Australians at War Film Archive

Yeah, I was born in Yeppoon in 1943, and went to school here, and then we moved to Rockhampton because of work related things,

with my brother and sister working, and I went to school at Esker Street State School. I left to work in the meatworks when I was 13, and joined the railways when I was 15, and joined the army when I was 17, just going on 18. And when I got out, I had numerous jobs in which I only would stay for about a year or 18 months.

That took me from Thursday Island to Melbourne, working in various cities on the eastern seaboard.

I think, Mum wheeling me to work in a pram, because

I never knew my father. I was an American war baby. And she worked hard for us, so we, more or less, had to repay her by going to work early in our youth. I think going to school at St Ursula’s, which is a girls school, and a lot of people don’t believe me, but it’s true, it used to be a co-ed

up until scholarship, or Year 8, I suppose they call it now. But I got expelled from there and ended up going to the Yeppoon State Primary.

I set fire to the parade ground. The nuns didn’t take to that.

I don’t know, a bit of a rebel, I suppose.

Having a smoke. I was only about 5 or 6.

I flogged them, stole them, me and my brother. My grandfather, he was a Methodist minister.

He used to get on my nerves. We used to have to go to Methodist OKs [?], and then to Sunday School, and then to the major service,

and then in the evening, in the service. And all the other kids would be going down the beach and having a good old time, and we were at church all day, every day, Sunday. They are the things that stick out in my mind.

Yes, it was rammed down my throat. That’s why I am not very religious now. My pop always thought I would be a…

When I told him I was joining the army, he thought I was going to become a chaplain. And I had to come down and tell him, Mum wouldn’t tell him, that I was joining the infantry. So I came down and he was very disappointed. He sort of realised what I wanted to do,

and that wasn’t to be a chaplain in the armed forces. Not only that, I didn’t have the education and the knowledge to be a preacher.

Mum was a South Sea Islander, hard working lady. She used to do washing and ironing for various people around Yeppoon.

And when we went to Rocky [Rockhampton], all the kids were working. My sister was doing her child welfare at an orphanage out at Gracemere, and my brother worked in the meatworks, and then when I started in the meatworks, the three of us were working. I had another sister but she was brought up by my grandparents because four kids was too much for Mum to look after sort of thing. We are all very close. One of my sisters is dead.

My brother is in Katherine and he works with Aboriginal youth on the recreation side, and my other sister married a cane farmer up on Home Hill. The South Sea Island community is very close knit, we all look after each other,

and that is an important part of my life.

No, she wouldn’t say a thing. I’d say, “Who’s me Dad?” She’d say, “You’re my son.” That’s it, finished. Before my two aunts died, I asked them. His name was Floyd Griffin. I don’t know whether he’s still alive, in jail, a millionaire or what.

I could have got in contact with him when I went over to America in 1981, but I didn’t want to. He might have been happily married and didn’t want to know me, or he could have been a mass murder, I don’t know.

No. See, he went to the islands.

I think it was New Guinea, and then from there, he went back to the USA [United States of America]. He doesn’t even know I exist. But I’m happy, I’ve got a family of my own and that keeps me sane, I suppose you’d say.

It was funny, because

my Mum was dark and I had lightish type skin, white blokes used to call me a black fellow, and black fellows used to call me a white fellow, and I didn’t know whether I was coming or going half the time. And I used to get bullied at school, so I learnt to box. We had a life saver here called Brian Bell and he

used to have boxing lessons down the road. So I learnt to box, and I never put up with this bullying again, I would stand my ground. I’ve got very good mates and I played Rugby League

from four stone seven to junior grade football, before I joined the army, and those mates are still my mates to this day. They didn’t give a damn about the colour of your skin, or who you were, or who your parents were or anything. We were just good mates.

Even to this day, when I am Master of Ceremony at the Veterans’ Day or Anzac Day, one of my mates is a chaplain with the North Rockhampton High School, and he comes down and he says a prayer for the lads, past and present, and we have been mates ever since we were only very tiny.

My mates are very important to me. We ring up each other every now and then and see how we are all going. And they all know…well, not my ex-wife now so much now, but I know all their wives and their kiddies, and they’re part of my extended family, I suppose you would call it. They’re lovely people.

Well, I was a bit of a dunce. But we used to…like most kids, play the wag and flog fruit off the trees, and all that type of thing,

normal children’s activities. And I played a lot of sport. We used to box down at the old Regent Theatre, down here, about once a month. They wouldn’t show the movies, they’d have a junior boxing tournament. I can remember the first fight, me and this big fellow, we pulled it on,

we went out, we both threw a punch at the same time and both of us sat down howling. I was only about five year old. They gave us Ned Kelly cast iron gun each. They were good days, and you take the good with the bad, aye?

Yeppoon was only a very tiny village, in them days,

the same as Emu Park. Even now, everybody knows everybody else. So you can’t get into strife, otherwise people know about it. In those days, everybody sort of helped each other. If you were short on eggs, we used to go over to the farm that grandma and granddad owned

and grab a dozen eggs. He had a big veggie patch, which me and my brother used to go up and give a hand to, every Saturday morning. That’s after we cut our grass, with a reefing hook and a cane knife, no motor mowers in them days. We had to do that if we wanted to go to the pictures on the Saturday arvo [afternoon].

I had a good childhood.

Aborigines or white people? There was a bit of animosity between South Sea Islanders and Aborigines mainly because…The South Sea Islanders, and a lot of the Aboriginal community,

worked very hard to own their own houses and to get on with the rest of the population. I can remember my granddad, he had an old A Model Ford, and when the Aboriginal folk used to come down from Woorabinda on the train, he would go round and pick them up,

if they were drunk, because they weren’t allowed to drink in them days. Me and my uncle would go out and shoot a wallaby and grandma would cook it up for them, and wash their clothes, and made sure they were nice and clean to get on the train to go back to wherever they come from. They were real Koori people. And I used to give my granddad a hand to pick them up.

They used to frighten the hell out of me, some of them, you know, real drunk. And would want to punch my granddad and me, but they got to know us and they knew we weren’t going to do them any harm. They were good people. And it was funny, when my grandparents died, those people never forgot. They came down for the funerals,

they were here in droves. That was very important. I wasn’t here for my grandma’s funeral. And I was in the army at Singleton when my granddad died. And I used to call him Dad, because he was the only Dad I knew. I had a police escort from Singleton to Mascot airport,

they flew me up, went to Dad’s funeral. And that’s about the only time you get to meet people, is either at a wedding or a bloody funeral, aye?

No. Down here, and even in Rocky, they didn’t care who you were or what you were.

If you were a decent person, nobody looked at the colour of your skin. I found it quite good, there was no segregation or anything. Our people were highly respected folk. Dad being…granddad being a Methodist

Minister, and grandma being a staunch Methodist, my Uncle Bill being a very popular person around the area, we didn’t have any real great problems. I used to come down with Dad, and AK Finlay owned the store down here, and we would come down to do some shopping, and they would talk for hours,

because they were good mates. And I would be standing there, waiting for pop to finish his little chat.

Yes.

That was good, I had a lot of friends working there, my brother was working there.

Because we were poor type people, we thought Mum was getting a bit long in the fang, and she cared for us to the best of her ability, she was in her later years, I thought, “Bugger it. I’ll go out and do some work, give her a rest.”

My brother was working. I was getting about £11, but that was good money in them days, for a young fellow in those days. When I joined the railways, I was getting £7 a week, but it was more secure, because the meatworks was only seasonal work and

you would have about six weeks off at Christmas. Well, that was no good to me. I’d rather just have two weeks off a year, and have constant money coming in.

Two years, and two years in the railway, as a lad porter.

Shift work didn’t…

It wasn’t up my alley, but you stuck with it, because you played footy on Saturday arvo and when you couldn’t get off…even though I played for railways, and our patron was the chief engineer at the Rockhampton Railway Workshops, he brought out on order for the roster clerk to give all the railways football club

every Saturday arvo off. He was walking up the platform and he said, “Are you right for Saturday, Rock?” Darryl it was in them days. I said, “No, I’m rostered on duty.” He said, “I’ll go down and see this bloody roster clerk.” He went down and said, “Roster him off, we need all the bloody footballers we can get our hands on.”

Evans his name was. He got a rocket from the chief engineer, and he didn’t like me much after that. I said, “I didn’t dob you in. You dobbed yourself in, fella.” But anyway, we smoothed things out.

And then, I joined the army for a bet.

I said to this bloke, Bryan Cornick his name was, I said I’m thinking about joining the army, he said, “I bet you £10 you won’t.” I said, “Righto.”

Anyhow, I went home to Mum, I said, “I’m thinking about joining the army.” She said, “Are you sure?” What brought this on?” I said, “A £10 bet.” I won my £10.

When I was a kid, I always wanted to be a fighter pilot. So instead of flying I ended up joining out of them.

It might have been in my blood, but I didn’t have the education, so I didn’t pursue that. Being young, when you leave school, it takes a little bit to catch up when you’re a little bit older, but I educated myself in the army.

I did a correspondence course at James Cook University at Townsville. So I’ve crammed a lot into that life, but I’m happy I did.

I enlisted in Rocky, but I had to go to Mary Street in Brisbane for my aptitude test and my physical.

This is ‘61, July 1961. I’d just turned 18, and I wanted to join the Light Horse, actually.

And the sergeant that was interviewing me said, “When were you born?” I said, “1943.” He said, “That’s when the Light Horse went out, mate. “They drive bloody APCs [Armoured Personnel Carriers] around now, and Saracens and that type of thing.” I said, “Bugger that. I’m not mechanically minded.” so I started

walking for the next twelve years.

I was fit in them days, from boxing and rugby league. They were a…I was going to say a piece of pie, I should have said a piece of piss.

I must have had some brains, because I passed the aptitude test pretty good, too.

I went back to Rocky, because you had to give a fortnight’s notice to the railway. That’s why I would have been 17 joining the army, instead of 18, because my birthday’s in July.

I joined up about the 14th of July. It’s on my record of service. That’s where the extra fortnight came in. When I gave notice to the railways, I went down to

Northern Command Personnel Depot, in Wacol, and we had about two weeks there, getting our hair cut, and waiting until the next intake at Kapooka.

It was hard, mainly because in July…it wasn’t something I was used to, the cold weather. We used to live in igloos.

Between the floorboards, you get them Westerlies coming up under it, and not being used to it. You get out and they call the roll at six o’clock, doing the Emu Bob and your bloody fingers are nearly falling off, and I wasn’t used to that. Then during the middle of the day, it would be hot as buggery. It was good. I’d given boxing away,

mainly because I had delayed concussion in Rockhampton, I didn’t tell the army about this. They knew, I had a bit of a reputation, and they knew that I had boxed in Queensland, and fought a couple of Queensland champions.

This Warrant Officer Robinson, he was our physical training instructor, he said, “We’re fighting Cootamundra Police Boys Club on Friday night.” I said, “I don’t want to box,” because I didn’t want to get hit in the head again. And I couldn’t tell him that I already had delayed concussion, and so we fought them. And I thought to myself,

“I’ll get in quick.” And I thought I was in the wrong ring. This bloke was built like a brick shit house. I said, “Are you sure I’m fighting this big mongrel?” He said, “Yeah.” Thank Christ he couldn’t fight. Anyhow, I knocked him out in the first round. I said, “No, that’s it, I’m finished. I’m concentrating on athletics.” So I won the 440 and 880. I used to run in the

Mimosa Amateur Athletic Club in Rocky, and I won them, and I ran in the inter service in Sydney and won that. I do cross countries and all that sort of thing.

