive.” And Dad was an exacting man.

My mother, like ninety percent of her generation, only had a primary school education. And Dad’s father was a storekeeper, and he was an auditor, and Mum was required to keep fortnightly records of all their expenditure. He was sort of a master as the house; I’ll put it like that. They loved each other, but she

was in a secondary role there, yeah.

I can remember sobbing. “Are they ready yet?” A little “No.” But he didn’t berate her at all. He had a strong voice.

It’s quite a digression. I told you I clashed with my father. I have a rather strong voice. Being a gun sergeant and the other, and young bull, old bull. And I can remember on occasion, it was quite daring, something with my Dad, and I suddenly at the top of my voice I roared at my father “I can shout louder than you!” And I could.

Dad was a little bit military in his – I can give you an example. He told me to turn my soup plate away from me and not to me. I said, “Why?” He said, “Because I told you.” And a little bit later I said, “I just found

out why. There’s less chance of spilling. Why didn’t you say so?” “Don’t be insolent!” In other words, master of the house.

He was an authoritarian, yes. This was right.

Yes, that was the reason why.

I quite worried him with my questioning, because I was reasonably well read and informed, about the time of Franco [Spanish Civil War], and some of the others. I had a good knowledge of history, and a good memory. The papers were a bit one-sided

about that and other conflicts. The sheerest questioning of anything in The Herald was not for Dad.

Very much so. When I was five, I started going to church and Sunday school. It was every Sunday. Grace at the table and I mentioned

earlier about Hughie Burns in The Sun. I had a strong Presbyterian upbringing, and all my early social life was connected with the church. The church socials, the church picnics and in due course I became a Presbyterian Sunday School teacher. I still am

a believer. You believe more and more as myth and less and less as truth. I did have that upbringing. After the war I taught for some years in Bible class. I enjoyed the hymn singing. There was a fellowship

in those more settled times. I’m thankful for that, I’m thankful for that.

Yes, very much so. In fact, we were rather too strongly

anti-Catholic. It the adjacent street, there was a St. Aloysius Church, with a grotto. We regarded that as sheer idolatry, and things like that. To start with, if I found out a girl wasn’t a Catholic, I wouldn’t go out with her again. Later, I changed my views. That church flourished.

Caulfield grew so much in the ‘20s and ‘30s. It flourished. Football teams, cricket teams, many night activities, which I didn’t share, because such success as I may have achieved was mainly due to hard work and after. I did value, and the people there. They encouraged your attendance.

The anniversary was a big deal, you probably heard all this before. The church was a pretty strong social point in the ’20s and ‘30s.

Well, by exchanging taunts, by exchanging stones, even. ‘Proddy dogs – it’s like frogs – ’ I had an extreme example, because of the Orange Lodge. My

mother’s mother was in the female equivalent of the Daffodil Lodge. Even on my wife’s side. And some of the songs they sang, the Orange songs, were absolutely terrible. What you can do with the Pope and others. I can only remember – the priests were a bit frightened of them.

We had a rare Catholic in the street. My mother and sister had a common school for a while and then she was brought away when they had to take a candle for Mary a particular day. So the street was virtually all Protestant, and mainly Presbyterian for whatever reason. St Stephen’s Church was built. I went there in 1922, when it was

just a very small church. And they built a much bigger one in the 1930s, when I was married. But even there, in the sermons there at times, there would be a reference. Sectarianism was quite strong.

I can’t remember a single one. There was Scotch descent, Australians, one Irishman. It was overwhelmingly Protestant, and I can’t remember a single ethnic in the street.

My immediate family benefited by the Depression. Others didn’t, and it made a lasting memory on them. My father

was a public servant, and we lived in a timber dwelling, built before World War I, in Caulfield. In fact, we moved in 1934 to a better brick home. My mother’s three brothers, like her father, were all builders. And one

of them was fortunate enough to get a secure job, in the Depression years, as a maintenance carpenter. The other two, in the ’20s, went into spec [speculative] building. And built quite a big home in Lumeah Road, Caulfield. They had a racehorse. They were caught, they

moved out of the house to save on money, they rented these small premises, they were unemployed nearly three years. They suffered terribly. The same thing happened to three cousins of mine who would vainly look for work. Whereas our family were, in fact, better off.

Dad’s salary was cut ten percent. He instituted very rigid economies, but in fact we were better off, because prices fell twenty percent. As far as I was concerned, I was at Wesley, receiving an excellent education. There were five hundred at the school, twelve or thirteen absolutely top class teachers.

Our family actually benefited by the Depression. But some of the stories were absolutely tragic, among people I knew. The evictions. The tenants would be evicted from a particular place, and others would rip the palings off and other things.

My uncle would go rabbiting. My unemployed uncle would go the Prahran Market to fill in time. There was genuine distress and misery.

They absolutely were. They would come to the door, trying to sell matches and

offer to do some work. They’d go rabbiting. And in some cases they didn’t feed themselves adequately. I can remember this particular cousin looking for work, for so long and then later I found in recovering family letters, there were loans made to help tide people over.

It was a very long period. And a very sad, bitter period.

It was the bitterness among the wharfies. Lined up like cattle and organised jobs.

There was secret prostitution, that came to light later. These things were much looked down on. But there were a lot of bitterness at the time – “Why should the country have

got into such a mess?”

Yes. That was rare, but we did have that. Certainly there were no such things as school excursions.

Our family didn’t suffer, but I can remember walking the three miles from Caulfield to St Kilda Beach to save a thruppence. A lot of that went on. Rabbiting in particular was quite common. It was everywhere. People would go the fruiterers and ask for any ‘specks’ –

speckles. You’d get your fruit for nothing. And what people also did, these were the days before the full sewerage, there were back lanes, and you’d climb the fences and prick fruit. That was during the Depression.

Well, there would be fruit trees growing on the back fence on either side,

and those lanes would give poor kids the opportunity to climb the fence and pick some fruit.

“My father is a night man, he works down in the pit, and when he comes home late at night, he’s covered all over with – sweet violets, sweeter than all the roses, covered all over from head to foot, covered all over in – ”

I remember singing that one.

“– shit!” Sung very loudly.

Yes. The ‘sussos’. They got a certain amount in a bag, a certain amount of sugar and flour. I didn’t have a direct experience with one, but I remember them being talked about.

None that I knew of. I knew an interesting one that affected my career,

I knew about this later. The boulevard, part of that was pick and shovel, by sustenance workers. I mentioned I went Wesley, where the maths master knew about actuaries. In fact, a particular one who had the influence on my career,

and among the Wesley boys that he taught, there was a Huntley Walker. Huntley qualified as a Bachelor of Civil Engineering, in 1930. The general manager of National Mutual, car was travelling on the boulevard, it skidded. And the head foreman of a gang, a pick and shovel gang, organised to go on his way. And

general manager of National Mutual was rather impressed at the daring, and said to Huntley, “What are you doing here?” He said, “Well, I qualified as a Bachelor of Civil Engineering but I haven’t been able to get a job since.” The National Mutual manager said, “Come to my office on Monday.” And in the fullness of time Huntley Walker became the general manager of National Mutual. He was a susso worker. He was the only direct susso worker I knew,

and he was a very fine bloke. We became very good friends.

We had people come to our door, strangers, looking for work.

I don’t know any – as I say, some of my cousins went looking for jobs. I don’t personally anyone who did that. No-one among my immediate acquaintances.

Yes, men would come to our door. But we were

a mildly posh suburb, it was growing. And in our street we didn’t have the extreme poverty of some of the others.

No, but I had a hell of a lot to do with rabbits in the family history.

It was a major thing in our lives. Helen’s grandmother, at the age of nineteen, lost her husband in a mining accident. He fell down a hole.

My cousin’s in the rabbit business, brought up the child. He was called Jack Paterson, and incredibly he became, in today’s terms, a multi-millionaire.

His son, he had two sons, and one became a partner with Helen’s favourite uncle, who won a Military Cross in the war, and they struck the early refrigeration, and they became immensely successful with a chain of rabbit stations. They exported a million rabbits

in the year of the Korean War. Helen would have been a major beneficiary. A combination of myxomatosis and an absolutely honest owner, who took down the uncle, and we got virtually none of that fortune. I’d certainly visited the big freezing works and rabbit stations.

We did reasonably well with our own career, anyway, so I know a lot about rabbits.

Only in company with the battalions in the prisoner of war camps. I didn’t personally go rabbiting, apart from that occasion.

No to us. Not to our door.

Oh yeah. It was the ‘brown mutton’.

Yes. We ate a fair bit of rabbit. It was cheap.

I went to Wesley in 1932, I would have fourteen or fifteen.

I’ll tell you about Wesley, because it was such a wonderful experience. As I say, I went there on a scholarship. There were excellent staff. The English master was AA Philips, who invented the phrase ‘cultural cringe’.

Some of the teachers had even been there in my father’s time. I really enjoyed it from the start. I really liked learning. I found the company invigorating, and I worked hard. I got dux.

In 1933, I managed to beat Rohan Rivett. He was extremely well known. His father was head of CSR [Colonial Sugar Refinery]. His grandfather was Alfred Deakin. And he was famous

for the Stuart case, in the 1930s, where as editor of the news, a young Rupert Murdoch supported him, while this rather outspoken editorial about an Aboriginal called Stuart, who had been unjustly found to guilty. Then he was dumped by Murdoch and became, effectively, secretary of the international press institute in Zurich, later after the war.

But going back to the war years, Rohan went on to Oxford, which I would have liked to have done, but didn’t. And he became a war correspondent. He spent several years in Changi, and he wrote the first really good book from his notes. It’s called Behind Bamboo. We were rivals at school,

there is no way around it, but we became friends a lot later. As I say, I managed to beat him and get my name on the honour board and all that jazz. Did I tell you about Campbell?

And said to my father, “What’s the lad going to do, John?”

It sort of circles around there.

Oh yes, well I’ve been asked that question, because they were so rare. When I started studying before the war, there were just so few of them. There was no university. You had to do it yourself, arduous part-time study. And you sat

for the Institute of Actuaries in London. Now the actuarial course was a mixture of mathematics, statistics, finance, modelling, projection, smatterings of law, smatterings of medicine. The larger institutes and insurance companies would employ actuaries to ensure –

You had to make predictions about future interest rates, and we did have investments as a subject, so there would be enough money on hand to meet the future claims. You would inform the board of the expected number of claims. And that, as I say, involved finance and mathematical projection. The need for the smattering of medicine was this, that if someone was not in

the best of health, you had to know enough to know how much extra to charge them, or what debt it would impose on their policy, so that they were treated fairly. That involved having big volumes of medical – it became important in court cases later. The profession had a reputation for

conservatism. In fact, sometimes we were called the ‘Abominable No-Men’. We were unpopular with agents, in knocking back their cases, but it had a high reputation and a level of integrity. After the war, when I finally qualified, there were only fifty actuaries in Australia and New Zealand. There were about two

dozen in Victoria, in Melbourne. Half of them were imports, and the rest mainly came from a coupe of schools where the masters knew about them. Very strong friendships were formed. In the fullness of time, I became president in 1969, and I’ve maintained a close association since. It’s continued to grow.

I mentioned earlier, it’s maintained that high standard with the school, the Macquarie, in Melbourne. There are well over a thousand members now. It still expands and it still has that reputation of offering sound financial advice and future projections.

A very big cultural shock. It was a school of strong tradition. Particularly of singing. The Adamson was a legendary headmaster. He was there in my father’s time. He was there thirty years. He wrote songs himself,

and we sang with pleasure and vigour, the school songs on a Friday. There was a very strong, spirit de corps. Wesley had fallen a bit behind, and was having a sporting revival. In fact, the cricket team were champions, four years running. Most unusual.

We had three test players, including people I knew well, Ian Johnson and Sam Loxton. And two Shield players. We would turn out to watch the team at practise, with the fielding machine, it was bit like an inverted boat. It was absolutely the thing to watch the cricket. We took pride in it.

With the small number of the school, I sort of participated. Now, I’ve held the view, and still hold it, that sport gets too much recognition.

“The Bugles of England were calling all the sea, as they had called a thousand years, they were calling now for me –

And how could I say no?” It was at certain Anzac Day services. It was well known, back then.

So many of the officers came from public schools.

Oh yes, I’ve seen marches as well. They were occasions of very strong emotion –

the gathering together. It was rare for me to see it, before the war. And my regiment does not march on Anzac Day.

