Australians at War Film Archive

Am I to start speaking?

Oh. Right. Well Rosemary [Interviewer], I was born in Yokohama, Japan, the third son of an American and an Australian mother.

I was born Jewish, both my mother and Dad were Jewish. I’ve had absolutely no religious training in my religion, to my shame. Because every time I meet Jewish people I feel a foreigner. And even as a young child

where I grew up on a farm in central Victoria, people who worked on my father’s farm would take me to an Anglican Church in the nearest town. And then my parents were gracious enough to send me to Scotch College for two years to do, hopefully

go on to university. But my Dad died six months after I arrived at Scotch College. It was the end of the Great Depression. And as a sixteen year old, well I was fifteen at the time, but I felt it was entirely wrong to indulge in such privileges. So I told my mother that

“I’d leave at the end of my first year at school”. And it disappointed her and upset her. We had an awful row. A fifteen year old telling his mother what he’ll do. So we compromised and I went on to finish my leaving certificate at the end of the second year and then got a job.

But that doesn’t tell you much about Yokohama, does it? Well, my Dad had rather a similar beginning to his life. He was a New Yorker and his dad died when he was fourteen, leaving a wife. And Dad had a sister, younger sister. So he started work at fourteen.

And joined a company of traders who sent him to Japan to cater for the European community living in Japan. So this would be the very beginning of the twentieth century. And he crossed Siberia after finishing his contract with

the American company. He had found trading conditions very good, meeting the needs of the Europeans. And he started his own company - crossed Siberia went to Europe on a buying mission. And even now my wife and I are still using the cutlery, which he bought in England. It was such beautiful quality, much of it still

un-silvered, or rather never re-silvered. But my mother went to Japan with her parents on a holiday. Met my father, I don't know at what stage they married. But I gather it was a return trip by one party or the other. And my Dad had fourteen years in Japan

and my mother nine. As children arrived, three boys, they decided to educate them in Australia. And they left Japan in 1922, one year before a severe earthquake that destroyed a great deal of Yokohama. Many, many thousands killed. Our home was destroyed

and it was in that journey that my memory began, coming from Hong Kong to Australia. The Chinese Port Authorities warned the captain of the steam ship travelling to Australia that it would run into a typhoon.

The captain disregarded this and during the night, waves smashed open the porthole of the cabin that my brothers and I were sleeping in. And water just poured into the floor of the cabin. And the ship was rolling. And I was on the lower bunk as a two and a half year old youngster. And I was washed out of bed and of course

made a great fuss. I remember my parents rushing in from a neighbouring cabin, plucking me out of the brine. And that was the beginning of life for me. Well then my Dad, who had, had no farming experience bought a lovely property on the Goulburn River at Tallarook,

which is fifty-four miles from Melbourne. And strangely, when World War II came the Australian Army 3rd Division made that homestead their headquarters. And ten thousand troops were camped on the property. Now, I didn’t learn this until after the war. Because with my Dad’s death

and my older brothers choosing not to stay on the farm, which I would have loved to inherit, because animals mean a lot to me, my Mum sold and came to Melbourne.

Well, I was

fifteen.

At Tallarook - a dear little state school. One classroom for all children, and a lady teacher I fell in love with, came from Broadford and travelled by, the nine miles by steam train. And

then I went to Seymour High School for a couple of years.

Loved it. Like all children, you have learning experiences. And one I always remember was being belted up by a boy, who became my best friend. I asked for it.

Obviously.

I haven’t the foggiest idea. But I knew I deserved it. I used to ride a pony from the farm to Tallarook. And leave it on this boy’s property. They were poor people. His father was a, a ganger on the railways.

And they had a paddock behind the house, so the horse could graze. But I remember never meeting his dad. But his mother was a kindly woman and when we children would return to her house from school, she’d always have a slice of fresh bread and dripping ready for us. And I

remember the shelves of her cutlery, shelf on the wall was covered by cut out newspaper, zigzag cut outs. Which rather reflected their economic situation but I didn’t understand this. And as an adult I felt

what a sacrifice she was making in giving me a slice of bread and dripping. But yes, school was lovely and I remember Bert Hinkler who I think was the first aviator to fly solo England to Australia. It was 1928 or 9. And he landed his plane about

a quarter of a mile from the school. And you can imagine primary school children just rushing out without permission. The teacher gave permission after oh half way across the schoolyard. Excuse me. And we met Bert Hinkler who got out of his plane and I haven’t the foggiest reason

why. But he went off again a few minutes later. So that was a great thrill.

Yes, just a bi-plane about the size of a Gypsy Moth. And again as a grown up it makes one realise what courage to fly across oceans and foreign countries.

Well, it was mixed farming and most of it was not good country. It was hilly country, rocky, granite. River flats on the Goulburn River were excellent. It brings to my mind the experience of machine gun bullets passing my head.

When I was about nine or ten. My Dad had sown lucerne on the river flat and I was taking a billy of tea from the house to Dad and the workmen. Across the Goulburn River was a range of low hills. And on the other side of the hills was the Seymour military camp. They’d fire

machine guns into the hill and too many of them came over the top. And I could hear this whizzing going on. And didn’t realise it was bullets. The men got their tea all right. But another funny thing happened. That they sent engineer sappers to the Goulburn

to train in raising pontoon bridges, and also demolitions. And my Dad had had our homestead built. He’d made quite a lot of money trading in Japan. Spent his money building a magnificent home. Maybe why the 3rd Division chose to use that because

next door was the home of Essington Lewis, Managing Director of BHP, another lovely home. But the sappers were having demolitions on the Goulburn River. And suddenly there was a most dreadful explosion. And the brick wall of our house cracked badly. My

Dad was not a tolerant person. And I can remember him going to the phone and cranking the generator and saying, “Get me the military camp”. He spoke to some Red Caps and said “You’ve damaged my house”. And an hour later Red Caps arrived in the Buick.

And all I remember was my Dad and they leaving the lounge and they’d been drinking whisky. And they were all good friends. I never heard what settlement was made other than the crack was patched. So these are childhood memories. Perhaps you’ve had enough of that.

Very happy. Yet my Dad’s temper caused my mother great distress. And frequently she would leave the dinner table or breakfast table in tears. I was just a frightened

youngster. Too young to defend her, he never struck her in my presence, but it saddens me. She was a gentle woman, a very intelligent woman. Active in Red Cross and Country Women’s Association. And

Well, my father’s name was John Abraham and my mother’s name was Brenda Cohen.

I don’t think so. Strangely or rather wonderfully she was the first violinist of the Melbourne

Symphony Orchestra. Which I’ve since learned is quite an honoured choice. She never mentioned this during my childhood. Her experiences with the symphony orchestra were never discussed. So perhaps Dad wasn’t interested or what, I don't know.

My brothers,

who were sent as borders to Scotch College, forty minutes already, ah they were taught I think to play the piano. And neither they enjoyed it and they tossed it in early. And the Depression came and it badly affected my father, who was a company

director to a public company in Melbourne. How I don't know. But my brothers were taken from Scotch College at the age of about fourteen and twelve, I suppose. And I was still at primary school. And the younger one was sent to Seymour High School, the older one was put to work

on the farm. He was mentally handicapped to some extent. Not seriously but he could not hold concentration. And you could always see when he was not with you. His eyes would go off into space.

You asked was it happy? I was the only child on the farm, the boys were at Scotch.

Animals. And kindly people working on the farm - they had a married couple would work on the farm. And I don't know, it was a happy community. School was happy,

boys and girls. Riding a horse to school. I had wonderful experiences with creatures. In the winter, as I left the drive of our house on horseback, a Willy wagtail would join us. And it flew alongside the horse for half a mile. And left us always at the same point. But it was a daily occurrence.

Now to an eight or nine year old child you just accept these things. But to me now at my age, eighty-three, I think it’s wonderful. And one winter’s morning I found two baby possums dead on the gravel road. One was being

eaten by ants and the other looked to be in perfect condition. So I decided to put the good one in my overcoat pocket. And take it to school to show the kids. At school when I put my hand in the pocket, this dead creature moved. And so we all enjoyed it during the day. And

when I got home, whilst I slept on the sleep-out and would be cold, I put this possum in my slipper, fleecy lined slipper. And we tried to keep it alive but it died. And I also had hundred of butterflies. And I used to correspond with a naturalist who would write weekly in the Melbourne Argus.