Yeah, delayed concussion. I went blind for about five days. Mum had to put stuff up around the windows.

Nuh, none whatsoever. I never got migraines or anything, but I just didn’t want to box again. However I did, when I thought my head was right.

Yeah, it was mostly physical, drill, learn how to march, rifle drill, range practice. Physical training was basically what you had to do, to keep fit. They reckoned a fit soldier is a good soldier, so I suppose that counts.

You did rifle practice, firing on the range, route marches…not so much exercises in the field, that came later, when we did infantry corps training.

To Ingleburn, in Sydney.

A bit of a challenge, but it was all right, because you sort of bond together … Like most of us, that joined infantry, we all stayed together and all went up there as one.

It was like a family type thing, you all stuck together. I didn’t go into Sydney much. I much preferred to go to the ORs’ [Other Ranks] canteen, and just have a yarn with my mates and friends and whatever.

But it was a good experience, bloody hard, but life wasn’t meant to be easy, was it? And if you want to be a decent infantryman, you copped it, you copped the good with the bad.

Oh, God, it was hard. Mainly it was

the same as Kapooka, but more intense. You had to learn Infantry tactics. You’d wake up, they’d wake you up at midnight and say, “Get your together, we’re going.” Around Bulli Pass, and that sort of thing.

It was hard, but I think it saved lives in the long term. It saved my life, anyway. I’ve got to take my hat off to the instructors. They were strict, but they were fair.

They taught me, more or less, all I knew.

Three months. Three months in each place, Kapooka and Ingleburn, and then we got allocated to various battalions. In those days, we had three battalions in the Royal Australian Regiment.

1 Battalion was in Holsworthy, in Sydney, 2 Battalion was in Malaya, and 3 Battalion was in Enoggera, in Brisbane. So I went to 3 Battalion, I just kept training.

It was a little bit sad, because some of your mates that you were with in those first six months, some went to 1 RAR [Royal Australian Regiment], and some of us went to 3 RAR. And it was a little bit sad when we got allocated, mainly because they were your good mates. Even though you kept in contact with each other,

it was a little bit sad.

No. I think…the Sydney fellows went to Holsworthy to be closer to their families, I suppose, and because I came from Queensland, I came up to 3 Battalion in Enoggera.

I was close to Mum. If we had a long weekend, I would get up home and say g’day to Mum.

Minor tactics,

endurance, route marches, physical training, roping.

Yeah…Oh, well, actually…My company, Delta Company,

we were on standby to go to Laos, Laos or Cambodia, I’m not quite sure, but it didn’t eventuate. So then, I was only 18, and I had to get written permission off Mum to be able to go overseas. I rang her up, and she said, “Is that what you want to do?” I sent her the application form to send to my CO [Commanding Officer].

Anyway, I’d forgotten all about it, and the CO called me up. He said, “Are you sure you want to go over? You’re only young,” I said, “Of course I do. I don’t want to sit on my bum here at Enoggera. I want to get over there with my mates.”

They let me go to Malaya.

We were always briefed by officers or senior NCOs [Non Commissioned Officers], or NCOs that had been over there previously during the [Malayan] Emergency, and they knew what it was all about, and they knew

what the climate was like, and what to eat, and where not to go, and all of that type of thing. They briefed us very closely about what to expect, which was good, it came in handy.

No, I forget now, it was that blooming long ago.

That was about forty years ago, yeah, forty years ago last year. They talked about the terrain, how you look after yourself, put in plenty of fluid, because of the heat and the temperature, what to eat.

In them days we used to take salt tablets, to preserve the salt intake after you had been sweating like buggery all day. Various things, and we used to brush up on minor tactics. You know, contact front, contact rear, ambush left and right, all these types of things. So we fine-tuned ourselves to be…

You see, there was no conscription in them days. We were all professional soldiers. So we more or less knew what to expect when we went to Malaya. I went to Malaya, and Borneo, in ‘63, ‘64, ‘65.

Not that I can remember, no. I can’t be sure, either that or I forget. You soon picked that up when you were over there. You had respect for the local

people, whether they were Muslim, Hindu or Buddhists or whatever. They respected us and we respected them, their culture. I can remember at Tarenda Camp, at Malacca, that all of our local staff in the canteens, and all that type of thing, they had

a Chinese chapel or temple. It was right beside the guard house. They would be beating drums and firing off incense, to get rid of the evil people and all that sort of thing, but we never interfered, they did their own thing and we did ours.

Yeah. “Darryl and the Delegates”. We won just about every talent quest around Rocky area, but I was only 15 in them days, a mad rock and roller and all that sort of thing, but I’ve since mellowed and sing country and western now.

I had a band that…I think we were before our time, because we used to harmonise, much like the Bee Gees and The Platters and that type of thing. Most of them were heavy rock and roll,

the bands. Most of my band was Aboriginal and Islander. We used to sing at dances. We sang at the School of Arts up in Rocky, when Col Joye and the Joye Boys come up,

Johnny O’Keefe, Little Pattie, and then afterwards we would go to the pub across the road and have a little jam session, all the band mob together. We got to know a lot of singers.

I wrote a couple of them. But I was young and silly in those days. People liked our music. We changed our name to Dark Angels and

people wanted us to go to Brisbane and Bowen and Townsville, but we were too young, and we didn’t have a car or anything, and we couldn’t hire a bus or nothing because we were only strugglers ourselves, so we just played around Rocky. We got invited down to Channel 9 in Brisbane, in the early days.

We couldn’t make it because of the cost involved, taking our gear and all that sort of thing. We couldn’t jump on the train, where were we going to stay? You have to take expense into the whole equation, but it was just too expensive to travel around. We would sing at local dances and local talent quests.

We had some good bands around in them days. A lot of people used to be jealous of us, but that is part and parcel of it.

Yeah. We would sing at weddings. Marsden’s Tavern, I was 15 when I sang at Norm Marsden’s

first marriage. He still owes me £10 for that, too. I always have a crack at him. “No, no, no. I paid Hoppy.” Trevor Hopkins was my lead guitarist. He said, “I paid Hoppy.” I said, “I never saw any of it.” He said, “You take it up with Hoppy.”

No, we never recorded anything. It’s not like today where they put you on CD [Compact Disc] or tape you. A mate of mine, it’s a family band, they sang at my 60th birthday, and when I came home from Perth…he is a good songwriter, Mick Moorehouse his name is.

And Paula, his wife, she plays the bass, and he plays lead guitar, and his son plays the drums, or lead guitar. They’re brilliant. He rung me up yesterday, actually, he wants to write a song about Vietnam. He’s gong to wait until I come home from Perth. We’ll sit down. He said, “I want to get all the facts right, so I don’t make a blunder or tell the wrong story.”

But he’s very good. We’re going to sit down together. I don’t know, he might want me to play rhythm guitar or something.

Yeah, we went home to Rocky. There was about…,

about six of us came home on pre-embarkation leave. The funny thing about it was, at that the Victoria Hotel in North Rocky, this Merv Walker, he was the licensee at that time, and we all put £5 away in his safe for when we come home.

You reckon we didn’t have a blow out when we came home, mate. It was 2 years away. He closed all the doors, and all the locals put in another £5. You should have seen me, I couldn’t walk for about two days. Mum flew up me, “You’re not supposed to be drinking.” You had to be 21 in those days. I was only about 20, I think.

No, no, I had my 21st birthday over in Malaya. We were up on the Malay/Thai border….because in them days, we had watches with no dates on them. And I missed my 21st birthday.

and when we got back, I was reading the Straits Times, the local English speaking paper, and I saw it was 6th July. I said, “Come on you buggers.” I was a section commander in them days. They said, “What’s the matter, Rock?” I said, “Jesus Christ!

I’m a week late for my 21st birthday”, so we all went down the boozer [pub] and got half sloshed. They were good things to remember. I was 21, I couldn’t care less. I’m in my 60s now.

Yeah, pretty emotional.

We were talking about discrimination. One of my best mates, Kerry Michael Rooney, he got killed in Vietnam. When Mum came down to Brisbane to see me off, and Mick Rooney’s step-father was

one of the top surgeons in Brisbane. They lived at Red Hill. So Mrs Stark, she invited Mum to stay at their place, while they were saying goodbye to us mob. And they got on…one was a very…I’m not saying that my Mum wasn’t intelligent, but

one was university trained, and Mum was just a knock about lady, hard worker. And they got on that magnificently well, the same as me and Mick. Mick got killed with 5 Battalion, and it broke my heart, but you can’t turn back the clock, aye?

But he was a good man. He was one of the youngest in the regiment, the Royal Australian Regiment, at that time, we were about the same age.

We flew. It was the first air lift of the whole battalion in the history of the Australian Army. Went over in Boeing 707s. I will never forget. We drank it dry before we got to Darwin, and then we drank it dry before we got into Singapore.

Spirits were pretty high, not bottled spirits, I mean morale.

No, no, no. We got domestic flights from Singapore to Malacca, and then got trucked to Tarenda Camp.

Oh, It was good. Like most Australians going to have a brawl…it’s like a journey. You’re not quite sure what to expect, but you were prepared for whatever came along. That, to me, was…

And having your mates around, it’s like a team, you rely on each other for your own safety, and safety of others, and that’s an important of army life, I think. It doesn’t matter what corps you’re in, you’ve always got a team, and you rely on each other for support and for your own safety.

Bloody hot. Going over in July, when it’s quite cool here, and then stepping off in Singapore, the heat hit you, especially with a gut full of grog.

Sweat just pours out of you, and it doesn’t take you long to sober up. When we got to Malacca, it was the same sort of heat. But once we settled in, it was good.

We had to acclimatize ourselves when we first got to Malaya.

We used to run every day, train every day and just get used to the climate. Drink plenty of fluids and, yeah, just normal every day things.

I suppose they’re still it in Iraq and…Afghanistan. But we didn’t have to put up with the cold, not like these poor buggers. The heat was fairly intense, so you had to build up your resistance to heat stroke, heat exhaustion or whatever.

No, the camp was there. We took over from 2 Battalion, they came home and we relieved them.

I knew a few blokes in 2 Battalion, and they used to

say what was happening on the Malay-Thai border, and the anti-Communists Terrorist operations and that type of thing. When we went there, we didn’t know the Indonesian Confrontation was going to happen, and that was different altogether.

I suppose, two or three months. See, we used to do a lot of training around the local area, but before we went to the Malay-Thai border, it would have been…

Golly, I don’t know…Three or four months, we just kept training.

What position? I was a forward scout and a rifleman.

No, everybody took turns. If you got too stressed being out in front, then another rifleman would take over. It wasn’t a specialist job, you all knew what your jobs were.

Whether it be radio operator, forward scout, machine gunner, or Bren gunner in them days, part of the gun group or the rifle group. You used to rotate.

I can’t remember now. We went up to the Thai border, there were still Communist Terrorists on the gallop. But they seemed to have field intelligence. We would go up in the middle of the night by train, and the train would pull up in the middle of the mulga and you jumped out.

And very rarely saw them. They were mainly smugglers, smuggling stuff across into Thailand, and they were the ones we used to have to apprehend.

They would smuggler rubber plants

across the border, which was highly illegal, and various pieces of contraband. And we would have to ambush them, and stop them, apprehend them or shoot them. But most of them gave themselves up without a fight, because they didn’t want to die.

You would normally see where they were trading from.

Well, I was out in the bush and I saw this piece of cardboard stuck in a tree. Anyway, I put my hand in there and it was warm rice, fried rice. And I sat up in a dry creek bed, on the side of it, and he came along

and he picked it up and I told him to stop, “Breddy,” and he didn’t, so I shot him. We never got the body, but there was a blood trail. I know I hit him.