I will give a brief history of it. It was quite a story. I joined the 2nd Medium Artillery Brigade, with six inch Howitzers and sixty pounder guns, in Argyle Street, St Kilda. It so happened,

the guns were too heavy to use in Port Moresby, and other places. They changed later to six inch Howitzers and sixty pounders. I was with the regiment only part of the war. But no-one got out of Australia, until one battery landed in Balikpapan, three days after the Japanese surrendered. So,

we can’t march there. So I watch the march on television. I watch that each year, of course. Like some of the others, the Armoured Division, they didn’t get out of Australia.

Definitely.

Rarely.

In his wartime diary he records how well they marched. He took pride in the Anzac Day marches.

I knew a few. My favourite uncle served with the

ambulance in Palestine. He emerged relatively unsafe. He got the job through the job through the Depression as admittance. Because the same commanding officer – he was a shockingly heavy smoker – the person who built this house, I mentioned to you, that he had a plate of

steel in his forehead, and one blind eye. He was definitely damaged by the First World War. Helen’s uncle, the brother of the one who built this house, he developed Parkinson’s [disease]. But he was a very strong character. He seemed to emerge relatively strongly. The answer is they were mixed.

Some of them seemed to have survived very well. Others I could see definitely the damage. Those I knew well.

I can understand the patriotism of the time.

We were a different country to prove itself. But the surge of patriotism in that war, particularly after September 15, it wasn’t quite the same at the beginning of the Second World War. It was a war that needed to be fought. The Second World even more so.

I think people were justified in going to war, at the time. But I thought the Second World War, if ever there was a just war – to stop Hitler. I thought that was well worth it, yeah.

Oh yes. Dad was definitely a hero. They were very, very brave people, to face the odds they did. No, I admired their courage and sacrifice, some of it needless. I respected them.

Yes.

We had the concept of a just war. Some of the wars in history, and I’m reasonably informed of them, were

not just wars, but I did have a fairly good concept of a just war.

Yes.

I was reasonably well read. I was subscribed to the left book club, that my father did, we were reasonably well informed. That’s why I joined the militia in ’37. I had the ominous feeling that

something bad was happening. The appeasement – I felt that we could well be in danger. I had that sense of foreboding. Being reasonably well informed on Hitler and keeping read, yes.

I favoured

the Republican side. Partly religious and partly a bit left wing. I knew very well someone that was in the innocent and fought in Spain. I felt that mistakes had been made, in

supporting Franco too strongly, and not intervening. The way they allowed Franco to overthrow a democratically elected Republican government. These views my father regarded a bit cautiously. I did have that foreboding.

I came later to befriend three Jews who fled the advance of Hitler. But that was the reason.

That’s right.

I was impressed by his skill as a politician. Selling himself to businessmen, selling himself everywhere, his calculated oratory. The irony of the Horst Wessel Song:

“Make way, make way, here come the brown battalion. Make way make way the storm men are here. Upon the Swastiska, the millions gazed with longing. The day of freedom and bread is near.” I can sing some certain songs in Germany, actually, but we were not of aware

of the extent of Stalinist tyranny. It was concealed, but there was considerable foreboding. I went to Wesley, which had a bigger proportion of Jews than others. We had some early forecast of people coming. I had a sense of foreboding that Hitler was a pretty effective damn operator, yes.

There were. They came later.

When they built the synagogue. The Presbyterian church that I went to, absolutely flourished with two football teams, cricket team. I played on the same team as Doug Read, incidentally. There might have been hundreds in the Sunday school. It got down to a Sunday of zero. In other words, as people moved out, the Jews

moved in, so they could walk to their synagogue. It became very Jewish, yes.

I’m sorry, I’m mixed up. These homes were sold after the war. We were friendly with a Jewish family who lived in Carlton.

I knew some Jews who had fled, pre-war. I did have some contact there. But sorry, all that was after the war – I didn’t go back to Caulfield, once the war had ended. I came back for a while. But I wasn’t really in touch with it. I’ve had quite a connection

with a number of Jews. Two of my daughters married Lap Jews.

Horst Wessel was killed in the street fights between the commos and the storm troopers, the brown ones. They had the clean big clean up. The night of the long lives.

I know some other German songs and French songs, because I was interested in them.

Yes.

I didn’t know personally. But

people in the paper would express admiration for the discipline in his Germany. There was a fairly strong pro-Hitler – in the sense that it let the Bolsheviks and the Russians and the Germans kill each other. But I didn’t know personally. Despite my conservative background, my wife’s family was Labor.

This was quite a culture clash at the beginning. So I didn’t have, among my friends, strong conservatism.

He did, too. The autobahn and

he mobilised the defensive joy. So much of what he did, the same as Mussolini, was good for Germany, it really revived trade, it encouraged investment. He did a lot of good things. This was the point. There’s some so good in the best of us, and so much bad in the worst of us. In my time, I’ve seen the gas ovens and things, in travels, and it’s been pretty horrible.

You heard of Peter Singer?

Well, I had quite a connection with him. Possible future son-in-law at one stage, without going into too much detail. He worked on animal liberation, and I happened to know the family quite well. He’s written a very good history of his grandfather,

who was an associate of Freud and Jung, and he ended up on the gas ovens. I have first hand contact with people whose relatives perished, horribly.

It’s not true.

Among my friends, it was more of a suspicion of him. The early tales of the gas ovens were disbelieved

because of the fraudulent propaganda of World War I, about the soap factories. It just seemed too horrible to believe. And gradually the horror of it emerged. I’ve known someone who was in Theresienstadt when they put on that great theatrical performance. You’ve heard of that?

There was a mounting suspicion as to what was happening to these trainloads of people. The Theresienstadt was sort of a transit camp, and it was a horrible hoax. The people were starving. They put on a great theatrical performance.

They painted everything up. They were sent away to death, the less healthy looking people. They had shops, they had amusements, they had these little girls trained to say, “Rap again tomorrow,” things. The Red Cross visited and was very impressed. They used the film for

a long while, it stalled suspicion as to what was happening. All those people, within 48 hours, that took part, were on the trains on the way to their deaths. And someone I knew perished in that.

A public relations hoax. Very effective.

Yes. I can remember Noel Counihan. He was a left wing cartoonist, and he was speaking for free speech and he had a baby and he had it in a cage, in this ministry

so he couldn’t be arrested. He was a Communist. I also knew somebody who was very left wing for a while, and he really changed. That was Graeme Bell, the jazz pianist. I knew him at T & G. He went overseas with the Eureka Youth League.

It was quite funny. When they farewelled him at T & G, he said, “I know it is customary on your farewell to say nice things about your employer. But T & G is a greedy capitalist – ” We still gave him polite applause. I have suspected, but I haven’t know anyone directly, who has said, “I’m a member of the Communist Party.” But I’ve known pretty left wing people.

Yes, so the people wouldn’t rush and arrest him. That definitely happened.

I hope the cage is right, but certainly holding the baby, they couldn’t immediately rush and stop him spouting Communist propaganda. There were a lot of left wingers. Uncle Joe Best and all that. The Communists were relatively strong.

I’m just trying to think – At Wesley, one of my minor friends

was the son of JJ Brown, he was a very nice, very polite Communist. He sent his son to Wesley. I had occasion to deal with the Communist leader, elsewhere. A lot of them very were nice idealists. Others were just sort of sucked in.

Yes, down at Yarra Bank. I’ve been down there. I was quite interested to hear the opposing views. Noel Counihan was in front of the clocks at Flinders Street.

Yes.

I think when they marched into the Rhineland and no-one opposed them. That was the first warning. The war weariness. The Oxford Union

debating under no circumstances would this house fight for King and Country. There were obvious signs of war weariness; they could be interpreted that way. Being, as I said, relatively well informed of history, I decided to make that decision, yeah.

Yes, I think I heard it on the radio. At home. I remember my mother’s expression, changing.

Fear. She turned white with fear. Dad was serious, I felt serious.

Yes, well the first impression was a bit like that of the

First World War. A feeling that it wouldn’t take long. Earlier there wasn’t the same trepidation that later emerged with all the events.

No.

No, I didn’t feel that it would be over quickly.

I felt it was a just war.

I had some apprehension, yes.

Well, my father encouraged it. He was a very patriotic person.

I felt Australian should be protected. There was an element of patriotism in it. I’d always been working very hard in study; I had a week’s leave. But I had been to the drill team on Saturdays. The training was a bit of my time. Argyle Street, St Kilda, we went to. And we’d have

firings down at – I joined with two of my best friends. There was a lot of camaraderie. Most of them are gone by death. I’m still in touch with fellow officers. It was quite an experience.

My two closest friends.

One I knew for over fifty years. His people had a holiday house at Frankston, which was very handy. And another one was Jeff Holt, his people owned Tudor Court. We joined up together, but he was found B Class. He was going to be my best man. Of all of the irony, he was the only one to get killed. He got killed at Alamein.

But having joined, fellows officers that I’d met, very enduring friendships. Death has taken most of them. We’d taken holidays together and we kept in touch. A great feeling of camaraderie, yes.

I just went along to the drill hall in Argyle Street, St Kilda. They took down our particulars. It didn’t seem to be particularly dramatic. Someone else wanted me to join

something with horses. I didn’t want to. But we had bandoleers, we looked quite ridiculous. So I decided to join the artillery. We just went along and joined up.

Yes.

Yes.

No. A friend wanted me to join a unit with horses. I’m a bit frightened – I nearly had an accident with a horse back here, before. The heavier guns were towed by C Track tractors. I didn’t want to join the horse artillery.

We had a week’s bivouac at Broadmeadows, the gun drill, and I can remember recording how rapidly the butter disappeared, the first day in the mess.

I’m an impractical person, in that I’m good theoretically and so on, so I ended up more with that side of it. Much of the training was monotonous, just repetitive gun drill, without ammunition. We did have some ammunition. The route marches was monotonous.

I had difficulty keeping my step to the others. No, it was a break.

Oh, reasonably well. It’s rather curious that I started the war seeing so little of my unit.

I was the junior on actuarial department, T & G. Everyone except the supervisor was in the militia. So I was not allowed to go to camp, and I spent a very pleasant month in the coastal artillery. The gun pit down at Queenscliff. There was twenty four hour manning of that.

Then, we were in the militia, in three months, out three months. I wasn’t allowed to go with my own unit, so I took advantage of those first three months to sit for the actuarial exam I had been studying for. I had passed the two previous years. So I sat, but the papers were sunk by the Germans.

I spent the next three months with 15th Field Brigade. They were twenty five pounders. For the next two years I was a survey sergeant, then a survey officer. We were in the Balcombe area. Surveying chain men, the mathematics

Did a lot of mapping and it was a pleasant outdoor life. Back to my own unit as survey sergeant, survey officer.

Not final.

I did my actuarial exam. I was part of the way through, and I passed the two previous years, there was about six passes, and these examinations were sunk, the papers were sunk.

1940. I was commissioned in 1940. It was memorable for this particular reason; I went to the Commonwealth Clothing Factory,

where my uncle worked, because it was cheaper, and there was only one other officer there, being measured. I had afternoon tea with him. He was Don Bradman. I chatted away and he took very weak tea. That’s something I remember quite well. As I say, I was commissioned in 1940.

I think so. I thought I said that earlier. But yes, this is part of the thing at school. I had a row with my father. There was a particular Wesley song – “Not too smart at books, but couldn’t call him slow.” I said to Dad that wasn’t a good role model, something like that, and he just couldn’t understand it.

I still thought that. I’ve always kept myself fit. But I was forty years without seeing a league football match. That’s not bad. No, I’ve maintained that.

Yes.

I met my wife in 1938, but maybe you want to leave her till later.

Yes.

Once the war started, you’re talking once the war started in 1940. Up until 1940, it was only the week’s bivouac at Broadmeadows. You didn’t get much time away from the office.

We could all see the reason for it. I adjusted reasonably well to it.

There was a lot when I got to Greta. As a sergeant, I enjoyed

the camaraderie of the sergeant’s mess. I enjoyed the community singing. One particular occasion, the Regimental Sergeant Major McMullen had the nickname of ‘Choppers’. I heard that, but I didn’t know until I became a sergeant. He was terribly strict. But he spoilt the effect

by having his upper dentures on the table beside him. That’s why they called him Choppers. But no, I remember very enjoyable nights in the mess, singing ballads. Here’s To The Gun.

“Here’s to the gun, the eighteen pounder gun, the dull side is marked for director, and here’s to the shell that will blast them to hell when it bursts with appropriate corrector, so drink gunner, drink, let every gunner drink, to death and to hell with the Prussian, we will blast the bloody Hun, while the shells are in the guns of the British and the French and Russian.” That’s one of the cleaner ones.

I joined out of choice in 1937. The compulsory call-up for the militia came in 1940, a bit later. They had all these reinforcements as they expanded, tremendously.