I don’t remember his name. I’m ashamed. But obviously a very kindly man and he used to answer my questions in his columns. And there were lots of flowers in the garden and the fly wire screen all around this very extensive sleep-out was stuffed with flowers to feed the butterflies.

All colours, you know, they were very beautiful. So they are just childhood memories.

Yes. That was beautiful. Looking from the house across the road to the Goulburn River. Which was about half a mile distance. And there was the railway line parallel to the road, beside

the road. And I’d see gangers pushing their trolleys along like this. And occasionally see trains going up to Yea, goods trains too. And there was a notable landscape artist used to come up each Christmas with his caravan. And he’d do water colours of the

red gums stripping their bark and their beautiful grey and oh butter coloured trunks would come out and he’d paint the beauty of these trees. And my parents would have him join us for Christmas dinner as well as the manager of Essington Lewis’ property next door. He’d come with his wife

and have Christmas dinner. My Dad had a three quarter size billiard table and Christmas dinner was served on that. So they’re some of the lovely memories of the beauty of the country.

No. I’ve never practised it and yet of course I wore dead meat tickets as Jewish. And so all my colleagues understood this.

Yes, that would be declared, so my class would know. But each morning the school

assembled for prayers and hymns as well as school songs. We had a very nice Presbyterian Minister who was known as “Spray” because he’d say, let us spray. And so we’d have his sermon and then we’d sing hymns.

And behind me stood a boy who had a most appalling voice. He couldn’t sing in tune. Neither could I. So he’d lead me everywhere except for the tune of the hymn. And that was awful, I used to turn around and glare at him. Childhood memories.

I don't know the answer to that. I think they must have spoken some because my mother used to teach me some Japanese words. And I’ve long forgotten them now. Other than “Konichiwa” and oh I don't know what else, I don’t even know what they mean. But,

during the war?

Strangely no. Other than being aware that when I left my horse, Don who was a very

gentle horse but I sensed that this is a poor family. But at school there was no evidence of poverty. At primary school, now I think about it, there were children who would walk to school barefoot. Meant nothing to me. They can’t afford shoes, so what.

Oh yes, my word, yes. Many, many swaggies would come and ask “If they could cut wood or do something or just get food?” They were always given food. Yes, that was constant. It was just part of the colourful life of

Australia in those years and the child just grew into it and accepted it.

I would have been fifteen.

I boarded with a private family near Scotch and they had a son going to Scotch.

And they were very nice people. And the husband was a solicitor and his wife was a motherly woman. So there was no homesickness that I recall.

Six months after I arrived at school. Mid-term, about, well it was

July. July the sixteenth.

I don’t remember. And I was not bought home until after he’d been removed from his bed. And yet I know that Melbourne relatives came up and saw him in death. Which is a

most strange custom. I can’t see any benefit in that, can you? Nicer to remember people as you knew them.

So somehow or other I may have come home in two or three days. I did attend the funeral service at Seymour.

Only the cemetery, I don’t remember any formal memorial service. There may have been. So it was then I decided “I can’t be at this beautiful school”.

No, she would never do that. She was a very selfless woman -

great worker for the community.

Yes. He died from what they call thrombosis.

I wonder as a grown up.

Because this is 1935, and in 1939, I was already on active service but in coast defence, and my brothers joined up next year and went away, so that there was a widow with all her sons gone.

But she sold the property very soon after the death when she found that the boys who would just argue constantly did not want to keep the farm. She moved to Melbourne and took a flat, and the boys, even though it was the Depression, took menial

jobs. I remember the younger one got a job as a petrol pump bow, ah, attendant. And the other one had learned oxy welding at RMIT [Royal Melbourne Institute of Technology]. You know that college. Are you a Melbourne lady, are you? So he had an occupation.

But it must have been hard for her.

Yes. For a sixteen year old, you’re on the threshold of - it’s like dawn coming. A beautiful morning, and as you look in every direction there’s opportunity and beauty.

And my mother got me a job as office boy, at the public company that Dad had been a director of. But the managing director, who terrified me, said “You’ve got to provide your own bicycle if you come here”. So Mum bought me a bicycle.

And I’d always ride from Carlton, where the factory was, to Spencer Street GPO [General Post Office] to deliver the mail. And a boy just weaves in and out of the traffic. But I remember at the corner of Elizabeth Street and Lonsdale Street stood a very

big police man who was known as the whistler. He never stopped whistling, tuneless but whistling. And he just put up his hand as he saw me coming, I’d pull up and he’d always immaculately wave the traffic through. Perfect hand movements, and then when he finished, that hand would go up and then

that hand would go up and he’d do a smart left turn or right, click his heels, wave the traffic through. Point to me to come to his feet. Dare not move until he did this again and redirected the traffic. Childhood.

It seemed easy. I was at a boarding house in St Kilda run by a kindly woman. I was given a bedroom in the men’s quarters, which was detached from the house. And then

soon afterwards a widower came with two boys my age. And they were going, or had just left Brighton Grammar School and were about to go to Scotch [College]. And we hit it off very well. There was a tennis court at this boarding school, boarding house. And we played lots of tennis.

And that was just a happy life there. I’d catch the tram in Brighton Road I think it is, isn’t it, down there and through to Carlton. I remember being able to get a three course dinner for one and nine-pence. Which was very, a lot out of my ten shillings weekly pay.

After paying fares, obviously Mum paid my board. So life went on and in 1938, Zelda [Interviewer], you’re terrific

Excuse me. The Melbourne Argus published, well all the papers published warnings of the gathering clouds, war clouds over Europe. 1938, the Nazis were very active. They’d occupied Sudetenland, and I think Austria. The Jews were

being persecuted. And I think I was eighteen or soon to turn eighteen. And I thought “I must prepare myself to give service”. So I thought “I’d join signals, sounded interesting”. The Argus published where their drill hall was in Swan Street,

Richmond. So along I went, one lunchtime. The door was open, there’s a book just inside the door. There stood the sergeant, “Sign here”. I did so. He said “You’re now in the 34th Fortress Company, Coast Defence”. And I said “But...” “No buts about it,

you’re in coast defence. And you’ll attend parades here.” I think they were weekly for three hours, and a two-hour camp at Queenscliff. And I remember the night before war was declared, strangely. An

officer, an NCO [Non-Commissioned Officer] visited my mother’s unit, flat. And I was told to report to the drill hall at eight a.m. And off we went to Queenscliff. There was permanent army there because there was a fortress. But we had been trained to operate searchlights with the beam going straight across the rip.

From Point Lonsdale to Point Nepean and a couple from Point Nepean to Point Lonsdale, just missing one another. Ours shone out to sea down to Apollo Bay. Not, Anglesea more. And Queenscliff had its own searchlights, which roved a bit.

And of course there were six-inch guns both at Queenscliff and Point Nepean. And it’s a strange coincidence, the first allied hostile shot in World War II was fired by the battery at Point Nepean stopping a

German merchant man leaving Port Philip Bay. And the same thing happened in World War I would you believe, the first allied hostile shot.

Isn’t it.

I don't think so but looking back I think it was an era

where most people, young people, were nationalistic. Certainly our country was, what’s the word for it, I can’t think of it. But post-war, I was ashamed of the opposition shown to

migrants. The rejection of migrants, that disgusted me. I was ashamed as an Australian. We grew up feeling we should give service, respect others and give service. And certainly when the call came to join a unit to operate in enemy

territory, it was very much God, King and country. Quite prepared to give my life. And I suppose a sense of duty to those who were suffering in Europe.

Probably, yes. But I was very conscious too, of how England was suffering, it was standing alone. This should be later in the war of course, I was already on service but I was grieving for Great Britain.

No. I remember one of the men who worked on our property at Rokeby had fits and I once saw him prostrate, frothing at the mouth. He

was a World War I veteran who had been gassed. And I might add a sense of shame, jumping forty or fifty years, in my legacy service, I was given a widow to visit to help get a War Widow’s Pension. And

during my questioning she said that “Her husband volunteered for mustard gas tests at Rockhampton. And that he had been badly burned.” Of course, I included this in my report and offered it as possibly

contributing to his cause of death - my statement was repudiated by Veterans’ Affairs. I wrote to Army Records and it was again repudiated that “No mustard gas tests were conducted in Australia”. The poor woman lost her case.