No, he took off into the mulga somewhere

Apparently they found his body afterwards. I had to front court, which was the procedure in them days.

See, the coroners report and all that, to hold somebody accountable.

Yeah, it was part of it, but everybody’s got to be accountable. It’s just a formality. You just go to the court and say, “He was doing the wrong thing and he didn’t stop. I fired two rounds of warning.

He wouldn’t stop, so I pumped him.” But that’s his problem, not mine. He didn’t have a firearm on him, or anything. But the bloke that I saw taking this fried rice…And the magistrate I had to front in Kangar, they looked like brothers. I thought, ‘Jesus Christ, I’m going to spend the rest of my life in Changi prison.’

He just threw it out.

SLR, self loading rifle, seven point six two. Pretty hard hitting.

No, that’s what you were trained to do. To stop them.

It never hurt me at all. See, you’ve got your mates around you to give you support,

and you haven’t got time to think about the repercussions, or what it might do to your brain. I never dreamed about it or any bloody thing like that. It was an experience, I suppose you would say.

No, I was Section 2IC [Second in Command].

In ’64, I think it was. I’m not quite sure. It was before we went to Borneo, anyway.

Well, me and this Kerry Michael Rooney, the fellow who got killed in Vietnam, we went across the border, shouldn’t have, but we went over the Thai border. This mob were clearing a place to grow tucker,

so we took over. We were on Pommy [English] rations. They used to have a Mars bar and barley sugar, and all this sort of thing in the packs. And they had little kiddies with them, so we used to give them these lollies and chocolates and any spare rations that we had.

And the funny thing about this is, they wouldn’t start eating them. They took this Buddhist monk with them, they’d give it to him, and he would share it out between the people after they finished working of an arvo. And as a kind gesture, they gave us four bantam roosters, bantam WAS DOUBLE QUOTE CHOOK s. So we took them back on a lead

to our defensive position was, and they were like little children to us. It’s funny how you can get attached to a bloody WAS DOUBLE QUOTE CHOOK . When a VIP [Very Important Person] would come up, we would have to take them up to one of the Bren gunners, and tie them up, and get them out of sight, out of mind.

Anyway, when we were coming back, we spent about three months up on the Thai border, when we were coming back, I said, “Listen, how about we kill these bloody WAS DOUBLE QUOTE CHOOK s and make a big stew out of them?” And nobody had the guts to kill them, so we had to let them go wild in the bush. I couldn’t. I could shoot a man, but I couldn’t shoot a bloody fowl.

We had to let them go.

I said, “Come on, kill the bastards and we’ll have a big stew.” They were pets to us, scratch around our defensive position, and have a good old time.

We couldn’t kill the poor bastards. The big bronze Anzac, mate, couldn’t kill a bloody WAS DOUBLE QUOTE CHOOK .

Yeah.

That was in Vietnam.

Yeah. Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah. We were on standby. We used to have mock turnouts, you get out on parade and they inspect your kit to make sure you had everything there, boot polish and bloody rations

and stuff, ammunition. Anyway, we were going through this procedure, this particular day…but we never had to prime our 36mm grenade before. I said, “Hey, there’s something going on here.”

Anyway, apparently these Indonesian troops landed in the Muar River, and we had to make contact with them. They thought they were going to be welcomed with open arms, but they weren’t..

So Delta Company, 3 Battalion, we had to make contact with them. And walking in mud up to your knees, the tide must have come in about four times every day, and you were sleeping in this muck. We captured the lot, we didn’t have to kill anybody…

Yeah, so…actually, I nearly got killed on that blooming thing. Me and my CSM [Company Sergeant Major]…no, he was a corporal at the time, we were sitting down and we hung our basic webbing up above a tree.

And this bullet just whizzed past me and hit one of the magazines that were in my basic pouch. And we couldn’t see where he was, just bark. Sand flies were unreal, mozzies were unreal, and sitting in water, probably the worse couple of nights I’ve ever spent

in my whole entire life. We captured them all anyway. I think there was about twelve of them we caught. We handed them over the Malay armed forces. Or Malaysian then, changed from Malaya to Malaysian.

Yeah.

Plenty of money. So we were pissed for a week. We had a party for about a week. Oh, when we come back, the boss, he was a Pom, because we were under British command,

28th Commonwealth Brigade, and he gave us a week off. And you were supposed to hand over all this money, because they were all cashed up, ready to pay the locals. And you are supposed to hand this money over to the Malaysian armed forces, but they would have spent it anyway, so we spent it. We made bloody whoopee.

We took our girlfriends and wives and everybody out to this Happy Lands Hotel for a week. That’s how much money the buggers had on them.

No. They knew we were…well, they didn’t know, did they?

They would only spent it themselves. Why not the Aussies [Australians] have a good old bash, ay? Yeah, we had a good old time.

No. We just partied on, regardless.

I was going with an Irish nurse at the time. And I said, “Take a week off, mate.” And she said, “I don’t know if I can take a week off. I might be able to take a couple of days off.” I said, “Well, take them off.” She said, “Why? Where are we going?” I said, “The whole bloody company is going down to this Happy Lands Hotel.” So we partied on.

I jumped on a water buffalo. I had whitish looking trousers on at the time, and this bloody thing stunk. It threw me in the shit pit. I wasn’t smelling real flash, because they stink like buggery, those water buffaloes, especially when they’ve been wallowing in mud.

Nothing. I wasn’t frightened, neither was any of the troops.

It’s just like a normal job. A lot of people don’t realise…it’s just like a normal job. It’s not a nine to five job, you’re awake all hours of a night, and put in ambushes and pursue them.

If they fire on you, you shoot them, you fight them. But to me, it’s just another job.

Yeah, I had scrub typhus on the Malaya Thai border.

I went from thirteen stone of fighting fury, down to six stone, skin and bone. They were going to send me home, but I needed a change of air, so they sent me up to Cameron Islands, to the British Military Hospital up there, for a change of air, and try and whack on some weight.

I don’t think I’ve ever recovered from it. And then I had malaria in Papua New Guinea, and that knocked me around a fair bit, too. It was all part and parcel [part of the job], isn’t it?

No. It’s just caused by a mite.

And it gets into your blood system, and knocks the hell out of you. That’s all part and parcel. I mean, if you work in an industry you can get an arm ripped off, or something happens to you.

I’m all right now, I’ve gotten over that. Tat was prior to going to Borneo. That would have been about 1964.

About two months. The funny thing about it was, when I was up at the Cameron Islands, we had an

Australian nursing sister there, and a bloody good sort. Sister Smith. Anyway, she wanted to go for a swim up to Robinson’s Waterfall. She needed an escort, so she asked me, because I was an Aussie, see.

She came from Tassie. I went down the Q [Quartermaster’s] Store and got a rifle and a magazine, and I filled the magazine up with rounds. It wasn’t so much from the people attacking her, it was the tigers. I put myself on a vantage point, and by Jesus, when she got into these bikinis, mate, hooly dooly,

she was a bloody sort and a half. On the way back we had to go through this village, and I said, “I’m going to have a beer.” She said, “Righto, Rock. That’ll be all right.” I was a lance corporal in those days. We pulled up, she didn’t have a beer, I had a few Tiger beers, and we got home, we got back, and I was half tarrack, see,

from all of this medication that I’d been taking, and loss of weight, and not eating. I only had about three beers, and I was RS [rat shit, incapacitated]. She said, “You go straight to bloody bed. I’ll get in the poop for letting you have a beer on the way home.” So I did, I went to bed. And that was the last I heard of it.

She ended up marrying a Pommy dentist. She was a lovely lady.

Well, Sukano, he didn’t want…Singapore was in the Malaysian group at that time, but they broke away, and Malaya,

he didn’t want them to unite. So to take his people’s mind off their problems, he had confrontation against Malaysia. But he come a bit of a cropper, I think.

No.

No, we just patrolled the swamp areas, and rounded them up.

No, it was the locals, they reported it to the local police, and then they notified us. We went down. They had Saracens and armoured vehicles patrolling, that’s the Malay Force, and we sort of

put a cordon around where they landed, and that’s the only way that we got them.

No.

We brought mortars into the cordon, and sent a few rounds in. They more or less shit themselves and give themselves up.

We were about a hundred and something strong, one company. We had intelligence that there was only about twelve of them landed, that’s from the locals, so we didn’t need any bigger force.

No, but we knew the squadrons were operating up in Borneo itself, but because covert service, they don’t allow anybody to know

know what they’re doing, only between themselves, like debriefings after. But they used to penetrate into North Kalaminatan, miles.

I wasn’t quite sure, because nobody knew much about them.

Like everybody had a healthy respect for them, because of their ability to gain intelligence. I mean, we had seventeen battalions in Borneo, that’s Ghurkhas, Poms, Scots, parachute battalions, 3RAR, 1 RNZIR, the [Royal] New Zealand

Infantry Regiment, Malaysian Rangers…It wasn’t…but not many people heard about it, because we were there in ‘65, and 1 Battalion was going to Vietnam. So that took a lot of pressure off us.

They were good. The Scot Guards, the Argyle and Southern Highlanders, the 2nd Parachute Battalion, the Ghurkha units, although they were filthy little mongrels.

We took over from them…We had 3 outposts in Borneo. Buketnakel [?], that was Bravo Company, Stass was Alpha, and Sirikan [Sipitang] was Charlie. And because we were in Delta Company, we had to put a platoon in each of the outposts. And I was at Stass, with A Company.

Bloody fine soldiers. We didn’t mix much with the rest of the mob, because they were always at our flanks, or behind us. See we were right near the Kalimantan border.

No, we all had our own areas

of responsibility, and you weren’t allowed to go into theirs, otherwise you end up brawling with them. They fought well.

Back to Tarenda Camp, when they reckoned I was all right again, I was still a bit weak, but I had check ups at the British Military Hospital at Tarenda Camp. So it wasn’t real bad.

Yeah, weakness.

I couldn’t go out on the parade ground, I would get wobbly in the legs and they excused me from that. I couldn’t play Rugby Union, mainly because the weight wasn’t there.

Union in the army, you weren’t allowed to play league in them days.

A bit rough when you are up

against them big Maori bastards, mate, like running into a brick wall. But we were all good mates, and they were good mates of mine, too. The funny thing about it was, when we got into a brawl with the Poms, the Aussies, I would become a Kiwi [New Zealander].

and when the Kiwis were having a brawl with the Pommies, I went back to being an Aussie. So I was on both sides of the fence.

Good. Mum used to write to me every week, send me over the Rocky Bulletin to see how my old team was going.

She would write to me all the time, and I would write back when I had a chance. It was pretty good. “I hope you’re looking after yourself.” I didn’t tell her I was crook with scrub typhus, because she would worry. “Get back here,” or do something. You know what Mums are like.

They were good. Normally twelve to a hut, and every hut their boot boy, to clean your boots and do your brass and clean your web belt,

do your hat badge.

Oh, no, they were better paid than the rubber tapers. I used to pay our bloke, Shanka, I used to pay him more than what everybody else done. And I expected him, when I went to breakfast in the morning, for him to make my bed, and one day he didn’t,

and I got in the poop. So I picked up my gollick and I chased him around the hut. The next day, mate, she macko.

No, see, I was going with an Irish nurse.

Oh, yeah, they would go out for a bit of a time with the ladies.

I had one, Whisky her name was, she used to run a brothel, and she used to claim me all the bloody time. I don’t know why, probably because I was young. They called it Sungiudang.