We had the call-ups as well. I joined in ’37.

The 2nd Medium Artillery Brigade.

I was interested more in artillery than infantry. I chose it mainly because it didn’t have horses. We had tractors to tow the guns.

Argyle Street, St Kilda was where the drill hall was, and that was where we had our weekly parades and things. On the camps, the bivouacs and that, we did some firing down at Boneo, then to Broadmeadows.

It was a mixture of gun drill, familiarity with the various weapons, the range finder, the parts of a gun itself, the use of range tables, and general training

on military matters. We did a lot of mock firing, then we did some real firing, and we had to be pretty perfect on the various gun drill. One sees that the boys are clear…whole lot of things like that. It was a mixture of –

I found the theoretical stuff, the surveying and that, much more interesting than the others. A lot of it was pretty monotonous.

A mixture of patriotism, I would think, and even an element of getting another week away from my very hard –

Remember I was doing something every night. All my study was done part-time. Mainly between three and six o’ clock in the morning. I’m not kidding. A friend of mine put me onto it. He said, “Why not be tired in the firm’s time instead of your own?” So I started to improve after that. You’ve heard about owls and fowls, haven’t you?

I’m a fowl, wake up bright and early, but they fade earlier. Whereas owls, my wife was one, can last longer. And I found I could go to bed about eight o’ clock, with time for stories with the kids, wake myself up, study from three to six in the quiet light, go and have another quick nap, then off to work.

That’s why I call myself a fowl. But I found it a lot better, then. To work a full forty four hour week and then average fifteen hours study on top of that, it was pretty demanding.

Of those who joined up, there was a variety. Some joined sheerly for the money. We found some people who were unemployed, and they were glad to have the extra money. There was quite a mixture. There was unemployed and also professional people, bank clerks. We were in the Caulfield/Brighton area,

quite a range of occupations there.

Yes.

Artillery was a more decisive – from the time of Gustav von Bohlen and that, it had quite an effectiveness as a weapon. It was destructive power, compared to the combined one of the infantry. You’ve probably heard the song, We Don’t Want To March For the Infantry.

“We don’t want to march with the infantry, ride with the calvary, dig with the engineers, we don’t want to fly over Germany we are the ‘tillery, we are the ‘tillery – ” and so on. Yes, you’re right. We felt we had a certain prestige.

A little bit of it, yes.

Very much so.

Yes, a middle class area. Predominantly Caulfield and Brighton.

Partly, yes.

There was certainly a sense of elitism about officers. What I’m getting at is when I did arrive at the mess, we were virtually all public school.

Wesley, Scotch, that sort of thing. Bit like the First World War.

The effect was of the artillery in 1918. Those breakthroughs, apart from tanks, the artillery was an effective weapon.

That’s right.

Yes.

I felt that the failure to stop Hitler earlier, and allowing him to command a legion and all the practise that he got in Spain. And I felt that Hitler was pretty unstoppable.

I did feel that it would only be a matter of time. I was influenced by the Left Book Club books. I had a pen friend in Czechoslovakia and all correspondence ceased and things like that. I did have some foreboding that it would come.

Yes, I did. It was partly my religion, but it was also that I did have the feeling we were helplessly drifting towards another war.

I was a strong Presbyterian, which was pretty anti-Catholic. I can remember –

You’ve heard of Bob Santamaria. Well, one of my fellow officers was editor of The Catholic Worker. In fact, I’m still in touch with him. Someone else I knew, there was a debate in Australians, ‘for Christ our King’.

There were terrible atrocities on both sides in that Spanish Civil War, but Franco committed a great number. I did have some sympathy for the Republican cause.

Oh yes. And the rotten way that the Russians behaved.

I had met him, but I met more his parents, who were my wife’s parents. I knew of him.

We were called up but, and this was quite significant, I was the junior on the department and they were all, except for the old supervisor, they were all in the militia except me,

and they couldn’t all go together. So instead of going with my own brigade, I had to wait a month and I spent it with the coastal artillery at Queenscliff. Then the same thing happened again. I couldn’t go the next three months camp, and I sat for the exam. Then I went to the 15th Field Artillery Brigade, surveying, and then I finally got back to my

unit later. And then after that, until I left there was a period when I was with my own unit.

That’s right. I had a month, more or less, instead the fort, with the artillery there.

Everyone had to march the new gun drill. We were twenty four hours. We were sleeping in the pit there itself. We had exercises, things along the town. There wasn’t much to describe in the way of training.

You had the basic twenty four hour manning inside the fort.

That’s right, and some of the friendships have lasted to the present. I mentioned Tom Butler, we formed very strong friendships.

It was a very happy time there.

‘Chockos’ [‘Chocolate soldiers’]! No, I can understand. It started off with the anomaly of paying the militia more than the AIF.

That didn’t worry us particularly. After a given stage, when the war broke, quite a number of officers left early. Then we were forbidden to join the AIF, for quite a period. I took a long while to join the AIF, with all that background.

Well, the division were that the AIF could be sent anywhere, the Chockos not. Then later it was extended that the Chockos could be sent to New Guinea.

The son of one of my bridesmaid’s was in that terrible – that first onslaught of the Japanese. Some of it was friendly and some of it wasn’t. It really varies. Some people thought it was duty to enlist immediately and go, and others, they were more cautious. It wasn’t the same surge of patriotism to enlist as there was

in World War I.

I’m probably not in a position to say, but a lot did join the AIF just for the money, because there unemployed or things like that. But I’m not in a position to generalise there.

No, I became a sergeant the month war broke out, September ’39.

When I was with the 15th Field Brigade and back in my own, I spent two years there, survey sergeant then survey officer.

A survey party. A chainman, a theodolite,

thumb nail sketches. We tediously mapped and covered a lot of country, and much of the area around Balcombe and elsewhere. Maps for use. The work was useful and more interesting, in fact, than gun drill.

I felt, and it was confirmed later, I felt that Australia would be in great danger. The Japanese and that. I agreed with Curtin, in not having the troops diverted.

I had very close friends who, with a very short amount of training, were killed very early in Singapore. And I felt that we needed to keep more troops at home; I felt that quite strongly, and it possibly influenced my career.

Yeah.

Oh, the way they were behaving in China, and their sheer efficiency. They were the Germans of the East. They were highly sufficient people. I visited Japan. And their brutality, certain connections – I sound a bit of a prophet,

and I’ll digress slightly, is that when Russia in the war, Menzies confidentially predicted that it would go through them, like a knife through butter, and the war would be over. I took a few shilling bets to the contrary that it wouldn’t. My father was most embarrassed at my wedding, the padre sent a cable, “On to Minsk.”

I say it myself, I think I was better informed on events then a lot of other people. And I did fear the war was coming. In other words, I’m pretty strong on military history, name all the periods. I was very interested.

The Japanese started with Manchuria, the Rape of Nanking. Our provo marshal, a very good whisky companion who had distinctions from Princeton, Shanghai. He had been right there. I felt, going back to Port Arthur and – I did feel and did say so,

to people at the time.

No, I didn’t know enough about the guns in the wrong direction, and all that. We were no. We were not given the whole story about Singapore. The thing was

a real tragedy. The white man did have a superiority. He felt in that region. I lost very close friends, some by death. I also met ‘Weary’ Dunlop, incidentally, fete at Melbourne Scotch.

Two of the people who worked for me, that were POWs [prisoners of war] there, they marched in on to keep each other close. I found fairly close connections. We were just amazed, horrified and frightened.

Oh yes, a real sense of uncertainty. The efficiency of the Japanese fighting machine and –

I was expecting them to do well, because they had done so well. Like the Germans, they were thorough, efficient people. My word they were. I much prefer the Chinese to the Japanese, having visited both, but nonetheless, I respected their efficiency.

I respected Hitler’s efficiency in deploying what else he did. They were very efficient in many ways. My word they were.

I was a sergeant when war broke out. I was commissioned in 1940.

We were in various places, they moved around. I was at Queenscliff in the first month of the war. Then from May to August, I was

at Mount Martha with the 15th Field Brigade. Back in August ’40, I went to Nagambie Road. We had periods away. Then from May ’41 to December ’41, I was at Balcombe. I was with a school. Then, when war broke out, we were moved hurriedly

to first Dandenong, then we went to the Western Port Bay, where we dug gun emplacements, and I was surveying for it.

I’ll read a brief bit from the very brief history of my regiment. Heading – “Sherry for breakfast. Whilst on a survey at Merrick, Jock Anderson spent a night sleeping on pine needles, over gnarled tree roots, and woke up stiff, sore and very cold.” We only had our ground sheets. “He was regaled with a crystal glass

of golden sherry served on a silver salver by the property owner, who said it beat hollow, the rum and condensed milk from the night before.” We were very unprepared for the war. I was sent after that, I was at Grovedale for a while. Grovedale was German Town during the First World War. I actually climbed the top of the Lutheran church, to survey the area, with the aid of the Lutheran pastor.

German Town, I think.

They were virtually all gone.

Most of that was in the First World War. But they were suspicious of newly arrived people from Austria and elsewhere. For example, the Singers had to report regularly. Yes, there was some suspicion.

Not German Australians. Austrian Australians, not German, no.

Yes. I knew Zelman Cowan of course, we exchanged visits. And he wrote a very good article on pogroms, I can remember that. He was about the closest of the people I knew. Not many.

We’d entertain ourselves in the mess. We also worked after hours. You’ve heard of miniature range? Miniature range was for officers, and we would duplicate on a very small scale the effect of our artillery. In other words,

when you were going for target, you’d sort of bracket your bit beyond, and they would pull out a distance and they’d put a long rod with a little puff of smoke on it. We actually worked as well, after hours. But some of them were going to bed early, some of them stayed in the mess and drank too much. The mess, in both the officer’s and the sergeants,

there was quite a camaraderie and plenty of singing. That was fun.

Oh, all sorts of songs.

There were songs with both the bawdy words and non-bawdy words. Like Roll Out The Barrel came from Roll On The Chariot, which was a hymn. There was a very well liked one call Abdul The Bulbul Amir.

\n[Verse follows]\n

“The sons of the prophet were brave men and bold,\n and quite unaccustomed to fear,\n but of all the most reckless of life and of limb,\n was Abdul the Bulbul Amir.\n If they wanted a man to encourage the land,\n or shout hallelujah in the rear,\n Then they eight ways sang out,\n for Abdul the Bulbul Amir.\n

‘Young man,’ said the Russian,\n

‘is life then so dull,\n you’re wanting to end it right here?\n For infidel know you’ve trod on the toe,\n of Abdul the Bulbul Amir.”\n

The rude version is that they have a contest, in doing the rude thing.

I don’t think the family would like that to be heard, but we used to sing both.

You’ve heard of Hitler’s Only Got One Ball? You know that one?

\n[Verse follows]\n “Hitler has only got one ball,\n Goring has two, but very small,\n Himmler has something similar,\n but Goebbels has no balls at all.”\n

You’ve heard it now. Have you heard about the legend of German housewives, prowling about the war?

\n[Verse follows]\n “Thanks to Hitler, my stocks are littler, thanks to Hess my profits less,\n

thanks to Goring, I’ve gone whoring, thanks to Himmler, I’ve done similar.”\n

That’s rude. We used to sing things like that, too.

And some of it wasn’t funny. Have you heard of Colonel Puff?

Well, this

was a silly game. You see, I’ve always been a moderate drinker. I’ve never been drunk, I don’t enjoy drinking. It did go on that a sergeant would see how much he held his liquor. I know on my business trips, there were attempts to get me drunk and I just resisted. Going back, Colonel Puff, you had to recite a certain amount and

if you made a mistake you had to start again and have a drink. And of course some people had far too much. It was not one of the good games. But there was far too much drinking. I had a fellow sergeant wheeled in, absolutely paralytic. Even with a slightly warmed up snake in his beard, on one occasion. There was too much drinking.

It was part of the culture and with some fear ahead, definitely.

Oh, partly boredom, partly fear. A mixture of emotions.

We were immediately rushed down

to survey the gun pits. The whole thing became very deadly serious. Well, it was serious after Hitler did – right back to Hitler invading, the war became much more serious from May 14 onwards. And Pearl Harbour and the Japanese. There was a certain grim reality about it, and we really worked harder.

They were excavated, so we could put our heavier sixty pounds – in there. They needed heavier gun emplacements, and I helped with the mathematics of it.

Oh, Merricks, opposite Cowes.

Around Western Port, Hastings, places like that.

No, this was for real. They wouldn’t have been much good, but this was after the Japanese came in.

In preparation, oh yes.