There was no other factor that I could present to go on to Veterans’ Review Board. Years later, I read that the army admitted these tests. I at once asked legacy headquarters “For her files” - she had died.

So that’s just an aside.

Yes.

No, I do not, it’s strange, isn’t it?

Well, my father was President of the Seymour Shire Council. He was asked to stand for federal politics and refused. A reflection of

people’s views on politics. My mother was President of the Seymour Country Women’s Association. And I think the daily press reported more acts of service to the community. There was not the instant

communication world wide where we’re now concentrating on sensationalism and distress. So that was the background that brought me up.

Yes, very much so.

Yes, it was a tedious job being on duty all night long. Either in an engine room getting filthy, generating power for a searchlight, or more, a battery of searchlights or out in the exposed cliff face, exposed to the weather - there ‘til dawn then shutting the thing down. Not my

idea of war service. So in May 1940, I went to an AIF [Australian Imperial Force] Recruiting Office when I was on leave in Melbourne. And there a recruiting officer made the silliest statement that affected my short-term future. He said “Because of your searchlight experience, you’d

be of more value to the AIF if you transferred from the citizens military forces into the permanent army and did a searchlight school in Sydney”. So I did that.

Yes, yes. I would have been under canvass at Crows Nest, which was a football ground at Queenscliff. My militia unit were there as a group. And we’d be

allocated duties.

I think there’s just acceptance that war was inevitable and I remember Robert Gordon Menzies’ announcement - so, just acceptance. The militia was trained to do this job. If you

do it. I remember from the very beginning, “You don’t volunteer”. I was caught out on that. Has anyone got his licence? Yes, right to the cookhouse.

Yes.

I had a gracious boss who accepted right away. Unlike a bank, you got no pay and neither do you expect it. But I learned later that others had their pay continued, which was wonderful for them.

No, they accepted it, it must have been a very big adjustment by commerce and industry to fill these positions.

Well I, the name of the company I’d joined was Davies, Coupe & Company who made - they spun cotton, raw cotton into yarn. And made khaki drill

and denim. And Exacto shirts, ah not shirts, underwear. Very popular underwear when I was youngster. But because I was only getting ten bob a week. I thought “Oh, this is terrible pay”. And after a couple of years, I started looking at the

classified ads. And a company named Truth & Sportsman advertised for a clerk. And double the pay. And I thought, “I’ll have a crack at that.” And I was lucky enough to be engaged. And the general manager in Melbourne was a very kindly man. I just realise as a grown up

how kindly he was. So whatever my needs were such as to go into training camp for two weeks or quit them because of the war, he understood.

You make me smile, Rosemary. Yes

we were taught parade ground drill. But I smile because when I transferred to the permanent forces, we were immediately housed in the barracks, the brick barracks and issued with so much personal equipment. Clothing, even a set of brush ware for your hair

and cleaning shoes or your boots. From toes to hair, you were issued with clothing. But you were told at once “You will be under strict discipline”. And we were given parade ground drill from breakfast ‘til evening dinner. And

Marching backwards and forwards, right turn, left turn, slow-march, and so on, all this nonsense. I found myself being chosen in my unit, even though I was a private, a signalman, to have my jolly signals company do

this parade ground drill. Thirty-eight men. And a major general who came down to visit us at Wilsons Promontory pulled up as we were on the roadway doing this drill. And he said “We were the smartest section doing parade ground drill he’d seen”.

Which was nice to hear but it was a reflection of Queenscliff permanent forces.

Circuitous route, I’ll try and make it quick. Three weeks after I was accepted in the permanent forces. The army issued an instruction that “No more permanent forces would be

permitted to transfer to the expeditionary forces”. You were there to give service on the coast. And that went on in May 1940 until October ‘41, so that’s eighteen months. During that time Australia was sending Lark Force to Rabaul. One of the worst decisions

that our military leaders made, sending one battalion to each island that was likely to be invaded, because each was captured or wiped out. Some coast defence men were wanted. And three

engineers, searchlight engineers. I didn’t know how many but it proved to be three. I volunteered, was not chosen. So the Japanese landed at Rabaul and took this force prisoner. They were put on the ship, the Montevideo Maru, taken to Japan as prisoners of

war. But in the China Sea an American submarine torpedoed the ship and the whole lot went down. So my three colleagues were among them. So that was my first escape.

Oh well into the war.

So in October ‘41 the curtain went up and I bolted and went to the first recruiting office possible and said “I want to join signals”. I was in, expecting to go to the Middle East. There were five hundred of us in a training regiment.

Well, I volunteered in Melbourne, we were sent to Bonegilla, up, you know where that is?

And it was very pleasant, happy experience. Learning

Well, still some of the parade ground stuff, which was just, I guess it was

necessary if you’re getting boys coming from farming properties and others coming from factories and clerks and what have you. You had to be welded into a team. We’ve been trained on Morse code, tapping, which was the basic medium for communication. But you’d be learning

Lucas lamps, which is sending night signals with the very narrow beam, or heliograph, which is using mirrors, which reflect the suns rays for miles, as far as you can see if it was flat country. You could be clearly read. And some basic radio, not telephones.

So we were quite happy there and then we were transferred to the show grounds at Bendigo.

Well, you were given a straw palliasse and told “Where the hay was and go and fill it”. Those who got there first got nice fat palliasses and those who got there last

had very little. And we trained there more widely on starting to use radio sets, a wide range of radio sets.

Very little, shooting 303 rifles but the amount of ammunition given to us was minimal. So no, we would have been very poor

infantry men.

Only two months as it happens, because mandatory parade was called, five hundred fellows on parade, and the colonel in charge

introduced a major we had never seen before. And he said “He’s calling for volunteers to join a special unit, which would operate in enemy country”. And “We’d receive special training. Those who are prepared to do this, take one step

forward.” And as other fellows have said to me since, “We were too slow in taking one step back”. So we were told at once “To go and pack our gear and board a truck that was there”.

For the same reason. God, King, country.

No other reason. The very powerful intuition or initiative, one had to do it.

We didn’t know other than that phrase. Boy scouts. Be prepared.

Yes. Excellent preparation though it was very short. We reached

Wilsons Promontory in darkness. We were given a meal. There were thirteen of us. I’m the only survivor. Sad, isn’t it? Some fine, fine fellows.

And next morning, a marvellous swarthy sergeant came to the two tents. He said “Out of bed, get dressed, on parade”. We dressed then just lined up outside our tents. And this fellows name was Phil Hopper.

I would imagine he would be twenty-four, good looking, at least six feet, swarthy, handsome, wonderful personality, warm. But what he said you’d do, you knew you had to do.

Do you know Same? Have you been there?

Well Phil was riding a cooter, you know the cooter? Timorese of course, have you been over there?

Well, the Timorese horse of course is a very lightly built pony. And Phil’s legs were just hanging down the side almost dragging in the dirt. And in his

inimitable manner he was whistling. We moved about the island, he’d have his rifle and I don't know who’s going from A to B. And as he rode through Same he suddenly noticed that the people coming out of the huts weren’t natives, they were Japanese. He dug

his heals in to the cooter but it didn’t move off very quickly. Shots were being fired and Phil decided it was wiser to just roll off the horse and down an embankment and he escaped. So that was the funny side of Phil.

Yes. In New Guinea, well he left the unit after Timor and he was commissioned and rightly so. And many, many years later I was playing golf at the Kew Golf Course with a Brigadier

who I had introduced to Probis. A fellow named Tom Nisbett. Tom Nisbett was a Lieutenant of the 2/2nd Independent Company on Timor. And I happened to mention Phil Hopper. And Tom Nisbett said, “Tough luck about Phil.” He had

just arrived to the 2/2nd Company. We’re on active service and Phil asked if he could come on patrol with my section. And on the spur Phil stood up, he was shot at once.

Such a wonderful person, that he would have been a great contributor, apart from destroying a life. So that’s Phil. Now, I don't know where we were.

Ah. Well.