It was just outside of Tarenda Camp. Siranos was the Pommy bar, the Sheraton was the Kiwi bar, and the Sydney was the Australian bar. You used to have to get permission to go into these bloody pubs. This Whiskey used to always come into the Sydney bar, and sit on my bloody lap, God. Bring me in presents and everything.

They said, “Do you visit that place often?” I said, I’ve never been in the bloody place. I don’t know the hell she’s sitting on my lap for.” She was a kind lady. She was a Thai lady, would have been a good sort in her day, but by Christ, she was about fifty year old, and I was only about twenty. It used to embarrass me

The girl I’m going over to stay with in Perth, her and her hubby, her Dad and myself were very good mates. He got killed in Vietnam, too. Ronny Carrol his name was, and we were affiliated with the

Queens Royal Czars up at Ipoh in Northern Malaya. We took our boxing team, water polo, rugby union, soccer, all of our teams up. They were celebrating the Battle of Balaclava, which happened in the 1700s. We went up there and they had the Balaclava Ball,

and it was in a big hangar. My mate, Joanne, who I’m going over to stay with for a couple of weeks in Perth, her Dad, Ronny Carrol, he used to hook for us, he was the hooker in our union side, and he was trying to get onto this married woman, the mongrel.

Anyway, when she didn’t want anything to do with him, he jumped up on the table and said St Patrick was a Turk. Well, saying that to an Irishman, that’s like waving a red flag in front of a bloody bull. The next minute we’re having this great big brawl. Anyhow, the band that was playing, their military band…

I must have picked the biggest Irishman, and God would have to shovel guts into you, you know. Anyway, I swung him around and I let rip. He had a head on him like Horse Cartwright in that show Bonanza. He never blinked an eyelid, and it was one of the best punches I ever threw in my bloody life.

It would have knocked smaller blokes over. Anyhow, he give me a toweling, too big for me. And they had to play God Save the Queen to pull the fight up. Anyway, we were in different huts around the place.

Anyway, I went and laid down, and have a guess who’s in the bed next door to me? This bloke with the melon on him like this. I thought, “Oh Christ, I’m going to have to go to sleep with one eye open.” And he woke me up and I thought, “Oh Christ, if he hits me again,

I’m going to die.” He didn’t, he woke me up, and he said, “Are you coming down the boozer?” I said, “Bloody oath. It won’t take me long, digger, to get ready.” So we went down the boozer, come home and we were the best of mates. But, oh God, my nose was over here,

I had lips on me like Donald Duck and my eye was cut open. He never missed me, the big bugger. But anyway, that’s part and parcel of growing up.

Oh, Tiger beer, or VB [Victoria Bitter], depending on what we could get our claws on.

Yeah.

Yeah. well, the RSL [Returned and Services League] in Rocky, the ladies knitted us socks, and they sent a half a dozen XXXX [beer] cans over for Christmas, and bikkies [biscuits]. Then they had 4RO,

they had an appeal over the radio station, wanting to know when everybody’s birthday was, over in Malaya. And they used to send us out goodies.

Normally it’s a two year posting, but because Indonesian Confrontation came up we stayed an extra four or five months. About 2 years.

No I don’t think so.

The funny thing about this is, I was the youngest junior NCO in the Royal Australian Regiment at that time, and my section commander, I was a section 2IC, and my section commander, he ended up with a crook back. I think there was a big yellow streak running down the guts of it.

And me, only being young, I used to have to listen to blokes that had been in conflict, like other section commanders, and I’d never been in a combat situation, up until then. But yeah, it was an experience, and

it kept me in good stead for when I went to Vietnam.

Yeah, ex-World War II, Malayan Emergency, Korea. So they were experienced, and I used to listen to them to get a little bit more knowledge.

Oh, heaps. They gave me as much knowledge as I required to be able to, hopefully, keep my troops safe.

No. This Ronny Carrol I was telling you about,

he was more like my mentor. He taught me a hell of a lot over the years, and that’s why I’m good friends with Joanne now, and her hubby. She was only four when he got killed. She wants to know more about her Dad, and all that sort of thing.

About 2 years.

When we come home from Borneo, we went on leave

and then they told us we were coming home.

When we were in camp every weekend, more or less, unless you were on duty. It was pretty good. When you do five months in the bush

or three months up on the Thai border, time means nothing. We didn’t have a date, just a time on our Mickey Mouse watches. So you didn’t care. It was just like every day was a day closer to going home, going back to Tarenda Camp.

Oh, snakes and elephants. We had one young fellow in SAS get gored to death by an elephant, Denahey, his name was, or Donahue. He got hit in the guts

with a tusk and got thrown through the bloody canopy. Tigers never worried you. They might patrol around your perimeter, but then again, you always slept with your rifle close handy.

Minotaur lizards and pit vipers and bloody big pythons and all this sort of thing. I never used to worry about them, mainly because my mind was on the job at hand. It didn’t worry me if I walked on a bloody snake or whatever. I was more focused on the enemy than any of the wildlife then.

No, that’s part and parcel of it. I know my Mum used to worry, and later on, my ex-wife.

No, I never worried about it, mainly because it never entered my head. But, a lot of National Servicemen, they used to worry all the time.

In Malaya? Yeah, they would send us on a week’s turnout to Singapore or KL, Kuala Lumpur. Especially if you done three months up in the mulga. Come home and the brigade commander would say, “Give them a week off.”

I never used to like Kuala Lumpur, I used to go to Singapore, and get on the booze. We were on a…during the Indonesian Confrontation,

they sent a contingent of us down to Singapore to guard the commander in chief of the Far East Land Forces, and we could wear our leather boots during the day, but at night time we used to have to get into jungle boots. Anyway, this aide de camp, he was carting out the admiral’s daughter.

And I was 2IC of the guard, we had a sergeant, a corporal and lance corporal. Anyway, it was pissing down rain, and he couldn’t find the right key to open the gate, and neither could I. And I said, “You’ll have to jump the bloody gate, mate.” He was a captain in the Royal Marine Commandos.

He said, “I beg your pardon?” I said, “Well, I’m not standing out here getting washed away.” I said, “You’ll have to make your own arrangements.” He said, “I’m the aide de camp,” and all this shit. I said, “Look at me. I’m drenched to the shit house now.” Anyway, he reckoned…

“Open this bloody gate.” Anyhow, I had to get one of my diggers out. I said, “Open the gate. I’m getting bloody drenched out here.” Anyhow, he found the right key and opened it up. He said, “I’ll see you in the morning, Wallace.” I said, “Yeah, righto.” Anyway, he come down. I said, “What’s your problem?” “Don’t tell me to jump that bloody gate.”

I said, “Why not?” It’s all right for you, you’re sitting in a bloody car, I’m standing out there getting drenched.” “I don’t want this to happen again.” I said, “Well, if you come in at an appropriate bloody time, the gate wouldn’t be locked. I know you’re out there having an affair with the boss’s bloody daughter, you mongrel.” He said, “You Australians,

you’ve got no respect for rank.” I said, “Not for you I haven’t. I’m standing out there getting wet to the bloody eye balls and you’re sitting in a car yelling out open up the bloody gate. No, don’t be silly, my son, you come in late again, you’re going to stay out there.”

This, Wally Brown his name was, he was the guard commander. He said, “Well, you put him in the right place, Rocko,” I said, “Yeah.” And I said, “And I’m going to sign the visitor’s book.” “A lance corporal?” There was politicians and high ranking officers and all this sort of thing.

He said, “What are you going to put in there.” So I wrote down ‘Sydney H. Bridge.’ Sydney Harbour Bridge. This aide de camp came down and he said, “Who signed this bloody thing here?” I said, “I’m buggered if I know.” It was me, Sydney H [Harbour] Bridge.

No. He got that way he wouldn’t talk to me, because he knew….I never worried about the man.

They were too narrow for me. Too narrow.

I’ve got a flat foot. Most of us Aussies have, from walking around in the bush. Not used to wearing boots all the time. And I had to have an operation when I came home on my right foot….it might have been the left foot. Anyway, they chipped the bone away, threw my foot out of plum.

They were too narrow. A lot of us had the same problem, it was causing bunions and bloody corns. And walking around in mud, swampy type soil, didn’t help. They used to get infected and all that sort of thing.

Yeah.

Yeah, dyed green. When I went into hospital with scrub typhus, I’d had new jungle boots on, and because we were walking through water, all the green went into my feet. This Scottish doctor came in,

and he said to me, “You’ve got all the symptoms of scrub typhus.” He said, “But where did you get them green feet?” He’d only been in the place about two weeks. I said, “I beg your pardon?” He said, “Where did you get those bloody green feet? He said, “I’ve been going through all my medical books and records and everything, because you’ve got green feet.

I said, “It’s the dye out of the jungle boots, you silly bastard.” He was scratching his bum, saying, “Where did you get the green feet? You’ve got all the symptoms of scrub typhus but where did you get those green bloody feet from?” I said, “It’s the dye out of the boots. Why didn’t you ask me before you went checking all your bloody medical books?”

He said, “I thought you had gangrene or something.”

Paladrin.

Paladrin, and it was a suppressant, and when you were coming home they would give you Primacon and Chloroform, to get it out of your blood system. When I got it, up in New Guinea, the mozzies [mosquitoes] up there wouldn’t react to Paladrin.

I think it was from the Second [World] War, them bloody mozzies, they wouldn’t react. They were sort of immune to Paladrin.

‘65.

From Malaya? Totally different. I think it was harder in Borneo than it was in Vietnam, because we used to have to walk. If you see the border between Sarawak and North Kalaminatan,

it’s all mountainous, and you’re buggered before you even get to the border. There was no choppers to take you anywhere, whereas in Vietnam they used to have choppers taking you everywhere.

Yeah, well, our unit headquarters, battalion headquarters was in Bau,

and I never seen them, but they reckon…there was an old gold mine in Bau, and it filled up with water. But when the Japanese were getting tossed out of Borneo during the Second War, they put all their trucks and all their gear and stuff into this mine.

But it was bottomless, more or less, it was an open gold mine. But that’s what they reckoned they done. The AIF [Australian Imperial Force] 6th Division liberated Borneo, I’m not quite sure. I still home here, I was a baby.

I think it was the 6th Division liberated Borneo, but that’s what they reckon happened. That’s the only thing I saw, never saw much at all.

They were rugged. You had to take a lot of fluid, water, with you.

Because you would be bugged by the time you even started, climbing up these bloody big hills.

About five. You’d take your sterilising tablets with you, and fill up down the road. It was pretty good.

In Borneo we used to do a lot of hearts and minds campaigns, go around the villages. Just to let them know that the locals were going to be protected. I can remember one, time we went into this village

called Kampon Opar, and the ladies put on brassieres because the Aussies were coming into their little village. They put us up in the community hall, and there was Japanese skulls hanging from the ceiling by their hair, by their natural hair.

They put on a bit of a sing-sing for us. We went down. They had these bloody monkeys, they roasted these monkeys for a feed, and they looked like little babies. I thought, “Shit, how could a man eat this?”

Yeah, they were whole. They looked like little babies coming out of this hand-held oven, sort of thing. I thought, “Shit, I’m not eating…this it terrible.” It looked like you are eating a baby.

I excused myself. They made up this toddy. If I’d of eaten that bloody monkey I reckon I would have been crying while I was eating it. It was like eating my own family, sort of thing. Anyway, we got out of that. I said, “I don’t mean to be rude or anything, but I have already eaten. Thank you very much.”

When we came home, all the single soldiers made up 7 Battalion, and all the marrieds went down to Woodside in South Australia, and they stayed with 3 Battalion, and we went to Puckapunyal, the single soldiers.

Yes.

Yes we had leave. We had when we come home.