Well of course, I was

away from them so much, but reading Dad’s subsequent diaries, he was just dismayed at Hitler’s quick advance. Dad was actually becoming depressed, I didn’t realise that. A bit of dismay and disappointment. He’d gone through it all and here it was again, and we don’t appear to be winning.

I think we started to call it World War II. The use of the Great War, that gradually vanished and it became World War I –

Just ‘the war’ for a start. Just ‘the war’.

Dismay. Hitler’s triumph, he did a little jig. It was so incredibly –

they were so fast and so efficient. Real dismay that there was such a fight in the First World War and it fell so quickly. Dismay.

No, Singapore was the greater shock to us.

I met a survivor from Dunkirk. He was lecturing us on particular things

Dunkirk was almost a partial miracle. The events from then on were hardly believable for a start, and then we realised what an efficient army we were up against, yeah.

None, no. I predicted at the time to my wife in letters fairly well. I felt

we were up against very efficient fighting machines in both the, not the Italians, both the Germans and the Japanese.

Are you going to come to my stay at Murchison Camp, do you know about it? Oh the Italians –

I’ve always enjoyed foreign food.

With all my other problems, I’ve never had a bilious attack in my life. When my stern Scottish aunt, when I had a glorious four and a half month trip around the world, with lots of letters about good food, and I used to chase up – When I first got dux, my father took me to an Italian restaurant in Bourke Street, to celebrate. And I talked food, I was interested. I used to go to a couple of the Italians and get occo bucco here and pesto there.

reasonably well informed. I liked it. The Italians that I knew were friendly people and I enjoyed their cuisine.

Oh, I thought the treatment of Ethiopia was absolutely appalling. It was increasing dismay. Hitler and Spain.

Mussolini, and the other side seemed to be winning. But personally, the few Italians I knew, I was quite friendly with.

Yes. They didn’t have shoes for their feet. They used poison gas on them. They treated them very poorly. They were atrocities.

Mussolini committed atrocities in building his Italian empire.

Yes.

Oh, partly through the public library and I was more interested in these foreign affairs things, yeah.

Well, all you’d do is – it was a small part of our training. You just put on gas masks and went into the chamber to see if everything worked. It wasn’t a big deal.

No.

Oh, yes. There was a fear they might use it.

Oh, this was quite funny.

As officers, we had to censor the mail, and cut out bits that should be cut out, and sign that we censored it. It was quite funny, they put on the back S W A L K.

‘Sealed With A Loving Kiss’. And another thing they put on the back was B O L T O P. ‘Better On Lips Than On Paper’. You’ve reminded me of the humour of it. A particular chap was two-timing with two different women. He was married. And he would blame his officer, me,

quite inaccurate stories to explain why he was with Girl A that weekend, not Girl B. He knew I censored the mail, and he – I knew he knew. But no, we were trained what to cut out.

Any reference to your location and details about your weaponry and things, oh yeah.

That’s right. It was.

Oh, yes. And the Catholics would put S A G. ‘St Anthony Guide’. That was funny. Even in the things that I’ve preserved –

My wife destroyed my war-time letters. I kept hers. And I can see her name cut out.

Oh, it’s hard for me to say. But it was accepted that there was a need. You’d treat, it was indicated as confidential. If somebody said nasty things about you, you did nothing about it.

Yes, well what happened was I was transferred to from the mediums to an artillery training unit, where I lectured on the use of the directional range finder, I lectured on weaponry and more

the science of gunnery. We did treks; we did a lot of training. Then I moved from there to Greta, which was probably the most interesting part of the trip. I hadn’t been long

with the training regiment, when I had my interesting episode at Murchison. Well, I found this a most interesting theory. You know about the POW escapes there?

What happened was that a large number of Italian

and German POWs, were in the Murchison camp. A matter of a thousand. And very separately for the Italians and the Germans. They were being guarded by the VDC, the Volunteer Defence Force [Corps], which were a bit of a Dad’s Army. And then it hit the headlines about April ‘42, about Germans escaping in a tunnel. And a number of us

from Puckapunyal were rushed over to assist in the guarding of all these prisoners. I was chosen to be orderly officer on the first muster parade. Because at six foot five, I was an inch taller than the German sergeant major, and he would have to look up to me. And, at this stage, their

morale was sky high. It was very memorable this, I slowly did the muster parade. And I looked behind me, in the setting sun; I noticed several little pools of clear saliva. Showing their contempt for us. That made quite an impression. And

in the officers’ mess, they had been presented with a drawing of the officers regarding themselves, and down below the Germans, who didn’t really escape, they were in the tunnels, joking about it. Now I spent quite a time there. I had the opportunity – I’ll start with the Germans,

the contrast between the attitude of the Germans, who were so keeping fit and very fervently organising their escape tunnel. They would accidentally drop some timber in front of the eyes of somebody watching, a bit like Colditz, they systematically and very cleverly built a very big tunnel. On parade, the Germans would be

ung tung, hands straight by their side, very confident. I spoke to some. “You are kaput. It will all be over by Christmas.” Most of them were from North Africa, by memory, and a few of them were from the Kormoran. On the other hand, the Italians were friendly. We would go out on a sort of a picnic. They were allowed to march.

They would sing opera on the way and chase rabbits and cut thistles, and they were happy to be out of the war. Going back to the Germans, they sung better than we do, the Germans, I’ve actually been in Germany. And my favourite hymn was Glorious Things of Thee Are Spoken by it was to the – do you know the Austrian National Anthem?

[sings in Austrian and German]

They were quite impressive. I also go the opportunity to talk in slow French to an Italian medical officer, who was commended by the British. He had been in Bardia and others. I was able to learn a little bit about the war, too. But I found the whole experience, meeting first-hand some of these people, and confident they were about winning the war.

Absolutely confident. It was quite an experience.

No, I was a bit scared. I became confident a bit later – Did you know that I had a poem published in early 1943.

It was called the Russian Road. It had three verses, and the first verse was about the Mongols and the Tartars. The second was about Napoleon, and the third went like this – “Another corporal raised his arms, and on his masses came,

they left a trail behind them, of hatred and of shame, a weary road, dreary road, a road and woe, through summer’s dusk upon us and winter’s sleeping so, a muddy road, a bloody road, a road that runs with red, the road that led to Stalingrad, the grave of German dead.” They published that.

That was early ’43.

That’s right. My poem was to celebrate that fact. That was the ray of hope. That’s why I wrote the poem. Stalingrad was the first ray of hope.

And then, of course, I saw plenty of the Americans. When they came in after Pearl Harbour, things looked better for a while. But, as you know, they took a while to turn back the Japanese tide.

I was orderly officer, who does the muster parade. The troops were

assembled to see if they were there. Just called an orderly officer. As a matter of fact, I also visited Dhurringile, which was a stately home, with towers built in the 1870s, where the German officers were housed in quiet luxury. No, the whole thing was an interesting experience.

Oh, beautifully. They lived in a stately home, the towers –

Yeah. It’s called Dhurringile.

It’s a really beautiful stately home, with towers and gardens. They were treated very well. They were treated very well.

Well, of course they were the ones I saw in the camp, but their morale was fine, as I say, and they were telling us the war would be over by Christmas. But they were indoctrinated. Those Hitler years,

the Hitler Youth, they were very indoctrinated. They believed in – and they had very good grounds because for so long they’d had an unbeatable leader in Adolf Hitler. So it was quite an experience.

Oh, yes. Mainly from the Afrikan Korps. I had friends who fought there, at Bardia –

As you know, Rommel was pretty highly regarded. We had a lot of respect for the Germans as a fighting person.

Well, very little. We hardly saw the previous people because of the disorganisation. I only had a brief background that the Germans had to be watched, with other officers with me, of course.

No. They were glad to be out of the war. They were singing these opera songs. They didn’t want to be there in the first place. They were very happy to be farm labourers and things like that. They were not a war-like people.

Oh, they were conscripts. I don’t how many of them of them were regular. But these continental armies were conscripts.

This Italian doctor, who got commended by the British, he was a very nice person. I saw quite a bit of him, and chatted with him. I use the words slow French advisably, because I happened to speak French –

he didn’t speak English, I didn’t speak Italian, so it was a quite a slow conversation, to make each other understood. But he was very interested in getting things from the Italian side.

He was rather against Mussolini.

Basically, this African Empire – He seemed to be, I wouldn’t say left wing, but he certainly wasn’t an outright facisti. As I said, we couldn’t exchange very much words.

For treating British wounded. I learnt that later.

I couldn’t answer that. He was there as a medic-aid. We didn’t spend much time together, but I found him an interesting and likeable companion.

It had been going on for months before they discovered. It had electric light and – it was a bit like Colditz. They had done the same sort of thing, very well organised escape. And when the Germans had allegedly escaped, they hadn’t, they were just in the tunnels underground.

Colditz was the famous Allied one in the Second World War. It was a film. A number escaped. My European history master at Wesley was a Kroger.

He was the father of Michael and Andrew Kroger, and he was a famous escapee from a POW camp. Of course, they shot him. They were pretty ruthless if they caught them, in most cases.

I came back, and it continued much the same. At the end of the year, I heard news that we were going to move to Greta, and I volunteered for the air force. I had preliminary talks in Melbourne. We then moved to Greta in April and I actually

continued, coincidentally so much fitted in with my career – Have you heard of the met balloon, the meteorological balloon? I was trained in that, but you would use a slide rule with four cursors and you would follow the flight, and this thing in geoscopic winds. So I had training in weather forecasting.

I was rejected for the air force, but they were to appoint me as a pilot officer in the administrative and special duties section, with that in mind. As I say, I did all this training, and it came later to be quite useful. But before I got to that stage, I had a very interesting

assignment, briefly. It was quite exotic. You’ve heard of Greta? It was a very big POW camp. The camp commandant was a member of the Adelaide establishment and quite eccentric. The object in training was to make a person ‘draft priority one’. They had to have certain information and they had to have

all their equipment. As one of the healthiest times of my life, I would lecture more or less on the mathematical subjects. We also had big treks in the area. When the first draft had been completed, it was a custom to hold a formal mess to celebrate and get a fresh start.

So I attended this formal mess, and I noticed with a bit of interest, that the colonel had a revolver at the side of his plate. Then he suddenly called out “Sutherlands aloft!” And all the Sutherlands jumped and hung onto the rafters. I jumped a fraction of a second later, and someone else was slow, and the colonel picked up the revolver and fired – a good distance away from him,

but fired a shot through the roof. I’m not joking. The same colonel, on another occasion, and I say there was too much to drink at camp. A lot had been drinking fairly heavily, not me. The colonel barked orders

that they were going to play rugby. The stoves were the goals and there was a heavy ball, he was barking orders, and he told me, “Five eighths!” And I said, “Sorry, sir, Australian rules – ” And they started to play. One officer got his coat singed, they broke a fibro walls. It was incredible,

some of the things that went on with eccentric officers. And while I’m on the subject, and referring to your earlier comment about the secret army man, the previous commandant was Major De Groot. ‘Slasher’ De Groot, who on horse back galloped ahead of Jack Lang to cut the ribbon to open the Sydney Harbour Bridge.

He was in the New Guard, who was, in the 1930s, the same ‘secret army’ business. They were prepared to take over from him and the Labor Government. He was apparently a very strict commandant. So strict that, there used to be around the army camps hungry dogs, hanging out for scraps.

They said, “They treated us like dogs.” So they let the dogs into his kitchen. I’m not joking. It was a different world. While on this, there was another RSM [Regimental Sergeant Major] story. I was mediocre at sport, at school, but later

I tried everything hard. I won a couple of best and fairest cups for hockey, well the second one was on a depleted team, largely because I didn’t smoke and I tried very hard. I was also a basketball player, because of my great height. Anyway, we were playing hockey. They organised all these competitions for these big camping areas. I was playing hockey, and the referee had been an Irish International. Have you heard of under cutting in hockey?

Under cutting is when the ball is angled, and you make the ball leave the ground, which can be quite dangerous. I was once hit on the head. It is an offence, and I did it inadvertently and I think this has got a management philosophy echo, and he blew the whistle, pointed at me and said, “If you do that again, I will cut your blooming head off!”

“Sorry, sir.” That’s got a moral. But I found it a very interesting time. Anyway, towards the end of my time with them – my time with them started to elapse, and

I rejoined the Medium Regiment in November, ’43, at Helen in Queensland, where they had only recently arrived, having been in the West. I had been separated from them, and to my surprise, I had been there a very short time, when I was paraded before a Colonel Forrest, from Melbourne.

And he told me I was being transferred to Melbourne to become a ballistics officer. I said, “I’m sorry, sir, I’m going into the air force.”