Ah that was good because discipline was

not strong but we were told “What we were there for and what the background was”. That the British had found independent companies, were so successful making raids into Europe that the British Government offered the Australian and New Zealand Governments to send a party out here to teach their training,

if we would like it. And the Australian Government, both governments accepted, and it was decided to set up eight Australian Independent Companies and two New Zealand.” And this British party chose Wilsons Promontory as the most suitable, being remote and offering everything - mountains, jungle,

impenetrable jungle, and sea - all the elements. We were told “That we were given a month to decide whether you could take the training or the prospects on active service. Or return to

your training units in the AIF without any loss of face. And in that month the officers would decide whether you had the moral and physical qualities needed.” One in three went back. You never knew about it, they just weren’t there suddenly.

But the training was tough. We were given very rigorous physical training. Not so much PT [physical training] in the drill hall or such as being made to run, carrying equipment and climbing the highest mountain before breakfast -

and then, back around the beach and around the coast, and coming back to breakfast. That sort of thing, or, I remember a very funny occasion, being roused about midnight and told “We’re going to cross the promontory. Get dressed, full gear.”

And it was a moonless night. And we were lead out of the camp and soon found ourselves in impenetrable scrub. And the, well we had white patches pasted onto each man’s back, but that proved very little use. It was difficult you could scarcely see your hand.

However, we crossed a range and just after dawn we reached Sealers Cove, which was a most beautiful, intimate little bay with a creek running into it.

Knowing that sooner or later this was going to be done a lot of the fellows had packets of biscuits or chocolates in their packs. So we were told “To put your packs here”. And then our officer, a very, very nice young fellow, about twenty-four,

just undid the flaps, tipped everything out and said “We’ll look after your biscuits and chocolates. And for the next forty-eight hours you have to live off the land.” Well, you can’t see much in this impenetrable stuff. So somebody had the initiative to think “I’ll use a grenade and hurl it into the sea, we get some fish.”

But the fish were elsewhere. And somebody came back after several hours with a parrot. It was really a very, very poor. We rather thought “We might be tossed out for being unsuccessful”. But we went back next day and given back our

biscuits and chocolates and life resumed.

I think there’d be two factors. The first thing is you’re facing a challenge. The second thing is your respect for and warmth towards your colleagues.

And then we were told “You have to learn something about each section’s duties”. It was mainly infantry but trained in ambush work. So the infantrymen had to learn something about Morse code or whatever

There was a medical section, an engineer’s section, John Jones told you about that. Sadly they lost a man down there, did he tell you about that? They lost a man on a night exercise. And one or two injured.

Yes.

They were doing night demolitions. And accidentally instead of setting a time fuse, they used instantaneous fuse. And some men with the charge, when the fuse was lit, so

one was just blown up and the other one was wounded. But, one day we were told “The engineers are going to teach you elementary demolitions”. Tidal river flowed past the camp. The sigs [signals] were marched down to the river.

And you were given a stick of gelignite, a detonator and some safety fuse. And you were shown how, the procedure, how to insert the detonator into the gelignite and insert the fuse into the detonator and then cut the fuse obliquely, then light it

and throw the gelignite into the river. So one by one we all did this, except one chap, who threw his box of matches into the river and then relaxed. Men running in all directions, shouting, “Look out Blue, get rid of it.” He woke up

just in time.

Twin message.

Yes. It was all in training, the engineers doing their training.

As I recall, only sad resignation, but acceptance. It could have been rifle shooting or because they were shooting at, there’d be exercises where sections of the infantry would be on manoeuvres against one another. It should be

blank ammunition but there’s always a risk. Some stupid fool and there were some very stupid. We had the strangest mixture of people. One man I respected greatly was a New Zealand solicitor. And we were good friends.

I didn’t see a lot of him during the war, I think he left after Timor and we operated in small groups. But post-war, another message, you make me so curious, Zelda. Post-war,

Bill Beattie was an authority on, what is it, the cattle industry. And he was sent to Argentina to advise their government on the cattle industry, and then later to South Africa for the same reason. And I think I have a book here written by him in conjunction

with someone else. Now Bill died perhaps twenty-five years ago, but that’s one end of the spectrum. Against that.

Oh yes. It’s the older we grow, the more

interesting it is to see the immense range of people and the colour through, among them. Shall I tell you about this? Can’t even remember his name now. But there was a young lad from Sydney with whom I found myself having an affinity. He was in the infantry, so we only met occasionally. But we would always

greet each other with warmth. And one day he confided in me that “He had been involved as a participant in a murder in a Sydney nightclub”. He came from an impoverished background, he may have been an orphan, I can’t remember. But he had a warm,

delightful personality. And this came to the fore in East Timor when on the peak of an eight thousand foot mountain in the darkness we were joined by Portuguese with their women and children. The Japanese had told

the Portuguese that “They should report to Liquica”, a town about thirty km west of Dili. But the Portuguese distrusted the Japanese, and we were soon approached by Portuguese men, asking “Would we

evacuate their women and children?” It was agreed that we should do so and for them to bring fairly small parties of women and kids. It was necessary through Australian Land Headquarters to organise the navy. The navy had to be organised, so that a rendezvous could be arranged and us to get these women and kids to the coast. Which was always a high-risk business, because the Japanese had constant patrols of strength moving about .

So here we were sitting on the peak, it was a volcanic peak. We were in a crater, eight thousand feet. And in the darkness this party of Portuguese arrived. We had a blazing fire going, there were only about seven or eight Australians. And

we were listening on our short wave radio, which we would use to communicate from platoon headquarters to company headquarters. That might be a distance of about

fifty miles, sixty miles, but over mountain ranges. And the BBC [British Broadcasting Corporation] was broadcasting. The Portuguese had seated themselves comfortably. And the BBC announced, “The

Royal Australian Air Force today bombed Dili and struck nominated targets.” Well, we knew who was nominating the targets, and because we were the coast watchers. But the word Dili caused a buzz of excitement among the Portuguese.

And one or two of them spoke English and they heard the full message. And it was explained to the women and children, who were so excited. And then this fellow whose name I now remember as Joe. He said to the kids, “What can you sing kids that we can sing?”

And there was general mumbling and he said, “Is there a song called I’ll marry the girl who came from Barcelona?” Think, we’ll let that go. Anyway, he soon found songs. There was some Walt Disney songs and so on. And we were soon

singing songs with the kids, them in Portuguese and us in Australian and we had a great old time. So that was Joe. After that I don't think I ever saw him again. Men left the unit after each campaign, always reinforcements coming in. And from time to time we had our losses

in action. Another was a slimy person you could never trust. He had changed his name, so that he could get away from his wife. And he was nothing more than a rat. And his

character never changed. There was another

Yes he did, another who had a magnificent physique. He was such a good rifle shot he was made a sniper, telescopic sights. His name was Darkie Grey. A loner and I learned that he

was a swaggie in Queensland. And yet he loved the English classics, always nice to talk to, but very reticent and remote. When we came back from Timor we were brought down by train through Corn to

Tarowie, which was a, I think an interchange, a railway junction. The line went off to Broken Hill. And foolishly we were given a wet canteen, open for the day. Darkie Grey was a drinker. And in due

course he began running along the length of the train, up on top, along the carriages. He reached the end of the carriages, the end carriage and kept running and finished up in hospital. We didn’t see Darkie Grey again. Very strangely, about three years ago he appeared at the Shrine of Remembrance at the

and of an Anzac Day march. Just wanted to see 2/4th men again. Just as remote, left us within a few minutes. Never seen him again. And I’ve attended every Anzac Day march since the end of the war. So that’s a little bit illustrative, you’ve got a solicitor

on the one hand, our CO [Commanding Officer] was a civil engineer, all sorts of people - farmers, very clever men, very, some wonderful people. So this was a bit like the glue, these people had qualities that drew others and,

and it spread, and great (UNCLEAR) the corps.

Yes. It was and it grew as we went. If you do want me to talk about Katherine and so on, I should hasten.

Not really. Training for all the groups, that is infantry, signals, engineers, was incomplete. We only had nine weeks.

And, yep, things got sticky. So.

Well, we didn’t know it but we

were en-trained at Foster in Gippsland. We were given a weekend’s leave. I remember one amusing aspect of this when we reached Melbourne in Bourke Street and all the conglomeration of people. We were wearing British Army uniforms. So that’s foreign to Australians. They’d just been issued

to us. And our colour patches, quite different from AIF colour patches. They had the grey background.