We went and seen our families we hadn’t seen for 2 years.

Oh God, she was happy. My cousin, he was with me, and my other cousin, he relieved us over there with 4 Battalion.

He got killed in 1967. When I’m talking about this, I have lost some bloody good mates. He was the only Vietnam veteran killed from the Capricorn coast, here, Stewart, my cousin. Actually I’ve just put him in for a

geographical feature to be named after him. I’ve seen the council.

Oh, yeah.

We had good cooks. You do three months on the Thai border and all you’re eating is curries and rice and stuff. And you can bet that when you come back to Tarenda camp, they’d have curry and rice on. You’d think they would whack on salad or something, no.

Yeah, steak and roast beef and all this sort of thing.

Oh, yeah. But I got in the poop [in trouble]. Dudley Nelson, he was our Red Shield man from the Salvos [Salvation Army], and he wanted to buy us a 36 mm projector and a screen.

Anyhow, I said to this Stooky Gotwalls, I said, “Leave the fridge open,” in one of our messes. He said, “Why, Rock?” I said, “I want to flog a dozen WAS DOUBLE QUOTE CHOOK s.” He said, “Jesus, you’ll get in the shit.” I said, “No, bullshit.” Anyhow, I got a dozen WAS DOUBLE QUOTE CHOOK s out and locked her up.

And I got all the married ladies to roast up these WAS DOUBLE QUOTE CHOOK s so I could raffle down at the canteen. They cooked them up, and I raffled them off, and I gave Dudley Nelson all this money that I had made. 50c a throw. It was $6.80 to a pound

in those days. And 50c was nothing, but it helped him. I took this money down and he said, “Where did you get this from, Rocko?” I said, “Don’t ask me any questions and I won’t tell you any lies.” Next minute, I’m matted. I’ve got to front the beak [judge].

Stealing tucker from the diggers. I fronted him up. Captain Nelson came in and he said, “I’ll pay for those WAS DOUBLE QUOTE CHOOK s,” and this is half way through my appearance with the beak

He dropped the charges and he said Lance Corporal Wallace, or I might have been corporal, then I don’t know. He said, “Why didn’t you ask me for twelve bloody WAS DOUBLE QUOTE CHOOK s? I would have given them to you.” I said, “Oh, bullshit. You’re as tight as a fish’s arsehole,” and that’s water tight, mate, you know. Captain Nelson ended up paying for them, paying for the WAS DOUBLE QUOTE CHOOK s.

He threw it out. “Next time you want to raise funds for the Salvos,” he said. “You come and see me.” “Yeah, righto.” But anyway, we cleared that up.

He was a lovely man, he would get all the…when we were in camp, he would get all the movies that had just been released. But we were larrikins, and we would

throw beer cans at the screen if we didn’t like the movie. But he wouldn’t care. He knew we were all bloody larrikins, I suppose. He was a good man.

Never had much to do with him.

Can’t even think who it was now. I always used to confide with Captain Nelson, more so than the padre, because I wasn’t a Roman Catholic. I think he was a Roman Catholic, I’m not quite sure.

But if I had a problem I’d go and see Captain Nelson. He used to take the OPDs, Other Protestant Denomination Services, and I was an OPD. So, he was good.

It was inevitable.

No, I don’t think that was the reason, it was just to make up the numbers. They thought they would keep all the marrieds together and all the singles together.

Oh, you always are when you’re living with mates. But you get over it, I suppose.

No, were all one. I used to go and stay with marrieds.

We were all cobbers, that’s the way it was. There was no animosity or segregation or anything like that. We were all one. But you do miss your cobbers when they break you up. And when you’re starting in a new, you’ve got to make new friends. These are things you’ve got to live with.

Nashos [National Service soldiers].

Well, I wasn’t there long enough, because I joined the SAS then.

I was only there for about six weeks.

I’ve got mixed feelings about it. In one way I don’t think it was right, but in another way, we had to fill our ranks. It’s no use going over there

for a year, coming home for a year, going back over for a year, and all this sort of thing. But most of the National Servicemen that I trained in later life, they were quite happy to go. A lot of them signed on into the regular armed forces. These are things. A lot of them couldn’t get out of it quick enough, and a lot of them signed on.

When the intakes came in, we used to train them. It was the same as me being in Ingleburn, doing Infantry training.

With 7 Battalion, yeah.

Yeah. 2nd Recruit Training Battalion, 2RTB [Recruit Training Battalion], 1RTB was in Kapooka, and 3TB was in Singleton.

I applied for it, because I knew a selection committee was coming around to Pucka, and they just picked me.

I forget now, just answer questions, where I’d been, what I’d done.

General knowledge questions, and all that type of thing. So it was fairly informative, and I think, I am not quite sure,

that Major General Jeffery…the new Governor General, I think he was on the selection committee, but I wouldn’t be quite sure about that. I know he was a captain over there at the that time. Mick Jeffries, I served in Malaya with him.

He was in Bravo Company, I think, 2IC of the Company, and he was officer commanding Bravo Company, 3 Battalion, in Vietnam. Pretty sure he was on the selection panel. Pretty sure.

About a week. They said, “Oh, what are you joining the SAS for?” I said, “Mate, to get out of Puckapunyal I’d jump out of a satellite.” Bloody terrible down there, aye.

Christ, what is there to like about Puckapunyal? Bloody flies and the accommodation was not much chop [not good]…It was just the place itself. And Seymour hated the soldiers guts. It wasn’t for me.

Nothing, I just took it as it came.

Yeah, oh yeah. You see, they used to do cardres at the School of Infantry at Ingleburn,

and then they swapped to Keville Barracks in Perth.

About a week. I was glad to see the end of Pucka. Goddamnit, hot one minute and pissing down rain the next,

and cold as shit in the evening. Oh God, bloody terrible. You would be eating out in the scrub, there would be a dead roo, you’re trying to eat some tucker, and the blowies would be crawling up one side of your nose and down the other side out of your nose. No more of that. But Perth wasn’t much better

when we parachuted. And you would have to recover your canopy, and put it on the recovery vehicle. And because of the sweat on your back, these little black flies used to stick to your back, mopping up the sweat, and you could kill them, but they still kept coming back.

Train. Transcontinental, I think it was. I lobbed there on a Sunday, and I thought, “I’ll unpack my gear and go and have a shower.” And in the cubicle next door to me,

there was a woman. I thought, “Jesus Christ! I must be in the RAAF [Royal Australian Air Force] barracks.” I said, “What the shit are you doing in here?” She said, “What are you doing in here?” I had to go and check on the door to see if it was right. One of the bloke’s girlfriends having a tub.

Especially when you’re halfway through having a shower and a sheila starts singing in the cubicle next door to you. Goodness gracious. How would you be, Kylie [interviewer]? It would be bloody terrible, wouldn’t it? It frightened hell out of me.

The following day. I was fairly well at home, because some of them, some of them were blokes I’d joined the army with, from Queensland, a fellow from Mt Isa, and another bloke from Salisbury or Acacia Ridge. So I was pretty well at home.

Plus they’re like a close knit family. They get to know you pretty quick.

Bloody hard, all right. It was. But I was pretty fit in them days. It never worried me greatly.

I was a little bit hesitant about parachuting, but after I got used to it…but the training was really extensive, physically and mentally.

Yeah.

When I think about it, I say to myself, “God, how’d you ever do it?” But when you’re young and you’re healthy and fit.

When I think back now I shudder, because of…what a man had to go through. To keep the patrol together, you used to have to carry logs and sticks together, and somebody wanted to go and have a bog, you used to have to carry this log.

Wait until he’s finished and away you go again. In winter, we used to go down to the Wellington weir and jump into the Collie River, and swim across, full gear, go for a gallop, and then swim back, and be cold all bloody day.

These are things that your body could take when you are young. I couldn’t do it now, Christ….

About twenty five or thirty. Five of us finished, five or eight, I’m not quite sure now.

I think it made me push harder, just to prove something to myself, not to any of my instructors, but to me, that I could do it. And that was a very important part of my life. I got the most outstanding student in our garter. And that was important to me.

Yeah.

It was brilliant. But see, it’s not only the carter. You go over to Williamtown, you’ve got to do your basic para course, and then after that….I think it was four jumps out of a C130,

and four jumps out of a Caribou. But not only that, we had to go to the School of Army Health and do a SAS Med [Medical] Aid course, which took about three or four months, and then go back to Perth, and start your normal training. So it’s pretty intense. You do roping and shallow water diving,

explosives, assault pioneers…What else? Boating…It covers a big field. CW Morse Code, unarmed combat,

there’s a hell of a lot. Every day is different.

You do recondos, try and stay away from civilians and that type of thing.

No. Just the normal weapons.

Yeah. You took your weapon of your choice out in the bush. A lot of blokes took Bren guns and silent Sterlings, and various forms of weapons. I used to call them XM148s, under and overs, an M16 with a grenade launcher underneath.

Various weapons. It depended on where you were going and what you thought you might encounter.

Golly, yeah. It was intense. Do visual reccies [reconnoitre], from the air, just to make sure there wasn’t any enemy activity.

You would take a photographer out with you, take aerial photos of where you were going to go in. But you always had to choose two landing zones, an alternative one. So if you get chased out of one, you go to the other one. It used to take a week to plan your routes in,

your routes out, the lay of the land, enemy activity…all of these things had to be looked at before you could go in. It was pretty intense. You did what you had to do,

preparation, planning. You get information off infantry units within the area, and you plan out no fire zone, so no friendly forces would go into your area of responsibility. All of these things came into…

Well, you had to do it for the safety of your troops and yourself.

No, I was a corporal at the time. I held my rank. A lot of blokes they wouldn’t relinquish their ranks to join the SAS. But I hung onto mine.

I was given a cup, I don’t know where it is now. There was a graduation day and we had a few boozes up at the club.

Everybody was relieved that the bloody thing was over. But it didn’t end there, we still had to work hard.

Every day.

Until I went away.

About ‘67.

Yeah, seven days travelling time, in a bloody train. We used to pull up at Kalgoorlie, Port Pirie, Adelaide, Melbourne, Sydney, Brisbane and then home here to Rocky. But…it wasn’t bad.

Yeah. All of my old railway mates reckoned I was bloody mad in the head. But Mum was proud, she saw me with my parachute wings on…

I only had one medal at that time, one ribbon, the British General Service medal, which I couldn’t wear because it looked lonesome. My RSM [Regimental Sergeant Major], Tony Haley, he copped me on parade one day and he said, “Where’s your British General Service medal?” I said, “I don’t want to wear it, sir.” He said, “Go up and get it you mongrel before I kick you in the arse.”

I went up and got it, and I’m wearing this lonely little bugger by itself. This other bloke who used to skite about it, he was in Borneo with 3 Squadron, he had a British General Service medal, but I had two clasps on mine, Malaya Peninsula and Borneo. And he’d never seen me wear this thing before.

Ray Swallow his name was. He said, “Where did you get that from?” I said, Malaya and Borneo, where do you think I got the bloody thing from?” He said, “You didn’t tell me about that.” He was always skiting about his, and I wouldn’t wear it, mainly because it looked too lonely. Anyway, he said, “Are you sure you’re entitled to that?” And I said, “Sure I am.”

The RSM came up and he said, “He’s entitled to the bloody thing, but he won’t wear it but.” Swallow said, “I didn’t know.” I said, “Now you do know.” He shit himself when he found out that I had been over there for nearly three years.

They knew, they were getting it on the tele all the time. I never had any problems here, in Rocky or Yeppoon, just when I went to Sydney, and applied for all these bloody jobs . You mention Vietnam, you may as well said you were in Long Bay [Gaol]. Child killers and women killers

and all this sort of garbage.