To cut the story short, I was transferred to Melbourne, and it was the most interesting and from the point of view of my future career, a very helpful experience. My title was quite a long one. I replaced a very competent chap who was being sent

overseas, and I was to join in the calculations for the short twenty five pounder range tables. Before computers, what we did – This involved

going to Port Wakefield, at the top of the gulf, and do trial firings. Send up the met balloon, make decision to where – the tide would go out two miles and you could bring your bicycle, and you would observe the shots. Coming back, we would do the calculations and

by quite a coincidence we were situated at the prep school for Wesley. Wesley had moved out in the war years. The colonel was from Cambridge and it was a mixture of boffins and – we worked very hard before computers.

And you know the story about how it was taken to bits and dropped –

Well, they couldn’t use our artillery, or virtually any artillery on the Kokoda Trail because of the mud and the slope. The short twenty five pounder was designed in Australia and it could be taken to bits, dropped by parachute,

put together again, and that helped stop the Japanese on the Kokoda Trail. Only recently, it is getting the sort of publicity that it deserved. I wasn’t part of the heroic war but I was part of the team that did the calculations for that, because of my background was partly being an actuary and also an artillery officer. However,

it was called the proof and experimental section. They used statistical methods to prove ammunition – do you know what I mean by ‘prove’? You either took the whole batch or you didn’t do it, using certain statistical criteria, and I found we were overwhelmed with work. There were so many other jobs; there was no question of my leaving. And this chap returned and we still – mortar trials – Have you heard of the hollow cone?

Well, can you imagine an explosive that has been hollowed out internally, like a witch’s hat and it concentrates the force – it was used in Europe by partisans, who could suddenly run out and put in top of a tank and it could go through twenty four inches of steel. This was a great concern to my father-in-law, who was in the Victoria Safe Company,

did an enormous amount of work for the thing. We’d choose whether this ammunition from that could be used in American ships. We worked long hours. We had a whole lot of tasks because there was a need, with the advancement of technology on the other side. Why I was lucky is that other people who started the actuarial course, they either – some were killed, and some were just too exhausted

to continue with the effort, so – I had a long break, examination, but at least I had the old grey matter [brains] going again. I will read you this quote –

many years later, in the official war history, Australia in the War of 1939, the chapter, ‘The Role of Science and Industry’ by DP Miller included, “It is pertinent to ask whether war brought any change in the general position of Australia, in relation to the design and development of armaments. With few exceptions, such as the Owen gun, the Vickers trainer

and the short twenty five pounder, little had been achieved in the way of new designs during the war of ’39 to ’45.” I’ve added that I was glad to have some use in connection with that. It hasn’t had the publicity deserved, partly because of MacArthur, the way he always hogged the publicity. I actually once saw MacArthur and Curtin talking to each other. That was interesting. It was quite a significant thing

in helping to stop the Japanese. It’s getting more recognition now.

That’s right, Enigma. And I knew a bit about that, too. Yes, I had

another actuary friend who was actually decoding in the navy, but that’s not to do with it. It was the computers in the end. You might know this. Partly the way they chose the team, apart from boffins who came from Oxford and Cambridge, was to make some difficult cryptic crosswords and get the people who did those. But no, I found the story of Enigma fascinating, and it had

so much to do with women in war. Absolutely. That was really marvellous. They let Leslie Howard be killed rather than betray the – Yes, I was interested in that.

Of course we didn’t. There was so much we didn’t know at the time. You learn so much later.

Oh, it would have been a decade or more after the war. They really kept it a long while, yeah.

Yes, the unit – It moved through Forster, training there, then it moved to Western Australia. They had a very long time in West Australia, which was pretty isolated. They only moved back from West Australia the month I arrived in November of ’43. It wasn’t until, as I say, May ‘45

that one battery actually left and arrived in Balikpapan three days after the war ended. They spent a lot of time training and training and training.

The mediums? Yes, I believe they were an efficient unit. They had very good officers, and five officers got into Who’s Who. No, they had some very good people there.

That would be July ’42, they were given the transfer. Something of that order.

I remained a ballstician for the rest of the war, and in 1949 they offered me a job in Woomera, which I didn’t consider for a moment. But I remained a ballstician for the rest of the war. My interstate trips were mainly to Wakefield, but I spent quite a bit of time travelling as well. I was very lucky –

to be recently married and near home. You can see what I mean.

Well, I think after Midway. That was where they sank the Japanese aircraft carriers. The Yanks took a while to organise.

I started to be hopeful, then. I did predict reasonably well, to my wife, in letters, that it would take a while. The Russians did so much to win the war, and they suffered enormous casualties doing it, as you well know. But the combination of Russia and America was just too much for the Germans. And I started to be hopeful.

I was very familiar with Communism, I read a lot about it.

Socialism, the two different definitions –

socialism never really had much of a go. The people who declared the ‘International Brotherhood of Men’, all voted to go to war pretty rapidly, when war broke out. I knew well the story about Lenin and how much the Bolshevik Revolution was financed by German money.

As I say, my wife’s people were Labor. People, on the whole, didn’t go around saying “I’m a Communist”, though some may have been. But we didn’t know, at the time, the true brutality of the Stalinist regime. And, at the

open air camps for example, the officers and the nurses would sit in the two front rows and the whole of the audience behind them was chanting the anti-VD [venereal disease] film, Are You A Soldier and Give The Glad Eye A Go By, every time Stalin appeared on something it was ,“Good old Uncle Joe! Open the Second Front now!” And when I was in Greta, the local radio

station, 2CK Cessnock, opened the news with the international. So I knew bits about Communism. I think one of my fellow officers would have been a Communist. I took a fairly keen interest in it.

No, I wasn’t the orderly officer the whole time. I was appointed the orderly officer the first night – other officers took parades other nights.

It was only at the beginning. I wasn’t orderly officer the whole time.

Yes.

They quietly spat to show their contempt for us. It was a deliberate

sign of contempt. That is what they thought of us.

Yes.

Yes, very quietly. I didn’t hear it. I only suddenly saw it all, and later talking to my fellow officers, we realised what it was all about. It was a sign of contempt for us. That was the point of the story.

Oh, they really were – much of my impression of how keen they were on the war, how they fit they kept themselves, how arrogant

they were. They kept themselves beautifully fit, they exercised, “We’ll be out soon,” all that sort of business. We had respect for their attitude. They were tough, fighting people. You had to accord them respect. The Germans were a very efficient military race. I’ve always thought that. Right

back to Frederick of Prussia.

Not that I know of. They may have been. Certainly there were examples of later with the Japanese prisoners of war, where there was retaliation for Singapore. And even in the First World War, sometimes they’d surrender and they’d just wait until a few more

machine gun bullets came, Dad told me of that happening in the First World War. This was the point, there were atrocities committed by both sides, in both world wars. But by the Japanese, far more. You know about the kneeling prisoners and tying them up to stakes for

live bayonet practice. There’s some pretty horrific stories of the Japanese.

Yes.

I think it was because they hoped that our officers would be accorded the same treatment. Each side held prisoners of war of the other. I think that was the motivation. Officers got treated better than men, I was lucky enough to be an officer most of the war.

I started the war with a batman, who darned my socks. It’s hardly believable. There was quite a gap. In the Australian Army, the gap between officers and men were not as great as in either the American or the British. We weren’t into the saluting as much, but we certainly were privileged people, in our dress and how we ate, in that sense.

Very good, yes. We were quite comfortable.

Oh, a reasonable variety of food.

We dined better than men, we had a mess allowance, for food, as you know. The dried eggs wasn’t much. We did reasonably well for food. As I say, my memory’s not too clear on it. We’d turn on a good Christmas dinner, of course. But not, we did quite well.

I just can’t answer that one. I know the Italians caught rabbits and they cut down scotch thistles

and they used them in their cooking.

Yes, I returned to Puckapunyal for the rest of the year, and into the next year. I moved to Greta in April of 1943, and I stayed there until November, 1943.

I lectured on the use of various weapons, the directional range finder, the artillery weapon. I was into the calibration of guns. We also conducted treks out and about. We had compass marches.

We had some field training as well. As I say, gun drill, weapons, a bit on tactical exercises without troops. It was a varied program.

You had something on wily thought as well; you had a little bit of indoctrination as well.

They had a very good magazine called Salt. It was issued by the Army Educational Corps and it gave a

a very balanced view of the war, and why we fought. You’ve heard the old joke about military intelligence, a contradiction in terms and SNAFU. ‘Situation Normal – All Fouled Up’. The papers were not particularly

reliable about the war. When people are winning, they can be truthful and when they’re losing, they’re not. We had a lot of gaps in our information, but the Salt gave a better, more balanced account of the war than you would get in The Herald and other places. And that included why we fought, which was good.

On Monday I’ll Walk Out With A Soldier. You know that one?

“ – on Wednesday I’m out with a little boy scout, and on Thursday – ” and it ends up – “On Saturday I’m willing, if you’ll accept the shilling, to make a man of any one of you.” They’d march forward and get the King’s shilling, you know about the recruiting and the King’s shilling? That was part of that song.

I sang a bit before about the British, French and Russian. And of course, the other side had songs, too. You know, CJ Dennis about Australian soldiers, Blokes and Coves and Coots.

It was something to the effect – I can’t remember particularly. It was a recruiting song written by the farmer CJ Dennis, “Soldiers of Australia, blokes and coves and coots, put your uf’ing boots on – ” It was urging them to go to War. I’ll Walk Out With A Soldier.

That was a definite recruiting song, but no, that’s beyond me. Land of Hope and Glory was used as recruiting song.

It’s not a national anthem, but it was partly used in recruiting. “Land of Hope and Glory, Mother of the Free, How shall we extol thee? Who are born of thee. Wider still and wider,

shall our bounds be said, God who made thee Mighty, make thee Might yet, God who made thee Mighty, make thee Mighty yet.” That was partly a recruiting song.

Yes, that’s right. But we used English songs. We sang God Save The King.

We introduced the news of the British grenadiers and things; we were very English for quite a while. Whereas as Kipling’s Recessional, God of Our Fathers Known Of Old, when you analyse it, it was such a jingoistic song. “God of our fathers known of old, Lord of our far flung battle line, beneath who’s awful hand we hold,

dominion over palm and pine, Lord God of hosts, be with us yet, lest we forget, lest we forget.” That was written by Kipling.

Pretty proud of it, during the ‘30s, and I do say this still, the British left their Empire better prepared for self-rule than virtually any other nation. People like the Portuguese and the French, they were racists, but they did make some attempt to,

Not like the Spanish and others, and the Africans, who left virtually no middle class to carry on. In India they did train the punka wallahs and that. I can’t agree with all their gunboat diplomacy, but as a colonist – And when you look at it, four centuries of European looting running the rest of the word, I think the British compare reasonably well. In other words,

I felt that.

No, as Australian.

Of course, my background is not English. My background is Scottish, both sides. I’ve been a member of the Melbourne Scots,

we sing about ‘Scots were hay when Wallace bled’ and the Sassenachs. There was quite a difference between the north of England, Scotland and the south of England. I can remember a visit to Scotland and the advertisement for The Scotsman, the newspaper, was ‘An oasis of sanity in a desert of hysteria.’ I’m proud of my Scottish background.

I’ve been mistaken for Malcolm Fraser when I was in Scotland – No, long story – but I’m Scottish both sides. So I felt myself more Scottish than English, but then again, the Scots did very well joining up with the British.

I did, oh yes.

Yes, we felt we should go. We didn’t disagree with Menzies about that. We felt we should fight.

Oh, Britain’s a foreign country, we’re a foreign country, when they made the split. It’s quite different now, the attitude –

I’m a fellow of the Institute of Actuaries of London. I used to supervise exams. I’ve been in Britain more than once. I still have friends there I correspond with. I really thought London was wonderful, but we are really different from it. I felt Australian, not British.

When they went into the European Common Market, really. They became part of Europe and we were different then. And of course, to some extent we had a split with Britain about Curtin and America. That was the beginning of it. I can remember that quite well.

It was a bit of a shock. I wouldn’t say it was a betrayal, but we were a little bit hurt.

Yes. I’ve actually met the Queen. I think she’s done a wonderful job, but I do believe her successors are unworthy of it. I would vote for a republic now.

The 2nd Field Australian Training Regiment.

Colonel Coombs was the one with the revolver and rugby. The previous one was Major De Groot.

He was

disciplinarian. He was supposed to be pretty authoritarian, and the story was that he treated them like dogs, so they behaved like dogs.

Oh, very good. Very pleasant accommodation, and I say,

weekly surfing and daily hockey and basketball. I’ve never been fitter or heavier. One thing just reminded me of the Empire, we might be playing basketball and the retreat would ring out and we’d all stand to attention, for retreat. That seems funny now. When I consider the rest of my life, and how close I’ve been paper in front of me, as an actuary and a lot of overtime, I really covered a lot of ground.