We were never told, I can only believe that the fact that the British Government had invited us they must have sent uniforms or offered to supply them. Because each man

was immaculate. And we wore the double diamond colour patch. And people would approach us and say, “Who are you? And why are you in that uniform?” And some bright spark said, “Oh we’re mobile laundry”. So that was accepted as the explanation.

Never questioned by any public. So we were taken on a very interesting train journey. Up through Seymour, where we were given a meal. And on we went to Albury to change trains, and then into New South Wales, where people showed great warmth. People being at the railway stations to provide

food. Home made things always. And at Kempsey we were stopping for about an hour for transport reasons. And the locals asked “Could they take boys home for a quick meal?” So a fleet of cars took numbers of boys to their homes. And they were told

“They had to be back by so many hours, such and such a time”. Almost everyone got back but the train moved off and you could see two or three cars racing along parallel roads to the nearest crossing. And there the boys were transferred. So that’s illustrative of the warmth. At Proserpine

the train was drawing into the station and fellows were looking out the windows. And saw farmers loading cases of pineapples onto the, a train. Typical of troops, somebody pulled out his bayonet and soon, as I looked up the outside of the train, it was bristling with bayonets.

Some of which collected pineapples. In other cases some stupid fellows jumped out and grabbed a case of pineapples. So that by the time we got to Katherine, the farmers were pretty angry and they were compensated.

Yes. Yes, true. Did I speak about that to Brad?

It’s a strange thing that it affected me more deeply than I realised at the time. At Rockhampton the train runs through the middle of the street going out west. Going, anyway as the train slowly moved along the middle of the road

way, a train arrived in the opposite direction, passenger train, carrying Italian cane farmers or cane cutters. But all the windows of the trains were barred and these passengers were waving and gesticulating towards us. And

so I felt how terribly wrong it was. These men were probably as loyal Australians as I. And here they were behind bars. So on we went and we reached Duchess which was the rail head in the west towards channel country and transferred to motor transport and

taken across.

True. Yes. It was a revelation to see the variations of Queensland, which my wife and I have visited since many times. And it’s such a rich, beautiful state. Yes, our

first meal was sandwiches and it was beside a dam at some cattle station. We had such difficulty getting a sandwich to our mouths without them being smothered by flies. Then we travelled on through Camberwell and stopped at a bore. And here was a great, long cattle-drinking bore. Fellows

put their hands in the water and it was so hot it burned their hands. The artesian water was so hot. There was an extremely uncomfortable ride on the floor of military trucks going across to Newcastle waters where we transferred to a railway, three foot six railway, and put on cattle trucks

and taken up to Katherine.

Quite. Very uncomfortable and I don’t remember about meals but it was very hot, terribly hot. At Katherine we were disembarked from the train, formed up and marched out of town south.

And entered what I’ve since learned is called sorghum country. It’s grass, very course, about seven or eight feet high, terribly dusty road. And we pulled up at a certain point and told “This is where you’re going to camp. Put your tents up.” Well, there were no clearings. It was a case of beating

this tall grass down and then putting tents up. And then to communicate between tents and so on, it was a hot, filthy, insect-ridden task. But by nightfall each man was able to sleep in a tent.

Yes I suppose, yes, a lot of speculation because there was a lack of food. We didn’t have all our equipment. A lot of confusion, we didn’t know why we were there, where we were going and so on. When dawn came we wakened and the young fellow beside me was dead.

We never discovered what caused his death. He was only twenty-one, very nice boy, quiet, well-mannered, good sig, courteous. We had, couldn’t find any trace of bites on him, whether it was a snake or a scorpion or what, no-one knows. But strangely, here we are in

2003 and about two months ago I received a letter from his sister who lives at Horsham. Oh she had rung me first a few days before and said, “Do you remember me - a Margaret ah, this fellow’s sister?” So

No.

No memorial service. No, there was never any sentimentality shown in the sort of, oh in this unit. I think the code to life was

do your job well. You live or you die. But that particularly became one’s philosophy in East Timor because we’d, well most of us did not expect to live. The odds were too much against us. We were told

next day then “That the, the unit’s job was to patrol the major rivers from the West Australia borders to the Gulf of Carpentaria in the event of Japanese landing because they were already in East Timor”. Kokoda Track was not yet underway but Buna, Gona, bitter fighting.

And Douglas MacArthur and Thomas Blamey had moved their headquarters from Melbourne to Lennons Hotel, Brisbane and there they set the degree of defence of Australia by establishing the Brisbane Line and being prepared to forfeit the north of Australia to the Japanese.

It’s illustrative of the un-preparedness of the Americans and Australians to cope with war. I could tell you separately that, as I’m a tour guide at Victoria Barracks, Melbourne, the history of that place. And Essington Lewis comes into it again. I could tell you other things about Australia’s preparedness for war.

But I won’t. At that stage I was a signals corporal and there were about eight signals sent with the platoon of infantrymen, by the old blitz buggies. They were crude, old

ugly trucks. Powered by charcoal to travel on gravel roads through famous Northern Territory stations. Willeroo, Victoria River Downs, one of the world-famous. And then neighbouring Auverne Downs of,

have to think of the name, Dame Margaret, Dame Mary. Anyway, there were some pioneers, Irish pioneers who travelled from New South Wales across Queensland to the Channel

Not the Gilmore’s no. A short name, it’ll come to me later.

I’ll know the name at once. The woman wrote Kings in Grass Castles and they established huge tracts of cattle country in the Kimberley’s. Auverne Downs was one that was neighbouring us and Ivanhoe and others.

I’m just thinking of one of our men saying, as we travelled across Willeroo. He said to me, “Ralph, this property is rich in minerals, it’ll be developed after the war.” It was. Well, we reached Victoria River Downs, it was a tortuous journey, took days. Very

crude, primitive track. But I didn’t tell you about the Negro in Katherine, so we’ll return to him. Our first morning in Katherine we heard the drone of aircraft not very long after

dawn. And it was not until we heard the explosion of bombs that we realised they were unfriendly. And I think rather typical of Australians we ambled along this track, deep in bull dust to the whatever

slit trench was available for the purpose - three of us together. And just, without warning, we were burst asunder by this huge American Negro. I didn’t know there were Americans in Katherine. But he said “If you bastards can’t run, make way for one who can”. And he just went straight through us down the

road. And he saw a slit trench and dived into it. And as you know now it happened to be an unfilled latrine. So our more casual approach to shelter proved to be the wiser. Well, there were many raids on Katherine but poor Darwin suffered with I think sixty-four raids. And from

my Victoria Barracks experience, I’ve read that the Mayor of Darwin at the time of the first raid said that “There were two hundred and”, no, “Nearly nine hundred people killed”. Two hundred and forty-two aircraft took part in the first raid. Including fighters. But they were warned, as you may know from Melville Island

by radio and disregarded it. Sadly. So many mistakes in war but that’s always been the case. Well, we’ll return to going out to the Victoria River country, which was interesting and yet dreadfully monotonous. Interesting for the magnitude of Australia and

as I’ve learned through my life in going back to central Australia and the Birdsville Track and so on, how it makes one feel what a minute part of life man is - this immense land of ours. And we travelled through Victoria River Downs, which was

really a township although it was a cattle property. But had a bank and post office and airstrip and bakery and everything that they could wish for to be self-complete. And we drove on to a place on the Victoria River, seventy miles upstream called Victoria River Depot. That was the most inland point for

supply of the cattle stations. And coastal freighters would come from Perth and travel up the Victoria River to VRD [Victoria River Depot]. Well, there was a general store but it had been stripped of everything when we arrived, because all civilians had been removed from the territory. But the thing that caught my imagination was

the biggest pile of empty bottles I’ve ever seen. I would imagine that it would be about sixty yards base and it just rose as a pile of coloured bottles of every description

and colour to a height of fifteen to twenty feet. And we learned that the cattle men would come in and put their pay cheque on the counter and just spend their leave drinking their cattle, ah their pay cheque. And so out to the heap went the, such a waste of money and, but it would be a dream for

any bottle collector today.