No. Before we went, they had the…freedom of the City in Perth.

Everybody got together and we left the following day. By the same token, when I came home for R & R, we had to come home under the cover of darkness. We didn’t want protestors around the bloody place. They would lob here at two o’clock in the morning. All that was there was your family. But we…

I don’t know. I think our war was….it was the first time it was ever televised on television, and I think that’s why the people were against it. I don’t know why…

If your boss tells you to do something, you do it, don’t you? And if you don’t, you get the sack. And it’s exactly the same in the armed forces. You’re told what to do and you do it, it doesn’t matter what public opinion is. You do what you’re told to do, and you do it to the best of your ability, and you can’t do any better than that.

On some aeroplane.

Yeah, a civvy [civilian] one. Qantas. And then we got off at Ton San Nhut, in Saigon, and Wallaby Airways took us up to Nui Dat.

God, I’d never seen so many aircraft in all my life.

They were taking off, coming back, taking off, choppers [helicopters], jets, transport. It opened my eyes.

Yeah..

That didn’t worry me greatly, I was used to the heat. I’d only been home for about a year, so I was still reasonably acclimatized to the weather and the smell and the shit…

2 Squadron.

Wallaby Airways. Got off, went up the hill. We weren’t over there long before we started patrolling,

probably a couple of weeks after we got there.

It was pretty big, with all the supporting arms and the battalions.

Oh, it was a hell of a lot bigger than what I was used to.

The units were big, there was plenty of activity, armoured personnel carriers, which we didn’t have in Malaya and Borneo, and artillery support. The 155s, the mobile artillery pieces, that looked like tanks,

Engineers, with all of their equipment and American machinery…

I just forget who was there when I got there, what units were there. I think it was 3 and 2 Battalions, and then 7 Battalion came over later, and 1 RAR replaced them. But it was totally different to what…I’m used to isolated little defensive areas, whereas this thing was huge.

Yeah. We were on Nui Dat 1, which is the hill, and we were separated from the rest of the units.

We didn’t sort of mix with the rest of the units, but we used to report back to Task Force Headquarters, when we were out in the scrub, of enemy movement.

It was important to the Task Force to go out and meet these people, make contact with them.

We had opportunity targets. If we went out for ten or seven days, and there were two or three of them, we could liaise with them, but not a big mob, if it was a battalion. All we did was report back to Task Force

Headquarters, and check their morale, how many there were, try to identify their units and the directions they were moving in,

so as the battalions could intercept them. But by the same token, we were allowed opportunity targets if there was a couple of them, in the last couple of days, and basically kill them.

Yeah. That’s what our basic role was, long range reconnaissance and medium reconnaissance patrols. We used to go heavily armed, so that if we were in for a brawl, we could sustain our fire. That’s the way it was.

Yeah, there’s a few. I can remember, we were out on a patrol one particular time, and it was during the dry season, and we used to pull up

for siesta time, between eleven and two, during the heat of the day. These three blokes come out of the bush, we were laid up, these three blokes came out of nowhere, and I didn’t know whether to race out and grab

one by the neck and screw his head off, or whether to shoot him. But I thought he saw us, that’s why…but he didn’t see us at all. Anyway, I had a look at the map.

The creek went around and did a dog loop, so we ambushed the three of them. We didn’t have to walk far, because they were using the dry creek bed as a land mark, for their navigational purposes.

And we were hoping they were still in the creek bed, which they were.

They were armed and they were using….because their maps weren’t as sophisticated as ours, they were using these landmarks to get them from point A to point B.

I don’t know, they were just there. They were in the wrong possy at the wrong time, I suppose.

At that time? Four.

Four or five. It depended. Normally four or five, and it was quite daunting, when you see six hundred men go out in the field, it’s nice to have a big mob around you. But when you’re

more or less on your own, you can’t take the law into your own hands, you’ve got to weigh up what’s right. Whether you can take them on or whether you can’t.

You don’t know how many blokes are behind. There might be two out in front, but there might be a hundred behind them. So we used to have to wait, and just see how many was there.

It was daunting. But when you’re young, you don’t care really. You don’t mind a brawl. And if they want a brawl, they’ve come to the right place. We were professional soldiers, and patience is a virtue. And if there is a big mob, you just wait it,

and report it back to Task Force, and then they send out the units to make contact with them.

A bit hard in the dry season, because it was like walking through Kellogg’s Cornflakes factory [i.e. a noisy cereal to walk over]. But during the wet, it was all right. They couldn’t hear us, and we couldn’t hear them.

But, by the same token, in the dry season, you had to step warily. We never used tracks, because they might have been mined or they could have been ambushed, any place. These are the things that you’d look at. You could always flank a track,

but you had to be very wary of where you put your foot.

Yeah, I used to set them myself.

Booby traps, as we know it, they were masters at it. And I blew up a lot of booby traps with three inch mortars and things. Unexploded bombs and all this sort of thing.

I deloused a hell of a lot. Everybody reckoned I was stupid, but that’s beside the point. I had a job to do, as I said prior, and when you’ve got a job to do, you do it.

With SAS? Seven to ten days, and that was enough, mainly because you could only carry so much weight on your back. We weren’t mobile, we had to walk.

This is after we were transported to where we were going. And during the dry season, it was nothing to take ten water bottles out, plus your ammunition and tucker.

It made a lot of weight to hump through this scrub in a hot climate. When it rained it was good, but a lot of our blokes now suffer from back ache from parachuting, and sleeping in mud,

roping…these are things that contribute to arthritis and stuff like that. A lot of our blokes don’t realise we’re getting older now.

They just put it down to old age, but by the same token, I think living in the bush, and….your body can only take so much of a pounding. And I think that contributed to a lot of my mates being

as ill as what they are now. Agent Orange [herbicide used in Vietnam] was a factor in those times. We used to watch the baby Hercules go over, and you had this shit running down your head and you didn’t care. But studies prove that it was

a contribution towards why a lot of people, not only in Special Air Service Regiment, also the Royal Australian Regiment and other units, have been dying of bloody cancer. And I can’t work it out. But I’ve have had

lung cancer and chronic bronchitis. And I know I shouldn’t be smoking, and drinking, but if I give both these things away, I may as well curl up and die here. Because I’m happy with the way my life is.

Yeah.

We used to have ten by ten grid squares that we could operate in, and we couldn’t go outside of those boundaries. None of our friendly forces came come in there, but everyone in there was fair game. And ten by ten…

I think, I might be wrong, I think’s it’s ten thousand metres by ten thousand metres squared. And anybody in there was fair game. We weren’t allowed artillery support.

We had to do our own brawling.

Yeah. You did your preparation planning.

Like I said before, we used to do air recces,

air reconnaissance.

Fixed wing aircraft, not often rotor. Go across and take photographs, and then you would have an auxiliary planning zone, if you got chased out of the first one. You took photos of both landing zones,

and then come back, report to your boss, and say, “This is where I want to land.” Take photographs, aerial photography…

Enemy activity.

No, just well worn tracks from where they were mobilising themselves, or bullock cart tracks, different things like that. If you knew that there was bullock cart tracks indented,

you’d know they were carrying heavy weapons, so you’d stay away from them. With only four or five blokes, you contend with…heavy weapons.

No.

Yeah. And it was funny.

a mate of mine in 9 Squadron, helicopters, him and I grew up together, we used to box down here. And he ended up dying about two year ago, from cancer. And he used to throw this garbage, Agent Orange, out the window.

Out from the choppers, on the skids. And it was really funny, because…well, it wasn’t funny….I was trying to read a map to where I was going, and this bloke is digging me in the ribs.

And I said, “Piss off! I’m trying to read this map to know where the hell I am going?” And it Orville Quinn, who was a very good friend of mine, we grew up together. And I said, “Is that you Matty?” We used to call him Maddy. He said, “Yeah.” Anyway, we landed on this LZ [Landing Zone],

we got chased out, there was too many of them for us. We give them a little bit of hurry up. We went back to Vung Tau, and I rang up my boss, and he said, “When are you going back in, Rocko?” I said, “In the morning, first light.”

We got pissed out of our heads. We went back in the next morning, he was a door gunner with 9 Squadron choppers. And he was a very good friend of mine, and it was very sad to hear of his death. I said the eulogy at his funeral.

His brother Paul, he was in the Voyager when the Melbourne run over it. And Paul said, “Oh, can you say a eulogy for Matty.” I said, “Of course I can.” I didn’t have anything written down, it all come from there and there.

Mrs Quinn, she said, “Oh, that was beautiful Rock.” I said, “All I could do was tell the truth about my life with him.” And I hadn’t seen him for years and years.

I didn’t even know he was in the RAAF. But he was a great man.

Like I said before,

you map your routes in, routes out, escape routes, prepare for a week or so or more.

Depending on where you were going,

we used to prepare and plan before we went in there, for the safety of…not only me, the rest of the soldiers. And that was paramount on my agenda.

Just the enemy.

Oh, bunker systems and all that type of thing,

whether they were occupied or not occupied. That’s all you have got to do, you’ve got to try and determine whether they were occupied or not occupied. But if they were occupied, or non occupied, we used to call in the US [United States] Air Force

Phantom fighters, and they would blow the hell out of their tunnel system. That was pretty important. We did what we could to try and defuse the enemy’s advances. But apparently, it didn’t work.

Sleep on the ground. Couldn’t put a tent up, just go with a piece of bamboo, with natural defence.

Not that anybody slept. We all used to sleep pretty lightly. You could hear people, if they were organised, you could hear them coming up. We used to just get into thick bamboo, and that was our natural defence. I mean, four blokes

or five blokes, you can’t have a picket going all night when you’ve got to walk all the next day. So that’s what we used to do.

No. We’d all sleep, because they didn’t know where the hell we were.

Yeah. Thank goodness, none of them were occupied.

A bloody big snake,

a king cobra, for Christ’s sake. They reckon it was like playing a movie back the front. I went in, and went straight back out. He was a big bugger. I wouldn’t have minded getting bitten by the bugger.

That’s part of your job. But he had a snout on him like that, and I thought if he bit me, he would probably take my arm off.

To investigate the tunnels.

I didn’t want to, that’s why I jumped out of the place. But I thought, “Well, if I get bitten, that’s it.” Finished.

No, would have gone to hospital or something.

Later on we did. But they were mostly unoccupied, because most of our tunnel searches were during the dry season, and because they’re rice eaters, they used to cook their rice near the rivers.

They needed water to cook the rice, so we used to be pretty wary when we went down to the rivers to re-establish our water supply. These are things that happen,

and plenty of people have been in worse situations than me. Plenty of soldiers, I should have said, or airmen or Naval personnel. When I think about it.

all of our people excelled ourselves in every conflict or war that we’ve been in, and I was proud to be part of it. But we’re fighters, whether we come from the bush or the city.

And for me, that’s a very important part of my life. People have said to me, “Would you do it all again?” And my answer is, “Yes.” I would. Mainly because I’m not dead, and mainly because I’ve got mates for life, and that’s the most important part of it.

My children, my two boys, they know all of my mates. And whether it was in 3 Battalion or SAS Regiment, they’re treated like part of the family, too. And to me

that’s very important, very important to me. To probably anybody else, “Oh, you’re a war monger and a mongrel,” and all this sort of garbage. I was never a war mongering person, to me it was a job. If I can do that job properly, I’ll do it. I couldn’t do it now, I’m an old bloody man, mate.

Not much. When we came in from our patrols, we’d have a debriefing on what happened.