And the friends I made there, some friendships have lasted. I’ll be seeing friends in the New Year from the regiment.

I can remember as actuaries, when we’d have the congress, we’d sing Waltzing Matilda. That was expected. No, I can’t answer that one. But I do know the words of Advance Australia Fair which not everybody does.

I was a training officer. I was more, than others, into the theoretical side. As I said, the use of the directional range finder,

some elementary gunnery, the calibration. The theoretical side of gunnery I was reasonably well informed on. I lectured, but we would also go on big treks and things. It wasn’t just all in there. I was part of the training team.

No, we didn’t change any instruments. But it was largely efficient use of material, and filling gaps. They had a lot to earn,

the people who hadn’t been in the army. There was a lot to teach them, that was all.

We firstly had to fire a fair number of shells – I mentioned going to Port Wakefield, and the tide would go out two miles. Then we’d come back with that data, and

we would use, I had some mathematical formula, but we largely used seventeen foot long French curves. You’ve heard of them?

These were seventeen feet long, are we talking of the same thing?

This is right, it was a surprise to me. And it was a fairly effective, quick method. We were after something quick.

Then we would do the calculations, and you had some trouble when you passed through the speed of sound. You’ve heard of bracketing? We’ll we used a method of successive approximation. We had to do a number of calculations. This was at the time, before computers, when the calculating machines were – and we

had a captured German harmon selector, which we could key in. Basically there was some statistical science in it. You used statistical methods to develop – you’ve heard of the fifty percent zone? Well, this is what the range tables were.

Where the projectile falls is a mixture of the angle the gun is at, the amount of charge you use, and with the rifle bore it is much more accurate, and what they call the calibre radius head, which is the shape of the front, of the shell. So all those factors had to be taken into account. And the range tables show where fifty percent

of the shells will land. It’s a spread, and you’ve got to get that fairly accurately, otherwise – It’s fairly well known about the artillery being the ‘drop shorts’. We only had the British range tables for the fixed trail gun, and this one, the lighter trail gun, we had to do the calculations for. So you end up with various

settings to get your shell to land in that particular place. Did that help?

No, no, no.

How can I put this bizzo [business]?

I wish I had a copy of the range tables here.

Yes, the prep [preparatory] school in Punt Road. They moved Wesley to Scotch.

Oh, yes. The Melbourne Cricket Ground was taken over by the Yanks. Wesley was full of Yanks. The Yanks were everywhere.

Oh yes,

I met them. They had a more relaxed and more extravagant attitude towards artillery fire, and we were more precise. Yes, I can remember the officers were honorary members of various clubs, and I can remember

only recently being married, and getting on with these Yanks quite well, and one of them said, “Now where do we find the women?” That didn’t impress me. And you’ve probably heard the line about the Japs, perhaps? “They saved us from the Japs, perhaps, but presently this place is so Yankful, for us to feel truly thankful.” I dealt with Americans.

There were plenty of them in Melbourne, as I say everywhere, and sailors. They were more courteous, better dressed and better paid. Up in Brisbane, our officers’ club was the little Hotel Daniel, and next to it was big Lennons [hotel] where MacArthur was – you remember about the Brisbane fight?

I heard one story from somebody else that I know quite well. Part of Brisbane was out of bounds, they segregated the Negroes, and this chap, this friend of mine was being driven in a car by charming southern officers.

A couple of Negroes soldiers signalled us for a lift, and this very delightfully charming southern officer just ignored it, so my friend said, “They were after a lift.” And he said, “We don’t pick up black shit.” That impressed me. They were racist. And MacArthur was a great poser,

and he didn’t do justice to the Australians, up in New Guinea. I knew bits about that. I personally found, both in the army and from being in America, the Americans are very friendly, warm and courteous people, but highly competitive and a bit more individualistic and racist than we are.

Oh, yes. In 1963, we were in the south, this was when Kennedy got assassinated, and I had a picture of him, I took in New York. The next trip overseas, I was made to

advance my camera, because they were already using camera guns, but I visited some of those Antebellum stately home mansions. You know how they prospered on the slavery? The south prospered mightily, with its cotton crops and slavery, as the British demanded more cotton for their mills in Manchester.

So, I had a glorious four and a half months around the world with Arnie Friends, who was a very brave soldier. He was in Greece and Crete, shooting down Germans. The wife didn’t like flying, and my wife didn’t like the sea, she got sea-sick. So we compromised,

ending the trip with a fortnight’s cruise, a luxurious cruise, of the Norway, Sweden, Denmark. And a lady gave a particular party, and she was –

“They don’t want education, it only unsettles them.” They were ‘an inferior’ – this was 1963.

Yes.

Yes. The black troops were assigned specific roles

and there was segregation, yeah. And Brisbane was much more so. It was out of the bounds – there was definite segregation.

Oh, you can see them copulating in daylight.

I’ve seen it.

I’m sorry off, I’m away from – see there was a lot of rush to entertain the Americans. They were charming and they were this and that, and they were perfectly proper dances that people went to. But you know Albert Tucker, the artist? Some of his drawings. I’d actually seen it going on.

Yes. Nothing on the order of Brisbane, but there was some resentment.

Oh, the odd dust-up at the pub. But compared to Brisbane, no.

Well, it was very different. We had the black out. My wife’s boss was an RT [radio telephony] warden, and she had to have all the clothes. There was the rationing. It was definitely quieter, and

with a lot of people away and anxious of war news – I was stationed in Melbourne, and I moved a lot. It was a quieter time, a more anxious time. There was anxiety about the Japanese subs and all that.

People went AWL [absent without leave]; there was a fair bit of that. There was a bit more drinking, Certainly you could see girls dressing older than their age. Melbourne became a less rigid and well behaved society. Morals did drop a bit, yeah.

Yes, that’s right.

Oh yes. Much more went on than before the war. And in some cases, the girls were really – it was the kindness of departing AIF troops that would do it. It wasn’t just the Americans.

There was more of that going on than previously –

In some ways. It was a pretty rigid society.

Not for a while, but after the war it became a bit more open and cosmopolitan. The war did broaden it. It wasn’t until the major influx of the migrants from overseas that we started to change. But we were a pretty moralistic group and six o’ clock swill and all those things. We gradually came away from the rather restricted, parochial way –

Sunday close down. The six o’ clock closing – They introduced that the hotels had to close at six o’ clock. What people did was to order about three or four beers and drink them quickly before. I can remember my brother in law

coming out from England, and he could hear the hum of the closing. No, that was the six o’ clock swill, when people drank very quickly before it cut off. No, I wasn’t into that. And the

rare occasion that I did, they were growling because they could see successive layers on my glass. I didn’t want to drink quickly.

I was away from Melbourne on the VE [Victory in Europe] Day. I had a very spectacular

VJ [Victory over Japan] Day. I mentioned a Colonel Venistone, who replaced the colonel. He was a Cambridge graduate and a very likeable bloke. He had a suite at the Chevron. I was in the streets in Melbourne. It was quite incredible.

The kissing and the conga line, I saw all part of that. Anyway, we were celebrating in his suite. He had a bit of an advance, and he put a crayfish shell on his head and he suggested we fire rockets through the chimney of his room, which we didn’t do. It was a bit extreme.

The next day, we did, the unit that I was associated with, fire a number of rockets and flares to celebrate. And some of them were misdirected and made holes into top of the motor drome. We just went round there and reported the damage. But the whole thing was incredible, this feeling of euphoria. Because the Japanese kamikaze and the way they thought,

we were really thinking, before the atom bomb, the war, we’re winning it, but it’s very slowly and at great cost. So there was absolutely enormous euphoria, singing madly and hugging and kissing in the streets, and things like that. All the tickertape – It was a wonderfully memorable occasion, I was just so happy.

No, I didn’t hug or kiss anybody because I could see it and – I was associated with having to do some work in connection with my job. We were

associated with that firing. But I was in the city at the time and it was just marvellous. The feeling of absolute happiness and euphoria was incredible. We were still thinking of a longer war – we’ve hardly discussed my wife yet.

On balance, I thought it was justified because of the enormous slaughter.

Then, of course, you’re worried with the atomic race. No, you see the same as the German V1s and 2s. I happen to know a friend of mine was a Dambuster [Lancaster bomber unit]. But they were – given a bit more time, they could have made quite a difference. There was an awful feeling that more and more lives were being lost.

We were slowly winning, but it was taking one hell of a time. It was a longer war than the more severe my father fought in. So yes, with some diffidence, I approved of it, yeah.

I was a bit worried about the horrific effect. So many people and the shocking damage that was done.

Well, we’ve got it now. I mean, I’d hesitate to use it. Just beyond me now, these decisions, at this stage in my life.

I think the war would have gone on quite a bit longer with the fierce patriotism and the efficiency of the Japanese. They were a cruel-hearted people. As I say, I’ve been in Japan and –

there’s something I sort of don’t quite like about them. That lingers, and the war atrocities. And friends of mine suffered terribly, and some died, in the POW camps.

I went back to the office, and I foolishly –

As T & G made up my pay, and I got married in September ’41, as I mentioned – You see, actuaries have a reputation for being well paid, and that is true. But until you do get the glittering letters after your name, the money we got was amazingly moderate, and to go from a married captain

to my T & G salary, it was basically a halving of my income. We were anxious to start a family, which did arrive. I finally qualified. My salary has been quite good. I left before the –

people who succeeded me a bit later, were getting far more money, but they were less secure. But no, I’ve been able to have a quarter of a century of travel. I’ve had a happy, interesting life, and I had a marvellous marriage. I’m just so fortunate –

you’d take out girls, a pretty face on your arm, it was all practice and there’s nothing really serious. Did I tell you how I met my wife? It was fairly interesting. I’ve forgot if I mentioned Tudor Court and the parties there –

see, I worked very hard. I had to do all this study. I didn’t have many free nights at all. My two closest friends, the ones I joined the army with, weren’t taught, so when one friend owned Tudor Court – have you heard of it? It’s a big reception place in Caulfield. It’s a very big ballroom,

it’s a stately home, and the owner of it, there’s a connection with my family, but she really flourished and my friend Jeff Holt, was to be my best man, he had a butler. A very big ballroom, it was really a gracious home. And when his mother was away, we used to hurriedly organise a party at the T & G,

with my friends there, we’d call the Tudor Court mob. Supper from the night before, grog and the bell band would play for us for nothing, until they got drunk, and we played chariot races with arm chairs, back to front, around the hall. And it was a bit of a bright spot in my hard study life. Now, one of my friends in that group was in the university high school lacrosse club.

They were having a picture night and a ballet concert the next morning at the Athenaeum Theatre. So I attended it. And my friend introduced me to another member of the team, a Fred Watt, W-A-double T, and Fred Watt introduced me to his cousin, Helen Holt, and it was just amazing. In fact –

There were quite differences in politics, religion and things. She lived in Brunswick, where her father owned a safe company. They made safes. And I lived in Caulfield. I had no money and no car. But fortunately, she worked almost directly across the road from the PMG [Post Master General’s Department], and I was able to see quite a bit of her.

So I’ve come home on the Chinese laundry’s cart. We got engaged in March, 1940 and married in September, ’41. Our friends tried to stop us settling down. But I was really head over heels in love, and

I never got out of it. I just had a really wonderful wife. She was practical and gifted. I mean, her father had no son, but she was far more practical than I was. There was a bit of a joke in the house with the girls that if the lights fused they’d go straight to my wife, rather than me. I was very impractical, only good at certain things.

She worked as the secretary for this particular person, who fought at Marne, and through her I met Borovansky, the ballet, and other people. You probably haven’t heard of White Hills Silver And Plating Company? Well, what happened was

we founded a company called House of Design, originally to make church plate – you’ve heard of tabernacles? You open the door in and it opens, well, we started this company, and my father in law was quite an inventor.

We lost money for quite a few years, but in the end, my wife ran the company, and it did all the goldsmithing and silversmithing for Kozminski’s, all the leading jewellers. In other words, she was a business woman, a gifted china painter, and we had friends down the street, and none of our girls ever came to an empty house, because one of us would always be there. So she worked a lot our life, and

we raised a reasonably successful family. Each of my daughters had four university degrees. One was a professor, the middle one a radiologist, her husband was a specialist and the eldest two sons were doctors. The youngest was into architecture and education.

Of the grandchildren, my eldest daughter’s two children were successively dux of humanities. The second one was dux of Scotch. In other words, there is something to be proud of in what they’ve achieved – I remember a friend of mine commenting on, “How do you get your kids to study as well as you do?” I said, “How many hours of television do you see a week?”