We’d see them moving about but they kept their distance. Because the river was only two or three hundred yards from Victoria River Depot, those of us who were based there would go down to the river to swim,

daily. We would see cat, ah crocodiles moving up the river each evening, which was the time we’d go down to have our dip. But at this point the river had a sandy bottom and we’d see a school of them going upstream. We’d always have a sentry on duty with a rifle. But the aboriginals said, “You soldiers

are mad, somebody’s going to get caught”. Well, fortunately no one was. But I happened to know the civil engineer who designed the bridge that now crosses the highway there. And when I told him of this, he didn’t believe that anyone would swim in that river. So

the crocodiles are still there.

Yes. Well I think that’s about, well I could tell you such things as the amusement of Tokyo Rose appealing to us, to toss up.

Well, I was stationary at this Victoria River Depot.

It was the platoon headquarters. And as the corporal in charge of signals for the platoon, it, the platoon had sent sections out, thirty or forty miles in different directions. And we would collate the information and send, radio it to headquarters in Katherine. Which was about four hundred miles north. So at night we had

excellent reception on short wave radio. And we could hear the BBC and Tokyo Rose telling us of the losses of the Allies in the Pacific. “Throw in the sponge boys and save your lives and save your country. We’ll look after you.”

Great amusement. She was a seductive girl,

delightful personality. And then we’re told “To listen out for a signal” but we weren’t given information about it. And it happened. We learned later it was the signal from the 2nd Independent Company in East Timor. They had landed in December 1941 in Dili. And the Japanese landed in February

1942. And after a skirmish the Australians melted into the mountains. And using cooters and natives to move the heavy equipment they lost their radio and were given up as lost, killed, captured or whatever. In April ‘42 Australia heard weak radio signals saying, “We are the

2/2nd”. And with the help of the Portuguese bits of radio had been collected. And one of their signallers had made a radio in a kerosene tin. And the power was provided by a large wheel having a rope put around it onto a smaller wheel and then charging a car battery, which in

turn charged this radio set. And they were, questioned by Allied Land Headquarters about their authenticity. And by personal questions, names of wives and addresses, their identity was established. So we were to go over to reinforce them and relieve

them, because as they had no Australian food and we in turn had no Australian food. Their food supplies were irregular and very poor diet and their health had diminished. So, is that a point to stop?

Right, it was quite well, could I be disconnected? Unfortunately, security was of great concern in the Northern Territory with American troops coming in

and Dutch. Dutch were very bad, shabbily treated by the British and Australian and American Government. Shunned and given very little support when they asked for military equipment, so that their members could participate in the war. Here they were losing their precious East Indies

and Dutch New Guinea. Now security was bad and whilst the 2/4th was going to be sent over about June 1942, it was deferred for that reason. And we left on the 9 September 1942 aboard

the destroyer, the [HMAS] Voyager. It was a 1917 built ship, a small destroyer. Had carried out tremendous work already in the Second World War. Particularly in the Mediterranean and

I think when we were at sea.

Didn’t know where Timor was. And particularly what we were to do, we had no idea. So we were entirely raw.

We knew we were going into enemy territory. We were confident that we could do a good job, we were confident of our skills. We’d give them a run for their money.

We were told that

“The 2nd Company was there and when they landed and why we were being sent. We were told that our mutual job”, I’m not putting this very well Zelda, “We were going to join up with the 2nd Company, Platoon for, to Platoon and section to section.”

Such as A Platoon joined A Platoon, no 1 section to no 1 section all the way down the line. So we were really just going to double the strength. “That, we’d be met at the beach by the 2nd Company, and lead into their areas”, weren’t told much about the strength of the Japanese, this came out later.

“Well, that they had landed and driven the 2/4th and the 2/2nd Independent Company into the mountains”. We knew about the Fall of Rabaul and the Fall of Ambon. “And now Timor has been lost, the 2/40th

Battalion, a Tasmanian battalion had been lost at Koepang. So Australia was next on the front. And that our role would be coast watch to advise Allied Land Headquarters”, which was MacArthur and Blamey, of the arrival of

convoys. “What type of naval ships, were escorting them, what was coming off them. If it was troops where were they courted - if it was equipment, where was it placed, and in addition to that, we had to kill, kill, kill. Ambush as much as possible”, so we

now knew our task. We were put aboard the ship late afternoon. There were the wrecks of the Allied ships already destroyed. And the ship sent, set sail. There were two, roughly two hundred and fifty, oh a bit less Australians in the 2/4th.

No.

No. It’s a sense of fear and revulsion really, and to a very strong

degree, am I up to it? Will I fail? And if I fail, how’s it going to affect my colleagues?

If you fail yourself, it’s self-inflicted, but to affect others.

So you must not let your team down. Now on the ship, it was a case of the troops sleeping on the deck. There’s an awful lot of war equipment on the deck, ours and the navy’s, very little room, small ship and

everybody was rushing for a flat spot. There were no flat spots, so I chose the turret of a gun. And others hadn’t thought of that at that point. I was soon joined because it was flat too. We set sail and it was a very dark night. But as darkness fell I remember being thrilled by

the beauty of flying fish and the phosphorous, phosphorescence of the water. Then darkness settled in as we trundled along and we were told “To shut down for the night”. Late into the night, we awakened, aware that the ship had stopped.

The engines had shut off. The crew were moving hurriedly about the deck but not speaking. It was quite eerie. You could hear soldiers quietly speaking to navy. And gradually the word got round that a submarine had been detected.

So the ship just sat in the water and after about twenty minutes the engines were started and we got underway.

Yes, it was. You felt you were a sitting duck if it was an enemy submarine. It brings so many thoughts into my head, not about

us, but about the courage and loss of life of other navy. The [HMAS] Armidale in particular was a tragic story. Then I think about the commander of the Voyager. He sacrificed his career to save us.

The charts of the Timor coast were very poor quality. He knew where he was to take us but that was all. And there was surf running and he’s faced with the decision, do I stay out beyond the surf? The independent companies are to land at

the canvas, cold, ah fold boats. Which are very treacherous things for very heavily laden soldiers, each carrying about a hundred and twenty pounds. If that’s one choice to land outside where it’s safe, we’ve got to get through the surf in these treacherous boats.

He decided to get as close as he could and yet with safety. And he did so and scrambling nets were thrown over the side and down we went. Getting into these canvas boats was very awkward. I think we’d had one training session in Queensland at Trinity Beach.

The movement of the canvass boat and also the fact that whilst they had some timber spars, with the movement of the boat, the weight that we were carrying and wearing heavy army boots. How do you get your boot onto the timber, so that you don’t go through the canvas?

So it was tricky. He took all this into account. And he felt the boat strike sand or a bar. And in that moment he made the decision, in case there were soldiers around the stern of the boat, “I mustn’t risk their lives”. If he went into reverse he might get

off. If he stays he may lose his ship. He lost his ship. We were too busy going ashore. The engineers stayed behind to unload the equipment. There was some very heavy equipment, particularly boxes of ammunition, boxes of grenades. The sigs had heavy equipment with heavy radio sets for

longer distance, car batteries to provide the power, battery chargers which were the size of small car engines. So this became extremely difficult in the mountainous areas, carrying this stuff and how the 2/2nd Company came to lose theirs. We got ashore, met by the 2nd

Company. The ship became fast, the captain ordered his crew ashore into the jungle. Then unknown to us, because we were beginning to move inland, he set charges in the ship to blow it up. Radioed Darwin what he was doing. And arrangements were made to send in a couple of corvettes

the next night to take off the crew and that was accomplished successfully. It was known that the Japanese had an aerial dawn patrol and the ship would be seen. Sure enough the patrol picked up the Voyager and over came bombers and bombed the ship. But the captain had blown up the engine room and so on.

We’d moved inland, did you want to ask me?

Yes.

His career? Well, as it happens with so many courts of enquiry that’s held by shore-based men of high rank. It’s almost opportune to tell you

of the most dastardly treatment of lives after we had left Timor, but let’s get back to this captain. He was stripped of command of a ship, given a shore job. He was court-martialled. I have been told but I can’t verify it “That he later took his

life”. So that’s the price of being sure that he saved any soldier’s life. And we all felt terribly upset about this and the death of a fine, fighting ship. It had been running in food supplies to the Rats of Tobruk

in the Mediterranean and other activities, naval tasks.