It would be reported to the Task Force Headquarters, and it was handed onto the various battalion commanders. We didn’t have direct contact with the battalions,

it just came through our headquarters. We weren’t involved with the battalions, just straight from us to the Task Force Headquarters.

Probably, I think. This is my own opinion, not the opinion of the Special Air Service Regiment, I think the battalions used to be jealous of us.

They didn’t know what the hell they were doing, and we stayed to ourselves, more or less. We mixed with the aviation, army aviation flight, we mixed with 9 Squadron helicopters,

but not so much the battalions. I don’t know why, but you couldn’t talk about this to just anybody, your operations and patrols and stuff. It was pretty covert. You couldn’t do it.

I think, in retrospect, they respected us, and we respected them for what they were doing. And we were all bloody Aussies.

And we love our brothers. And that’s nothing nobody can take away from us, being Aussies. We’ve all got our jobs to do, and all of the units that I saw over there, they done their job magnificently. Whether it be SAS or any of the

Battalions that went across there, or Engineers, Artillery. It takes ten men to put one infantry man in the field, that’s supporting, arms, cooks, radio operators, ordinance, re-supply.

A lot of people don’t realise this, it takes ten men to put one infantry men in the field. And we had fifty thousand over there, over a period of ten years. And so that the amount of support troops, whether he was a cook or the blooming postman or whoever he is,

he is he is part and parcel of our family. And not a lot of people realise that.

Yeah.

Oh, golly yeah. You see, SAS is like a family. I’ll see them next Monday, when I go to Australia Day. We knew everybody, their families,

their girlfriends, their wives, their children, and basically all their families, and that is what made us part of the family. You think of them as part of your family, and to me that’s very important. They’re still part of my family after thirty seven years,

since I’ve been away from the SAS. They will always remain in my heart, until the day I die. I’m looking forward to seeing them shortly, that’s very important.

Yeah.

Not much. We more or less stayed to ourselves at Nui Dat

1.

When I go the arse out of SAS, I went down there. I was in Delta Company 3 Battalion in Malaya and Borneo, and they sent me back to Delta Company. So most of my mates were

in Malaya and Borneo with me, so I felt quite at home.

My cousin Graham Hill, he was in 1 RAR. He came up the hill, and he was going out on operations the following day and he was as full as a bull’s arse.

so I stole, I took a loan of the duty vehicle and took him home. But I was going through all these road stops and I didn’t know what the various passwords were,

so I just kept driving. How I never got shot has got me buggered, but I took him home. When I got back up on the hill, there was a reception waiting for me. I fronted the beak and he said, “I’m sending you back down to Delta Company 3 Battalion.”

So I went down there.

I wasn’t real impressed, but it was something that happened, part of your job. See, our tactics in the SAS was totally different to

to the tactics in a battalion, and I had to retrain myself, put it that way. I had to retrain myself back to battalion tactics.

It didn’t take me long. It’s like riding a bike, you never forget.

Yeah, I never hid anything from anybody. I told them proper.

I got the Khyber Pass [arse – kicked out] and that was it, finished.

I was initially, but shit happens.

All that training going to waste, but anyway….

More or less straight away. I went to

5 Support Base Anderson, we were there for a month, and then we thought we were going home. And General Westmoreland redirected us to secure Fire Fort Base Coral, for 1 Battalion. We secured her,

we had contacts with the enemy, prior to breakfast…I knocked this Viet Cong, he was cooking brekkie [breakfast], we left at 4 o’clock.

So I had his tucker. I was walking around farting like a brewery horse, because that tucker didn’t agree with my guts. We secured Coral and 1 Battalion came in, and then we moved north, or west, I am not quite sure now, to Balmoral.

and they hit…Paris Peace Talks were going on at the time, and they thought if they had a victory over the Australians that would strengthen their turnout on at the Paris Peace Talk. But they come a cropper.

Too far to walk on water all the way home, so we just stayed there at port. I think, I’m not quite sure, we lost eight, a lot wounded. And 1 Battalion lost twelve, or twenty, I’m not quite sure, a lot wounded.

You see, they went for the guns. We fought pretty good, and they didn’t pursue us any longer, because they knew we were going to brawl.

It never worried me, mainly because I was trained to be an infantryman. The adaptation from one to the other

was only minimal. I knew that what I was doing was right, and I knew that

the soldiers would prevail. They were well trained diggers. Well, we had nowhere to go, so you’ve got to stand and fight. To me that was a very important

part of my life. But I lost some very good mates, but as I say, that’s a part of my job.

Yes, my cousin Graham Hill, he was in Mortar Battalion, they went for the guns, NVA.

You see, we were blocking their path through Cambodia, and trying to stop them from going to Saigon. They hit both places at once.

Rocket and mortar fire. And my boss, Major Phillips, ended up being Major General Phillips…

The RSL National President. Peter Phillips, he won an MC [Military Cross], actually. On the day that they hit both Coral and Balmoral, he asked for volunteers. So I took

sixteen well armed people up to Coral to see how my cousin was. They had 80% casualties, wounded or dead. And I got him out in the bush,

walking around, no rifle, bugger all.

No just a fighting patrol. I got him and he was in a state of shock. I said, “Hilly!” Graham Hill his name was. I said, “You’re safe. I’ve got you now. Nothing’s going to happen to you.”

He said, “Oh, they might come back.” “Not while I am with you. We’ll fight until the death.” To this day he reckons, “You saved my life. I could have got killed out in the bush.” But we’ve been, not only cousins, but very, very close since, and that’s a very important part of my life.

To say I’ve done something for one of my relations, aye. To me that’s an important part of my life. He was a good digger.

About thirty magazines.

Thirty.

Yeah. We had canisters of anti-personnel…

a six inch shotgun and HE, high explosive grenades. What we used to do, was when we were changing magazines, we let rip with a canister, or HE, and then changed magazines and keep firing.

Normally about thirteen magazines, you probably wouldn’t use them, but just in case you got into a bit of a scrap. But then again,

when I was in 3 Battalion, and the wharfies [wharf workers] went on strike, our resupply boat, the Jeparit, we had hardly any ammo [ammunition] at all, about three magazines. You used to have to make every shot count. And hardly any tucker. We had to borrow it off

the Yanks [Americans]. And the posties [postal workers] went on strike, and I’m trying to keep the morale up of my diggers.

It wasn’t good. We just thought punch a postie and wallop a wharfie.

it wasn’t good. And there I am waiting for letters from my wife, at that time, and seeing how my son was going, and I’m trying to keep the morale up with my troops and my

morale was shithouse at the time myself. But I had to keep my diggers from being low.

In ‘67. I went away early ‘68.

It was hard, but I had a young son, he was only about that big, he was born in September, I went in February, I think. And it was a bit hard, but like I said, it’s a job.

You’ve got to go where your bosses tell you.

Nearly every day. She used to number them when I was out in the mulga, when I was out in the bush. She would write 1, 2, 3,

4.

So in the numerical order, I used to open them up.

We only had American TV [television] over there, and they used to televise everything. My wife, and my Mum, and Mum in law, they’d all write to me and tell me what these clowns were up to. Or you’d cop it from one of your mates.

That type of thing. I never worried about them, they were all right. They didn’t have enough brains or enough guts to come over and have a go.

I never worried about them.

Pretty hard. I had one bloke, he got a letter from his wife, she was a nurse at Campbelltown.

She went and had a party with all her nursing friends, and she came up to me and said, “She’s playing up.” “Bullshit! What are you talking about, my son?” He said, “Look at this. She was out until one o’clock in the morning.” He wanted to go home, see.

He said she must have been playing up because she was out there until one o’clock in the morning. I said, “If she was playing up, she wouldn’t have bloody well told you in the first place.” Anyway, he wanted to shoot me. And I had my rifle right near my stretcher.

I said, “Shoot me, shithead. I’ll put three in your head before you know where the shit you are.” And he shit himself. The next morning we were going out on operations, we were going to Long Hai [Hills], and I walked up to him and I said, “Here’s a rifle. Shoot me.”

He said, “I can’t.” So I butted him in the face. “Don’t you ever do that to me again or I will kill you…kill you in your own bed, not mine.” He shit himself. I saw him in May last year, down on

the Mornington Peninsular, and he wouldn’t talk to me. I said, “You’re a bloody dingo, you bastard.” I wouldn’t take him to the bush again, either. He nearly cost me my life, this bloody man. We were out in the bush and we got fired upon.

And he was the forward scout. I said, “Where’s he bloody coming from?” “Buggered if I know,” he said. His head was bloody near buried in the ground. I said, “Give me some sort of indication so I know where the mongrel is.” He said, “I can’t get up off the ground.” I exposed myself, this bloke took a couple of shots at me,

and he never hit me, thank goodness. I fired a couple in his direction. I never got him. Anyway, he took off. When we went back to Nui Dat, I said, “You’re going to suffer, the whole bloody lot of you.”

“What? Because of this clown?” I said, “Yeah. We’ll do target indication. We’ll do contact drills. Ambushes left and right, contact rear. And you’re going to be working your bums off.”

We did. And weren’t they savage on this mongrel. He buried his head in the ground, and I didn’t know where the hell he was, the enemy. You don’t do that. I was thinking, ‘Not him!’ I thought he was bloody dead, but he was playing doggo [dead].

Well, to survive, you’ve got to be. Yeah, I was a hard man. But I was fair. I didn’t bastardise anybody or…

They wanted to brawl, they’d come to the right place. I thought I was a fair sort of a person. And in later years, when I trained the National Servicemen,

they respected me, because I trained them hard, and I never took any shit from anybody. I said, “I’m doing this to help your save your life.” And the feedback that I’ve got

after I had trained these lads, was positive. “You trained us good.” I said, “Yeah, but I was a hard bastard.” Which I was, I was a very hard person. They appreciated it, because most of them came home.

And that was what my achievement was, to make sure they were well trained. The lady I’m going over to see in Perth, and her hubby, her Dad used to stay back after work just to train me.

It rubbed off onto me. I would stay back after work, even though I had forty mile to go to work and back, I always took the time out to train people to a certain standard. And to me, that was very important part of my life.

All the kids now, when I say kids, they’re bloody fifty year old or something. They always come up and still respect me, call me sergeant, and thanks for the training and that sort of thing.

No, when I came home from Vietnam I was deaf.

I couldn’t go back to a regular unit.

Firing weapons. The last four years of my time in the army was

training National Servicemen. I trained them to the best of my ability, and I didn’t lose too many. But I used to stay back. And they didn’t know anything about….

I wasn’t real impressed. I wanted to go back to a regular unit. But you take the good with the bad.

In Singleton, in NSW [New South Wales].

No 1TB.

It was…a lot of my mates were deaf and medically downgraded, so

we just sort of molded together. Bloody four years, mate, I did there.

Both.

Yeah.

They were pretty good, actually, on the whole. I always told them, they didn’t have to go if they didn’t want to. But most of them, because their mates were going, they wanted to go with them. There was a few that didn’t want to go, so they stayed at home, but I always taught them. Contrary to what a lot of people believe,

if you didn’t want to go to Vietnam, you didn’t have to. You weren’t ordered to go. I used to tell them, properly, “If you don’t want to go, you don’t have to. You can do your two years here in Australia.” But most of them…and I might add, some of the best soldiers I ever served with were National Servicemen.

Isn’t it funny? They took notice of everything you said, it all sunk in. To me that was a very important part of my life. When they came home, they would look me up and say g’day.

And that’s respect. And that’s what I say, that’s part of the job. You train your kids, they were kids to me, you train them to be the best to their ability. If they

come home, good luck, if they don’t? Back luck. But these are things that you got to take as a calculated risk of war. I could have got killed myself. I was in three theatres of wars.