And the point is that we both used to have to work, and I was very fortunate for the last two years of the war, I was able to see more of my wife. On one particular occasion, I sprained my ankle badly, and had to have five weeks at Kurneh. It’s right on the edge

of the Botanical Gardens and it was a very graceful, stately home owned by – You’ve heard of Norman Brookes? The Brookes family. It was their home, and they filled the outside with…it was for wounded officers. And oh, it was quite fun. I was a model patient, because

I would not in the beers and smoking. I’d get on my stick and walk slowly around the Botanical Gardens. You were allowed one meal a day out. So what I would do was to vanish, and I would sleep overnight. Come back and rearrange my clothes and start the day again. In other words, I was lucky

to see more of my wife. But no, I count myself as wonderfully fortunate with such a gifted lovely woman. I had fifty four years of marriage and then she contracted cancer, and she lasted ten years from the first to going. She died in May, ’95. So many happy memories. It was a marvellous

marriage and it keeps me going. To write about it, I forget my pain. I have lovely daughters and family. I’ve been very fortunate in life, and friends. So as I say, that was the story. She used to, apart from being an air raid warden,

she used to, although I was in the army working, navy house, serving soldiers, quite a tradition of idealism, and questioning. I count myself just so lucky.

As I say, I had five years, four months in uniform, and I didn’t have to put a roof over my head for those first four years of marriage. In fact, when I was on leave, I spent it with her parents and not my own, for fairly obvious reasons.

Psychologically – this all comes into the story, that both of my parents had bad nervous breakdowns. What happened was this, I wasn’t aware –

I didn’t see much of my parents obviously. I knew Dad kept a diary, but you can’t read it while he was alive. But this is almost incredible, when my mother contracted cancer and didn’t last very long. I mentioned about her breakdown in the Depression years earlier, and learning to cook, and

my father was – my mother was too ill to attend my sister’s wedding, which was very sad. But after my mother died, my father absolutely went down hill and I got the best psychiatric advice I could, in Melbourne, from A Morbesly. He was subjected to electro-convulsive therapy. It didn’t work.

So he went to bed and he stayed there for thirty one years in a state of deep depression. Which is absolutely sad and incredible. He was very hard to talk to. You couldn’t lift him out of that state. The kids would say something to him, ‘yes’, ‘no’. Anyway, when he died, I wish I had seen his diaries before, I would have understood his –

that’s when I found the suitcase. Inscribed on the lid – “If I shall not to return, forward to –” and that had two hundred letters from World War I that I’ve got in the house, and which I’m going to present. So that was the origin of my knowing about the awful agony of my father. And he kept a lot of other things, too. But

I did have, and this emphasises the fact that I didn’t join the AIF still. In 1943, I was in favour of defending Australia, but I was also influenced by the awful damage that the war had done to both of my parents.

It’s very tragic, that’s right. Other bits of the war that I’ve noticed

with unmarried cousins of a given age, is the number of people who were engaged to and would have married, but they didn’t come back. Then after the war, I have had the opportunity – I’ve been to Dachau, I’ve seen the gas ovens. I’ve had more of an opportunity

to see these things. As I say, they influenced me. As I say, I was very fortunate to see as much of my wife as I did. I was able to save up for a lovely honeymoon, involving Katoomba and Jenolan Caves, and then came the war, and two of my closest friends got a honeymoon of two days.

So, no, I think I’ve covered most of it.

Yes, there was.

Oh yes, I know that.

Jacka, that’s right. I met Pompey Elliot, through Dad. The war – They were badly treated. Settlement – in the Second World War especially, the friend of mine I went around the world with had a sheep station. He was part of a book It’s Hard To Grow Broke.

The Second World War, they treated the returned people much better, and granted them land. They didn’t treat the returned heroes well, but they did better it better with the Second World War than the First. The First World War, there was the pride of how well the Australians performed, but there

was also division over conscription. It was a maturing experience. As I mentioned earlier, the Second World War didn’t start with the same rush to enlist as the first one. But there was still a lot of patriotism, and a lot went in very early. Others waited, that’s right. They were maturing experiences.

Oh yes. It was quite bitter. We had some degree of anti-Catholicism in my upbringing.

So much so, that when I found a girl was Catholic I stopped going out with her. Two of my best friends, and they’re both still alive, they couldn’t come into the church when we got married. They had to stay outside.

September, ’41. When you married a Catholic, you had to promise to bring your children up Catholic, and things like that.

One particular friend was an opponent of Santamaria. I mentioned that earlier. I’m still in touch with him. He was the editor of Catholic Worker. He wrote an editorial, which basically said it was all right to vote ALP [Australian Labor Party]. This was the time

getting near the split. And firstly his parish priest, his bishop, then eventually the archbishop said to him not to publish it, and he asked “Whether it would offend in faith and morals, your grace?” He said, “I’m not saying that. I just wouldn’t publish it.” And they did publish it, so they banned the sales of the paper on church premises. That’s the time Cole had to worship in a different church. The sectarianism

was very strong. In the last twenty years, there has just been such an enormous difference in sectarianism.

Oh yes, he thought Mannix was a traitor.

Hmm.

Dad was not in favour of conscription, and in the bitterness of the squabble, he didn’t say about a trade war. Dad was not in favour of conscription, but he thought Mannix was a divisive force.

Sectarianism was relatively strong in the 1920s and ‘30s.

Have you heard of Onward Conscript Soldiers? “Onward conscript soldiers, marching off to war, you would not be conscripts, had you gone before.” No, there was some feeling that

a conscripted person at your side wouldn’t be as good a companion to help you. Dad was in favour of volunteering.

He voted against conscription, yes.

Yes.

Yes. He was just so proud to have shaken hands with the Prince of Wales, to have seen the King reviewing troops, how magnificently they marched. Yes, stirring patriotism

comes right through his letters. Stirring patriotism.

He was so proud of the way they marched when the King reviewed them. Dad was a good letter writer. Dad was fiercely patriotic.

Not very much. When I consider the later level. I knew about the separation. He had a little fragment of shrapnel that had touched him. He tended not to talk about the war.

Well, reading his letters since, he was

gradually growing in depression. That went many years, he suffered through worry, he started to cut out pictures about audit fraud. I didn’t realise he had this depression growing. But he didn’t talk much about the war. I thought I mentioned earlier when I was trying to get more about the war, I’d ask him

some questions and get some answers then it was “What do you want to know all this for? Do you think I’m going to die soon?” He’d suddenly freeze and not tell me. But as I say, I can’t account for his enormous deep depression. He just stayed in the house, we couldn’t get him out of the house for ten years. We’d take him on holidays, but he was in deep depression. We brought him a TV set, which he refused to turn on. The only thing

that kept him going was that he was a wonderful reader. He used to judge the books from the Commonwealth Library, and we had a big library at home. I just couldn’t get through to him. I hardly saw him in the war years. We’d visit him, but you couldn’t get many words out of him.

Yes, that would be right. He had gone through – he didn’t sleep for that week.

The week that he was reported killed in action. They were actually isolated. The Polygon Wood episode – they were cut off –

The German encirclement was relieved. They were encircled by Germans for a period, then gradually they mounted counter attacks. Helen’s uncle, who was a very brave soldier, too, he won the Military Cross, more than one.

And he told me, one of the most appalling things about the war, was they walked across duck boards, and there would be people sinking in the smelly muck, and you weren’t allowed to pull them out, because you could be pulled into that mire itself. The trench warfare and the conditions there were appalling.

You hadn’t heard that one?

He, as I say, won the Military Cross, he was a very brave soldier, and I went around with him. When he visited Melbourne, people came to – he developed Parkinson’s. The conditions of the trench warfare, the smell, the louse,

never being completely dry –

No, Dad went straight to England for training, and then to the Western Front. He was brigade bombing officer for the August 1918 breakthrough, and he did a course at Duntroon. Model notebooks

and everything, he was a very methodical man. A very brave soldier.

No.

Very explicit. Occasionally he couldn’t mention where they were.

He didn’t dwell that much on the bad side. His pride in how well the Australians performed, and the wonderful day of the breakthrough, in August 1918. His pride and his patriotism shine through those letters. Then of course, he had the awful worry himself of him learning about

my mother being told he was killed in action. He caught up with that later.

He embarked in December, ’16, and he was reported killed in action in September, ’17, and a bit later, reported not.

See, the main point was that they didn’t have long in action. They’d have a shorter spell and then someone else would relieve them, the reserves. But that was his main area, and then he was also in, as I say, in that breakthrough. He didn’t get home until July, 1919. It took a long while to demobilise. He was in German, in the occupation, helping to keep the troops from being bored.

So a lot of his war was sheer boredom, then they had periods of intense fear.

No, that was earlier in the war. He enlisted in September, ’15.

No, he didn’t mention that.

That was quite a remarkable episode.

That’s right.

Well, I read Kangaroo, Lawrence’s book about immediately after the First World War. Then you heard about Cathcart’s book about Defending the [National] Tuckshop?

That’s an excellent book. A lot of the officers were extremely right wing. In fact, the RSL [Returned and Services League] was a very right wing organisation. They were prepared to remove a democratically elected government. How can I put this? I must preserve secrecy, but I worked for five hours a week,

for quite a few years, after I retired, as a genealogist, which helped me as well as them, in the La Trobe Library. And I had access to some very interesting files, including George Young McCray and JB Williams, and I also had access to, and it was surprising, that this highly ranked person that I had contact with, was in fact a member of this secret army.

There were a whole lot of them, these officers. Monash wasn’t, but a whole lot of these AIF officers had weapons stashed away, this was coming right up to the Second World War – Like the New Guard, they were prepared to overthrow a democratically elected government. Which was mad.

Oh yeah. They were fascists.

This is right.

Yeah.

Oh yes, the RSL on the whole, was very anti-Labor. They all pulled together against Labor Government. The RSL largely takes an anti-Labor view.

Not much to tell. I never joined it. I wasn’t returned.

At one stage, yes. And by coincidence I once owned a block of land in Balcombe Road, and I sold it, and now it’s next door to Bruce Ruxton’s particular premises. I can remember how right wing the – and most officers were.

“We’ll hang Bob Menzies on a sour apple tree, we’ll hang Jack McEwan to keep him company, we’ll hang Artie Fadden there and make the number three, as we go marching on – solidarity forever, solidarity forever, solidarity forever, it’s the union that makes us strong!”

You heard it. Those wharfies were bad, you know. They did steal a lot of things that should have gone to New Guinea. They sort of over-reacted to how badly they were treated. The Yanks couldn’t believe how we put up with the wharfies.

The wharfies were very bad. Two wrongs don’t make a right.

They wondered why they hadn’t immediately been put in prison. The Yanks were tougher of offences than we were. We had some strikes – no, the Yanks were more authoritarian than we were.

And the British were. They knew we didn’t have the death penalty, and that annoyed the British.

That’s right. A lot of the soldiers would be shell-shocked and wander, and then they would be treated as deserters. That was the First World War. The Yanks military discipline and the British were harsher than the Australians. The Australians had more friendly and formal contact between officers and men.

The AIF later, this is right. I never thought too much about it. But I was patriotic enough to volunteer in peace-time. With the war coming, I felt Australia should be defended. Australia is a marvellous place. I’ve had a lot of travel and you come back here and realise how lucky we were,

and how fortunate we were for our ancestors to take that perilous voyage out. I’m proud to be Australian, in that way. I didn’t think particularly about the Anzac tradition. I value the friendships I’ve made. One particular friend

of mine was manager of the Commonwealth Bank in Port Moresby, and I spent some time up there. Our regimental reunions are now nearly a thing of the past. They’re just going down so fast, with so many of us who can’t get there. I’ve attended those reunions. The camaraderie, the friendships you formed –

And not everyone was friendly. You had the odd person who couldn’t stand the other. But the camaraderie of the mess – as I say, I made the most enduring friendships. And we all got married younger. I mean, I couldn’t afford to get married in 1941, on what I was being paid.

I can remember saying at the beginning of the war that I wouldn’t marry. You change your mind, because you think there mightn’t be a tomorrow. That’s right, that’s right.

Oh, I thought the Empire was – it changed with Singapore. We were sort of conditioned to be proud of the ‘mighty Empire’ and the red spots [the British Empire was coloured red on maps]. I inherited some of that.

The schooling was very patriotic. We sang songs about the First World War.