No, I don’t personally. Not out of disloyalty to him. I think that it was important to keep his ship.

And it was our responsibility to deal with the difficult conditions. His job was to take us there. Our job was to look after ourselves - no-one’s asked me that but that’s how I feel. I’m terribly sad for him, a fine man.

Well, it was late afternoon and they hastened us away. They had cooters there to carry whatever they could, was landed and they warned us that it’s going to be, no one knows how soon we meet a Jap patrol.

Stinkingly hot, mosquitoes, we set off for Hatudo, have you been there?

Are they really?

I’d like to meet her. I met, at a charity dinner for East Timor a Timorese man who was dropped into East Timor with an Australian in 1945 to try and get information. They escaped, he’s here as a refugee.

I wrote to Philip Ruddock and I asked “Is this man going to be escorted? And what would you do, Philip Ruddock, if it was your family in these circumstances?” I got no reply. I wrote to Alexander Downer, had a letter from him and a most

bureaucratic letter from one of his assistants. But oh, I feel very badly about this. Anyway, it’s getting away from the story.

Pretty tired soldiers, very

badly dressed, shabby, torn clothes. Pretty fed up and keen to get away.

Oh yes of course it was, like a blood transfusion. So they led us to Hatudo who, where there is an old, Portuguese fortress,

more, more barracks. And it had a telephone. And almost magnetically I was drawn to the telephone, picked it up and I said “Hello” and I was answered in Japanese. I said, “Konichiwa,” and hung up.

Next morning I was sending my first message to company headquarters, which had gone to their company headquarters at Alice [Springs]. In no time, a Zero fighter came along. And whether he, whether my little radio set was sending a signal strongly enough or not, I don't know.

But he attacked my hut and his bullets went through the grass roof, straight across the timber table and on. So of course I stopped signalling but he went on his way and I finished the signal. But that was my first meeting with those fellows. He was doing his job.

Just shock but not surprise. It’s what you expect, I guess.

Fear. Is he coming back for a cross run? A mixture of things, you’ve got a job to do.

Do it. Will he or won’t he? Will I or will I not get through? And then get on with the job and it’s passed. We moved onto Ainaro

This was really A Platoon

of 2/4th Independent Company.

Yes.

Signals, yes.

Well, at that point it was Hatudo, moving on to Ainaro. And later I’d be centred in the mountains at a place called Roti, which was almost remote.

And moving around that area. Moving west and southwest from Dili. Now B Platoon was moving north and then northeast. Not northeast from Dili but southeast from Dili. C Platoon were moving west, due west

really and to the south. Getting near the West Timor border but not quite that far west.

Yes. Aileu you maybe thinking of, A-I-L-E-U, that was north, due north of

Ainaro from memory. I’ve been to Aileu since. And I went back to Ainaro. So A Platoon was to move, I’m not giving you a very good picture. A Platoon were moving north west from Betano on the south coast

and moving west from Dili. Being spread about, well they had an observation post overlooking Dili, so the were that close. And then moving in a curve back bit heart shaped curve back towards the centre, west and centre. B Platoon also

had an observation post overlooking Dili from the other end of the same range but both looking down. And heart shaped again, coming through Makluba [?], Fatukuak, they are the two main places that I

remember for them.

Yes.

Right, still with the 2nd Company Section leaders who are taking us to the area, and I would think

that Ainaro was probably their platoon headquarters because we dispersed from there. But we learned at Ainaro, which is a pretty town and only recently have I learned, now has a population of forty thousand in the municipality of Ainaro. Two young Portuguese

priests were captured by the Japanese at their church and doused with petrol for having, being suspected of giving information to the Australians. Taken to the altar and set on fire. I later met Mother Marina, this is moving

forward to 1973, so this is thirty years later. The church is still there, I’ll tell you about, may or may not have time to tell you about her. But she was there during the war too and was evacuated by us though I didn’t meet her personally.

Ainaro

was really a point for the sections to be, three sections in A Platoon, each platoon had three sections of about twenty men. That’s wrong. Oh yes, the sections had about twenty men making up about sixty for the platoon, plus sigs. Two sigs for each section

and about three probably for platoon headquarters.

Well the sig section had its lieutenant, whom we’d met at Wilsons Promontory. He went with the company headquarters to join 2/2nd Company

Headquarters. And they were based at Alice where the Commander was Major, later Lieutenant Colonel Bernie Callanan, who had been a second in command of the 2nd Independent Company.

We were to move west, the sections dispersing, fanning out into nominated areas, so we lost sight of them. I was with the platoon headquarters, which had lieutenant in command.

Structurally, he should have been a captain. But our captain had taken ill and had been evacuated from East Timor. The lieutenant was a civil engineer, nice person. And at this point the Timorese started to show their affection for Australians and readiness to put their lives

at risk and to help us in guiding us. They took us on native tracks heavily covered by canopy, and up mountain gorges to get from A to B on tracks with which they were familiar but not known to the Japanese. But it

proved to be extremely arduous for us carrying heavy equipment, clambering over rocks up steep gorges and things like heavy cases of grenades or the charging, battery charger, a small car engine to charge car batteries. And heavy radios and not to

damage them. I am a poor walker. Ironically, the permanent army at Queenscliff had rejected me because I had flat feet. And it was only a major who helped me break through that barrier, get the independent company accepted me. But I could not keep up

with my colleagues in exercises. I was always last in to camp. In clambering up these gorges I said to the lieutenant, platoon commander, “You must not wait for me”. It’s putting other lives at risk. He accepted and on they went.

During this process I was approached by a twelve year old native boy who said, “Picci tuan.” “May I come with you?” And he explained that “His peers, his siblings or whatever would offer their services to Australian soldiers to carry their pack,

lay out their sleeping bag at night and get rid of the fleas in the morning”. So I accepted him gratefully and he led me.

Diki. He later showed great courage and later still,

I think I caused his death. Anyway, hours later I caught up with my section.

No. We didn’t use cooters at that point because we’d learned that equipment was being lost and

rolled down the hillside or radio sets smashed on striking the ground. Particularly, if we ran into a Japanese patrol, the natives would go for their lives as to be expected, the horses would bolt and that was the end of our gear. So we reached my unit and

we set up communications then with our sections, three sections - one south of Bobonaro and east of Bobonaro. Can’t remember the town.

No, not that far west.

Yes, in that area. You know the country well. Atsabe, Hatu-Lia or slightly south, I can’t remember. Another went up to Namura [?].

So we had radio communication but we couldn’t communicate during the afternoon because of static, just impossible to get a message through.

Yes. Purely climate. The rain would set in about two pm ‘til five pm, tropical downpours.

We would also, at platoon headquarters send the condensed information by code, ah by putting it into cipher and then transmitting Morse code.

So at night communications were good, mornings were good. We’d be entertained at night with our large set which was to communicate with company fifty, sixty miles away. And so we’d hear the news. Still had Tokyo Rose with us. And then

soon afterwards women and children started to filter in. We got them all off the island. Some of the Portuguese men put their lives at risk by saying “We are pretending to be friends of the Japanese. I can go into Dili and stay several nights

and mix with their generals. I’ll get whatever information I can for you.” As time progressed, they became so proficient and do, won the confidence of the Japanese that it was not a case of “I’ll try and get information for you, but what do you want to know?” And they could even tell us the names of the generals, the identification

of the units. How many troops had come off by actual number and so on. We’d learned that there were eight thousand Japanese landed to combat the two hundred and fifty, 2/2nd Company. And then because we had these observation posts overlooking Dili,

that General Douglas MacArthur was so impressed with the information coming in about the convoys and the naval escorts and where the troops were located that he allocated a squadron of RAAF [Royal Australian Air Force] Lockheed Hudson bombers. But they had a very dangerous job. Four hundred

miles of sea to traverse without fighter escort. A steep climb over the mountain ranges up to nine thousand feet and straight down into Dili below.

You would have loved him. He was a gentle boy. Quite you know average height but very thoughtful. You would know that fleas are a menace in...