Yeah, well, that was at Coral and Balmoral. 3 Battalion was engaged with the enemy in Baria, or Phuoc Tuy, we called it Baria. South Vietnamese Rangers, a

bloody division of them, they couldn’t contain these Viet Cong. And 3 battalion went in and we arseholed them, simple as that.

Some of them were good, some of them didn’t want to be there, fighting against their countrymen. I don’t know what the whole thing was all about…

Like I been saying, we had a job to do and we had to do it. See, they ransacked Baria, they were walking out and we were walking in. That’s when Mick Jeffries, the Governor General, won his Military Cross, in Baria,

or Phuoc Tuy. He fixed bayonets and charged them, from what I can gather. I don’t know how true it was, I wasn’t in his company.

So that’s where Major General Jeffries won his Military Cross.

Some of them were good, some were mediocre. When you have got the rookies,

they weren’t professional soldiers, just civilians, I suppose. Smoking dope and carrying on bloody terrible.

No, well, most of the blokes that smoked that

garbage, they were in Vung Tau. We didn’t have access to civilians at Nui Dat, but no I never knew any of them.

R & C, we went to Vungers [Vung Tau],

and we used to go to the Beachcomber. Glen Campbell, who I saw in today’s paper for driving under the influence,

him and Roger Miller came down there and sung us a few songs. The Korean R & R Centre was next to the Peter Badcoe Club. This Korean used to come down with us, he didn’t know a bloody word of English,

and when we spun a yarn, a filthy yarn, he would laugh along with us. He didn’t know what we were talking about.

Nothing much.

Golly yeah. When they got a bit of turps in them, they wouldn’t take any notice of me.

Yeah, I did. It’s a funny thing, I couldn’t front them. I didn’t know why.

After I got cleared from customs, I went around the back. With all this adversity going around, about Australian troops and killing kids and stuff, I went around the back and sat down.

They came up. She said, “Why didn’t you come out and see me?” I said, “I couldn’t front you. Everyone thought I was a child killer or a woman killer.” She said, “No.”

She said, “You’re a soldier.” I said, “But a lot of people believe this, in the newspapers.” I said, “I wasn’t one of them.” She said, “I know you weren’t.” So that was important. But when you see a lot of death,

it sort of hits home, especially when you’re here. You’re going from a hostile country to a passive country, it sort of hits you all at once.

It’s only about a twelve hour flight, and it’s a totally different environment. And when you think about people talking about you, and…

I don’t know, it’s pretty hard to explain. When I saw my young one, he had a bow tie and white shirt and black duds. I can still see him now, and he’s 37 this year.

When I see him now, I still think about the day I come home. He come up and give me a big cuddle. Because my ex- wife used to show him a photo of me every day and say, “Dad, Dad, Dad.” You know, he’s pretty proud of Dad.

So are both of my kids, and my grandchildren. When I think back, I think could have I have done something different…but no, I couldn’t have. I did what I thought was right, and to me it was a very important part of my life.

We can’t rewrite the history book.

Oh, golly yeah. I applied for jobs in Sydney, and as son as I mentioned Vietnam they didn’t want to know me.

But when I started working for Aboriginal and Islander, they took me for who I was, not any of this prejudice against Vietnam veterans. There’s a lot of blokes, white blokes we’re talking about, that have been persecuted,

still to this day, and by golly, that was nearly forty years ago. I feel for them, but my community, the Aboriginal and Islanders, they respect what I’ve done and they’ve always looked after me. And to me, that’s a very important part of my life.

I couldn’t get out of Australia quick enough. I know that sounds bloody terrible. But I wanted to get back to my cobbers. I took four dozen pies back. I asked my diggers

what they wanted, and all they wanted was a bloody meat pie. I was at Fig Tree in Wollongong, and I went in and I said, “Can I have four dozen pies, please, digger.” He said, “What are you having? A party?” I said, “No, I want to take them back to Vietnam.” And he give them to me for nothing.

It gave me confidence in the Australian folk. And when I….I stayed at Camp Alpha in Saigon, and I had these pies, we done them up in alfoil and air-tighted them.

I had two mobs of them, plus my port, stayed there for the night, got the Wallaby Airways back to Nui Dat, and I give them to the cooks. They heated them up and made up peas and mashed spuds and gravy and everything. My troops morale went from there up to the roof, mate.

They said, “Best pies we ever had.” I went into Footlee and I bought him a shield, ‘With thanks from 10 Platoon Delta Company 3 RAR, for your pies.’ When I came home,

I said, “Did you get your plaque all right, digger?” He said, “Oh, mate, I polish it up every day.” This plaque thing with a little silver turn out on it. He said, “Did your boys like the pies?” I said, “Holy shit, they couldn’t get enough of them.”

I said, “I nearly got a ruptured pill from carrying the things.” We had a good feed and the morale of my troops….but they wanted a bloody milkshake, for shit’s sake. How the hell am I going to take four dozen pies and milkshakes

across? I could have taken flavoured milk, I suppose, but it would have gone off by the time I got over there.

No, I was only with them for…

One year.

I think it was ten months. Because 3 Battalion went over there before 2 Squadron went there. I did from February, ‘68,

to December, ‘ 68. About ten months.

Yes, thank goodness.

When I was in Vietnam, this Chadwick, we used to run Crown & Anchor, me and him. We had about $2000, and we used to take turns, when we went out in the bush, take turns hanging onto the money. The mongrel got wounded and took all my bloody with him. Bastard.

See, I flew home, I didn’t come home until later, they come home to Sydney, and his Dad owned a pub near Rockingham in Western Australia. They pulled up in Perth, let some of the troops off, and he shouted them all dinner.

They said, “Oh, thanks Chatty.” He said, “Don’t thank me, thank Rocko.”

Never. But when I go over to Perth I’ll check him out.

Oh, Golly yeah. I don’t worry about it now.

Yeah, and then signed up for another six.

When I got out, I was a prison officer up at

Epner Creek, near Rocky. Of course, most of the fellows that were in there, I used to play footy with, or went to school with, I couldn’t hack that, trying to discipline them and all that sort of thing. I went to Aboriginal and Islanders Advancement, within the state government.

And I went to Brisbane, done a course, and then they transferred me to Cairns, and I did a couple of years up there. They sent me to Normanton up in the Gulf country. I did a couple of years there.

I think it helped in my own state, but not in New South Wales or Victoria.

Yeah.

Not with my own people. I grew up with Aborigines and Islanders. And they all knew me, and they knew my capabilities as a person, and to me that was an important part of my life. And when I had all this experience in the field of welfare, and I went back to New South Wales,

I got a job with the Aboriginal Islander Dance Theatre at Glebe. I worked as a orderly at Royal Brisbane Hospital.

Oh golly, yeah. Even to this day, I always do.

I was an orderly at Royal Brisbane Hospital, and when I got divorced, I went to Barcaldine, and I worked there for about eighteen months as a welfare worker. I couldn’t hold a job down.

Buggered if I know why. After about twelve months I had to take off. I went down to Sydney, and I worked there. I worked for the (UNCLEAR) Administrator

No, not after I got divorced. I couldn’t. I would stay a year at a job, and take off and get another job.

No, they worked hand in hand, I think.

It was…I think it worked hand in hand. I wasn’t coping real well…

Yes, I think so. See I got that lung thing and…

I don’t know, you try your hardest to be a decent sort of a person, and all of a sudden something will hit you, like bullshit artists and….

That’s what we were talking about down the pub. And a lot of them don’t realise, that if they’re bullshitting….they don’t know how much it takes it out of you, sort of thing.

In the belly, in the head and in the heart. They will be found out, it’s just a matter of time. That’s their problem, not mine.

Not for a long time.

Now I’m Master of Ceremonies here on Anzac Day and on Vietnam Veterans Day. And all the school children, they all know me. And they’re our future. I take time out to say g’day.

To me, I sort of remember everybody that lost their lives in all wars, not only our war, or my wars. But it all reflects, in your brain.

I would have hated to have been in the Great War, or the Second War, but these are things that are important to us, as a nation. We’ve got to respect our people, and we have got to respect those that gave their lives to the nation.

It’s simply that. And in all wars since, or conflicts, I should have said. You look at the Korean War, they call it The Forgotten War, but it’s not.

We lost troops over there, and that’s an important part of Australian Military History. Then we have the Vietnam war, Bosnia, Rwanda, Solomons, East Timor…all of these minor conflicts, we’re still losing good men.

I think that’s important, that we remember everybody that served and fought in all wars, and that’s my message to the kiddies here, when I read out my speech on Vietnam Veterans Day. We don’t only remember

Vietnam Vets, we remember everybody that died in all wars. I was a great critic of Andrew Myers, that lost his life in Afghanistan, and his wife Kylie, she got frig all [nothing]. What’s the matter with these governments…?

I don’t know, I’m not a political person. But Kylie and her little daughter, they’re alone, without her daddy and her husband. It hurts me that…I can only do so much. They’re in Western Australia, I’m here in Yeppoon.

But I have rung up about just about everybody I could ring up.

Yeah. I will meet her when I go to WA [Western Australia], I hope, and say g’day. Oh God, if they treated my ex wife they way they treated her,

trying to do a job for your country, I’d come back and haunt them.

We have our service here on the closest Sunday to Vietnam Vets’ [Veterans’] Day, and then we go to our Cockscomb Retreat, and have a barbie over there, and take a guitar or two, and have a bit of a turnout, on the day, that is.

The 18th of August, If you get a chance, go and see Cockscomb. It was the first Vietnam veterans retreat that was ever established in Australia. They have got caravans, and it costs you nothing to stay in the thing.

We normally get a bus and go out there. We have our service here on the Sunday prior….

Well, most of them went to Vietnam, see. They were good digs. We had a lot of Korean veterans who went to Vietnam,

with the Australian Training Team. Some of them didn’t, but a lot of them did. And we always get together.

This is my own personal opinion, it was harder in Malaya and Borneo, because we had to walk everywhere, but in Vietnam we got transported everywhere.

Golly, yeah. When I say we weren’t frightened of the Indonesians. All you’ve got to do is have a trigger finger, and you could be dead tomorrow. In Vietnam, there was blooming more of them. They had divisions, not like the Indonesians.

Very good. They were confident. But, you couldn’t be frightened of them.

If you showed fright, they would take advantage of it and knock the shitter out of you. To me they were just the enemy.

Yeah. When I first went to Enoggera, we were pentropic, that meant we were a lot stronger, and in terms of horses, and we had supporting arms and everything.

And then we went back to just being just a regiment, Royal Australian Regiment. And we didn’t have to hump all these buggers around. You see the film of SAS and our battalions

in Iraq and Afghanistan, and some of their weapons now, I wouldn’t know what the hell they were, wouldn’t even know how to use them. So the change in technology, I think, technology is creating a soldier to be a lethal weapon.

The British soldiers are totally different to American troops. They’re more disciplined,

they fight as hard as what they have been given. Whereas the Americans seem to me, this is my own opinion, they don’t seem to be as disciplined, and they use strength against weakness.

We don’t use strength against weakness, we use weakness against weakness. Two totally different armies.

No. I think the closer we get to America, the more secure I think we’re going to get. You see, Britain won’t let Australia fall to anybody. And the USA, they won’t let anything happen to Australian people. That’s the way that I feel, I don’t know. That’s my own opinion.

The kiddies. All the school children, they turn up, and on Remembrance Day they walk up with their poppies pinned to their school uniform.

That’s really great, and we hand out poppies for Anzac Day. We always lay a rose on Vietnam Veterans Day for the five hundred that lost their lives over there. And to me that’s a very important part of the year.