“He was a British soldier, he stood erect and proud, and danger came and spoke to him, he said, ‘Are you ready? Will I have to fight and die?’ And touched his cap saluting and said, ‘I, sir, I’.” We used to sing songs like that. The singing I had at Wesley I had in the ‘30s still echoed a lot

of the patriotic songs from World War I. We did inherent a sense of – we did get a lot of Empire loyalty through the misnomer, the greater public school system, that’s right. You gradually change,

and your black and white, as you get older, becomes a bit of a gray.

That’s right. I was partly influenced by my wife, who came from a strong Labor background. I started off – I was questioning enough to be buying the Left Book Club, but she came from a pretty idealistic background. I came to learn more about it. And I mentioned the chap

who got killed, who fought in the Spanish Civil War. They were friends with these particular – I found I had a fairly broader range of reading than a lot of people. A lot of those left wingers were idealists. They weren’t aware of the real brutalities of Stalin’s regime and the others. And they were shockingly disappointed.

The brutalities of it were pretty effectively concealed. No, as I say, I voted Labor there. We also, and it’s harder for younger people to understand, there was

more sense of a collective and supportive welfare. We weren’t as individualistic. We were to, perhaps, a bit complacent about it. We were more community minded than the Americans, and we thought we would build a better society. There was a fair bit of idealism that came with the war, and it did better than the First World War. But it stole the final lot –

On the successive wars that have happened?

Oh, yes. I can remember the deep opposition about Vietnam.

I was opposed to the Vietnam conscription. My sister’s eldest child went to Vietnam and I don’t agree with the way they were treated, when they came back, which was pretty appalling. The church that I went to, one of the leading people, he was a government official, harboured

one of the most famous draft dodgers. Pete Steadman I’ve met. Albert Langer and Pete Steadman were large rabble-rousers at Monash in the 1960s. His father was a distinguished general.

I met him, but he was – I’ve met both Jim Cairns and his father. One way or the other. No, I was opposed to Vietnam. The Malaysian – there was some, they

had some excuse to go there. The Korean War, of course, they sacked MacArthur. But I became less war-like, I guess. And I was opposed to Bush and Iraq. I say that with my background –

That was the basis. I think that that argument was over done.

I had some admiration for the way the – the way the French were beaten. The way they dragged all

that artillery, just the sheer techniques. The century saw the decay of Europe, and I felt that the decolonisation – I agreed with the way it progressed. I thought the time had come when the people

that the Europeans had ruled, should have autonomy. I felt that. Just independent thinking. And in my travels, I’ve had the opportunity talk to people in these countries.

I was opposed. I felt that there should have been UN [United Nations] sanctions for it. There’s no question about the –

I was in Iran, before the Ayatollah, in the Shah’s time, on my travels. The point is the CIA [Central Intelligence Agency], and other people, there was a fairly nasty overthrow –

That was pretty appalling. And the CIA’s part in some of the wars we’ve been involved with. Some of the behaviour, including Britain, has not been good. But there’s no easy answer. There’s black and white on both sides. And Palestine, you know the story, it was promised to two different people.

Yes.

I’ve been a close father.

With all my over-time, whenever possible I’d be home. I valued the family very highly. Each had their own – I would pinch somebody else’s song and put them in it. I made up a lot of stories. I like kids, and I get on reasonably well with them.

I had a limited number of conjuring tricks I can no longer do, such as passing a coin through my body and making a card vanish. I was at a particular party, and we were doing some of these things, and all of a sudden a lot of kids came to look at me. I have some like for kids.

And I have a wonderful family. Now, I’ve wandered there. No, the kids didn’t know all of it. When they read the family history they knew much of it. But they knew a lot of it. Because it sort of followed. I became an actuary. I was president in my time.

I worked very hard. Wherever possible, I worked at home. I worked until late-70. When I was 60, I was approached by the government actuary in status who happened to be a friend of mine, too. The T & G were rather led in the particular area of my individual disability.

To cut the story short, I had to learn a lot about medicine to do my job, in charge of the underwriting. I was consultant actuary of the state superannuation board, which was much stricter, their claims were mounting, including non-disclosure – It helped save them a lot of money, the various royal commission and things.

I found my career had had a variety of medicine and other, quite rewarding. The children had seen the example of both of us working hard, and people have commented – the girls, for example, took it for granted that they would all go to university, which was pretty aware for children born from the

late ‘40s to early ‘50s. That was fairly rare. I’ve been very close with children and grandchildren. I really value it. That’s partly because of my wonderful wife. I was happy to talk about it.

No, I didn’t see combat.

I just don’t know. It affected people differently. I knew people who had faced a bit of combat and are happy to talk about it, and others who are not happy. I can’t answer that, it’s hypothetical. But I could have been sent at any time to New Guinea.

No, I was fortunate in the war. Particularly fortunate that I was given these mathematical and other hard tasks, and after the war, I was busy getting through raising the family and a few other things. I did some costings for my wife’s

father’s safe company, which they later adopted as standard for the industry. In other words, I could bring some mathematical and accounting skills to certain tasks. There were some funny stories. I was in the T & G building, and they had price control and various things. And people would go up carrying something and came down without. In other words, there was some bribery went on.

A lot of things went on, you’ve heard that one.

Not that their the strongest. I’ve had some very interesting overseas experiences. They are, yes, they are among the strongest memories I have. It was such a different period and we were so glad to be alive.

And I say, there were some very strong friendships formed, yes.

I had some dreams. At one stage, I actually recorded my dreams. They were just so dominant. This changed – I’ve been interested in

psychiatry, and it helped me in my job. I had a full page with the various psychiatric conditions, and I was friendly with the head of mental health. I’ve attended courses on Jung and others. The analysis of dreams, I found that very interesting. I did dream, I did record dreams. Have you heard of Kipling’s Brushwood Boy?

The point of the story is that two people find that they’ve been inhabiting the same territory in their dreams. I found the interpretation of dreams quite interesting. I know a bit about it, because I was interested in trying to help my father. Help my father out

of his shocking depression –

Well, he slept in a different room. No, I can’t answer that one. But I certainly had nightmares.

One of the most vivid ones is that I had an operation – I had to have my tonsils out twice. And the picture in the wall opened and there was a gorgon’s head with green snakes. Terribly vivid. And repetitive dreams, you find yourself occupying the same territory, it’s quite interesting.

I did have one awful – and it wasn’t particularly the war. But you knew that I had been seriously ill, and I had all these books to read. And reading some of the

mysterious stuff, a whole lot of words that are rarely used, and I was reading this and whatever I read led me to the conclusion that I hadn’t long to live, and my nightmare was that I was – it was

icy cold, there was not a single sound, it was dark, and – I was there somewhere, and I couldn’t communicate with anybody. I just felt in black space. It was a chilling nightmare. Yeah, you can imagine that. It was related to my bad health at the time.

That’s hard to say. Yes, some of

the early newsreels, the burning of London and all that, I felt that there was something in the area. There was a little bit of that, that nightmare. But most of my dreams were very pleasant.

I had tremendous admiration for the courage of people in the air force. I had one friend who was in the Dambusters.

I was rejected to air crew, incidentally, for whatever reason they did. But no, the bravery in the Battle of Britain. I had friends in the air force who were killed. And I can remember a bit of a playboy, a friend who went down with the Perth.

No, I felt the courage of the submariners and the air force people, they were exceedingly brave, they really were. And I say, I happen to have friends in both. I know someone who was in submarines – no, their casualty rate was pretty appalling. I admired their courage.

I’ve been there. I visited New Guinea in ’58, I stayed with my friend. I’ve been on the Kokoda Trail. I’ve been to dawn service at the Bomana War Cemetery. Oh yes, I was interested, having had that association in the war years, to actually be there. Oh yes, I’ve walked on that.

Yes, they were brave. And there was some change in attitude towards the militia. That helped to raise the view of the militia in the eyes of the AIF. And it became almost academic as the war progressed because most people, militia people, did convert to the AIF.

That’s right, that’s right. But the Kokoda Trail was terrible, the steepness and the mud. That’s why the short twenty five pounder was so effective.

In the end you would be admitted to the RSL. Previously it was only for those who served.

And then later, they were admitted. I was a member of the Naval & Military Club for a while.

I know of him. I know Blainey personally. Geoffrey Blainey. He wrote part of the history of West [Australia] and he worked down here. I’ve enjoyed his books.

The attitude towards the militia – no, the things blurred after the war. There was a sense that we all served, one way or the other.

We sang dirty songs. Some of them were unfaithful, not most, I would say. Some of them drank too much.

Some of the songs I sang were rude. You’ve heard about The Ball of Carrie Miller? It’s rude –

You’re going to give me a copy of the tape, I understand?

“There was rooting in the haystacks and rooting in the rinks, you couldn’t hear

the music for the pushing of the wicks, and you’ll do it this time, and I’ll do it, too, and tomorrow will be the last time he cannot do it, no.” That was one of our – There was a whole lot more of that, but it was about a ball where there was promiscuity. I mentioned Abdul the Bulbul. The rude version is a contest, of that nature.

You’ve heard of South of Mount Martha? South of the Border you know that tune?

The local version partly goes “South of Mount Martha, down Port Phillip Bay, that’s where I met a whore and took her off one sunny day, she knew I was stony, but I couldn’t pay, south of Mount Martha, on Port Philip Bay.” We used to sing songs like that. And we sang about women, as partly compensation for the lack of it.

Not completely, we sang a lot of ordinary patriotic songs, humorous songs, The Wailing of the Church and some of those songs. Do you know She Was Poor but She Was Honest? “She was poor, but she was honest, the victim of a rich man’s whim, for he

loved her and he left her, wasn’t that a dreadful thing? It’s the same the whole world over, it’s the poor what gets the blame, it’s the rich what gets the gravy, ain’t it all a bleeding shame. See them in the House of Commons, making laws to put down crime,

while the victim of his passion, walks home through the mud and time.” And we’d all join in the “ – it’s a shame.” You know, slightly rude, but amusing. We sang patriotic songs and others. They were some substitute for the lack of company of women.

That was almost a forbidden subject. I know I had occasion – You know Beckett Park? There’s a fairly strong RSL area, and I had to go to the toilet, this was back in the ‘60s or ‘70s, and they had in full high capitals “Kill All Homos.” I mean it. The attitude

towards homosexuals was very repressive.

It’s an RSL area, near Beckett Park, it was a toilet in a park where I suddenly had to go to relieve myself. In retrospect, one of my regiment, who was

a very gifted – he turned out to subsequently be homosexual, but none of us ever guessed. I certainly – you know the antique trade? Well the wife with her company refurbishing jewellery and things, we had been invited to visit a particular place, and it was magnificent, all the stuff that they had. And then, all of a sudden, they said, “That’s our bedroom.” It was

a bit of a shock to me, even at that time. No, homosexuality, the attitude of the young towards it is not nearly as intolerant as my generation. There’s been a big change.

Well, I know that some people would have bashed him.

Oh, the attitude – I’ve heard,

I heard it in my own mess, very strong attitudes towards the crime. Oscar Wilde, he was absolutely brilliant, some of the things he did. The Ballad of [Reading Gaol]. As I say, one or two people I

know, they’re possibly blatant, but I haven’t had direct contact with somebody who’s said to me, “I’m homosexual.” No.

Absolutely.

I didn’t like it when the officers would come along and say, “Where do I find the women?” I had just been married.

They weren’t the only ones to do it, but you would find them, in public. I almost walked on a couple on one occasion, people, copulating. It was open as that. They weren’t all like that. There were genteel dancers and people who rushed to entertain them. But they came over here with much nicer manners, they came over with nylons and chocolates and things like that, they were really well dressed. I can understand

a lot of girls being swept off their feet by them. I think I told you I was at Wesley when they were having all the championships. I mentioned the test cricketers. Well, there was somebody else who was a shield cricketer, and he had a particular romance, and when he came back he found the woman he hoped to marry

hanging onto an American army major with a baby. He never got over it. In other words, a lot of the Americans had the glamour and a lot of Australian girls – And sometimes they would tell tall yarns about how rich they were, but I can understand people marrying Americans. Their manners were – they were presenting flowers. They were more gifted in the art of courtship than Australians.

We didn’t talk much about it. The Americans were a bit resentful for the same reasons of Australians in the First World War. ‘Over dressed, over paid, over here’. They certainly

helped save us. No, I found them interesting to talk to, they were interesting people to talk to.

People would tell me their had been a bit of a stoush in Swanston Street here, or something. But I didn’t directly see any fights.

But Luna Park – the city just changed so completely, the night-life.

In other words, we’re winding up.

I value this opportunity of talking about the war. I think it’s a wonderful project; I’m interested in history myself. And I think to capture it on film is more powerful than people who write, and it will give a generation that has had so many years of peace,

a better idea of what happened in the war years. It was a very different experience for those who had a part in it. I would like to thank you for this opportunity.