... into a town called Lete Foho, which had Chinese people living in it. And at our time in East Timor, Chinese were suspect that for their own preservation they’d pass information onto the Japanese. However, I asked them questions in the village to direct me

to wherever we were going, I’ve forgotten. And Diki took me to the right destination, in unknown territory. He came from the Atsabe area. But my sense of grief for him, no I should tell you, perhaps I don't know whether I mentioned it

to Brad, that towards the end of the war we were being hit constantly, because the Japanese were badly hurt by the bombing and the continual ambushing by Australians. And they’d lifted their forces from eight thousand to close on twenty thousand. Then they brought natives up from West Timor, equipped with British

rifles captured in Malaya. And collectively each strike force had a mixture of those. And there were a lot of pre-dawn attacks. And we’d always sleep with natives or rather, in native huts. They’d give us a hut to ourselves. And on one occasion I had tropical ulcers on my legs and

badly blistered feet and I could not wear boots. But when the Japs struck pre-dawn, they ignited the grass hut and they quickly blaze. And my friends and I bolted. We always arranged each day with the creados that we’d have a rendezvous, in

the event of this. Or if we were to ambush the Japs, the creados would first go to the rendezvous and we’d join them later. When I met Diki he held up my boots. He’d run into the blazing hut with mortar shells landing, machine gun fire

and rat, rifle fire and the natives giving the most fearsome screams. And he’d run in there alone and searched, found my boots and he said, “Tuan no socksi.” So that’s evidence of their loyalty and courage.

Firstly, I think there must be an inherent loyalty and friendliness within Timorese as a race of people. And as you would know, they have no, what’s the word... don’t grow old, you’ll forget

words. They have no ethnic links with the Indonesians. They are a cross I think between Malaya and Melanesian. And firstly, they feared the Japanese because of maltreatment. The Japanese warned them “That they would be killed if they helped us”. And I’ve walked through villages

seeing men, women and children just slaughtered on, in the compound. Even livestock killed and food was so short.

To a young man, I suppose it is a mental scar, instant. The horrors of war brought forcefully

to you. Disgust, revulsion, a further strengthening of one’s resolve that before you are killed, you’ll kill as many as you can.

I was alone and I can’t remember on what mission I was executing.

I don’t remember him being, but I’m sure he would be, I don’t think I ever went anywhere without him. So I can’t explain why I should be in that village.

Not, firstly no activity, no movement at all. It was all, they were always busy in, as you know underneath the umas there are fires burning and stock are there and, this village was silent, it wasn’t ‘til I entered ‘til I saw this. But it’s in the post-war years that I’ve had the greatest

sadness, when I went back in 1973, John Jones was with us, and his wife. Some of us went back to meet our creados. And the radio, Dili radio announced that “Soldado Australie were returning”. And some of the creados had walked for up to three days to reach towns that were mentioned that we would visit.

No sign of Diki. We drove through at Atsabe and Hatu-Lia, Bobonaro, Maliana and so on. And the thought suddenly struck me. On the beach as we evacuated, it was very tearful. The creados were begging us to take them to Australia. I gave Diki

my army pullover and all the money that I had. I had nothing else to give him. And it’s on reflection that I realise he’d wear that pullover proudly and he’d be an immediate target for the Japanese or Timorese who were, even our own friendly Timorese were betraying us

because of the need for self-preservation. Attacks were just continuous. So Diki as a young boy,

would soon have been lost. And that is a heartache I always carry.

Yes.

Yes it was. Because we had had to walk through a swamp which the Timorese told us “Were crocodile infested”. They walked through it with us. They’d have to do the same after we had left. So they exposed their lives constantly for

the Australians. And yet until the 2nd Company landed at Dili the natives wouldn’t even have known there was such a thing as Second World War. But the Japanese treated them brutally, so that’s why I think they also admired the small number of Australians who were inflicting a

lot of damage. And they admired, I was just thinking, I give talks on the impact of Indonesia on East Timor. And I show audiences, not only the original Portuguese paper money but, and Dutch money, a Japanese

note, one pound note, printed for Australia. Is that of any interest to you folk?

Yes, right. I only mentioned it in case...

Yes, they were.

To varying degrees.

I met a cheffy, I don't know how or why, but he invited me to his hut and we spent the afternoon together chatting. Now how on earth I could chat with a, but when he felt it was time to eat, he put his arm to the grass roof and down came a dried dog’s leg, and he broke it at the joint and he, we shared half

each. It was like eating fibreglass. But this is the uninhibited goodwill they showed to us. And whenever they could, they’d bring us food. That dread, you would have seen the pigs in East Timor are just boiled in earthenware pots. And they’re about eighty-five per-

cent fat, absolutely revolting stuff. But that was our basic diet together with occasional sweet potatoes. And I don’t remember seeing greens or fruit.

Liepers, bare chests for the boys. The women and children were always kept out of sight, they’d peep at you and withdraw. But liepers and the women often had I don't know they were scarcely ties in those days, just be a throw over scarf sort of thing, over whatever.

Yes, oh a skirt thing.

That’s right, yes.

I didn’t encounter that.

Yes, we’d use that as our base for shelter.

The Timorese have extraordinary communication. From dawn there’d be hollering going on, male hollering and it would rebound down the valleys. And that was the day’s communications going backwards and forwards. So we would then be told that “There’s a party of forty or fifty Japanese moving from one village to another”. We would

determine whether we could get enough men together to set an ambush and have time. They’d be doing the same and or where the Australians were sleeping that night, which was wise to keep on the move.

Yes.

Oh. No, it wasn’t common.

If you were told that “They were going, Japanese would be moving from one spot to another”, we’d get advice from the natives where a good position would be. Or preferably above the site

but that we could see them approaching. We had machine guns, Bren guns, sub-machine guns, which were hard to control. They were the American Thompson sub machine gun and they fired very wildly because they were half-inch bullets, point four five. Grenades.

So man for man we were pretty heavily armed. And we’d wait for them to come within as close range as possible. But it would vary considerably according to terrain. But sometimes it would be fifty to a hundred yards. And then if it was a party that you could cope with, you’d get them in that range. Then stand

and let them have it and take a lot of them. If it was a larger party, we’d have to fire at a greater distance. And they would invariably disperse and come around the back of you. So it was imperative to get as many as you could in a reasonable time and then go for your lives.

We were often told by the natives “That the Japanese would tell them that the Australians were men who rose out of the ground”. And that’s essentially guerrilla warfare. So that’s Timor.

Yes.

A mixture of self-loathing, anger, fear,

sometimes wondering about your own country. I think they are the major emotions that hold your mind at that time. You know you’ve to get away too.

Yes. Yes.

Yes, it’s a frightening, very frightening time, because their reaction as a group was immediate of course. Go to ground or out manoeuvre. So it’s, the encounters were brief

but, well our unit record claimed that we killed five hundred for the loss of five men. And that’s just guerrilla warfare.

A lot of bad language was used. I’m always saddened to know that at least three of our thirty-eight sigs took their own lives,

at least three. We had some boys as young as sixteen in East Timor. Another sig, excuse me, came to New Guinea with us and

the sigs were feeling that George was becoming troppo. We went on leave after Finschhafen, didn’t see George again. About ten years ago I read of his death in the paper. And contacted him, ah contacted

his wife. She knew my name at once and I arranged to visit her with Harry Levy, another sig who was a very loyal, devoted friend through the war. And we were met by one of their sons. They had about

four children. Excuse me. His wife said “When George came home, whenever he heard an aircraft, he’d dive under a table. He worked for about five years, became a heavy drinker, violent towards his

family and just was on Social Security from thereon.” She still felt a love for him but he’d hurt her many times. His sons spoke disparagingly of him and his treatment of their mother.

So it was another case, we’d never heard from George from the moment he left us in New Guinea. No, it’s been a very close unit. And we’ve always had annual reunions. And John might have told you that we formed a painting company. Well, that was all borne from concern for one another. One of the TPI [Totally & Permanently Incapacitated]

fellows was needing help. So

Pardon?

Yes it was but it was elsewhere too. I think that if you get men and women together, oh men and

women in a situation where as a group they are facing unreasonable hazard, it binds them, in any group of any colour. So we have been a lucky group of men to have, had that very strong affection for one

another. And it saddens me that some men in the navy and the air force don’t enjoy this because they were moved from one location to another.

Yes. It also prevails right through the Australian Commando Units.

A Queenslander names John Corey who lived at Goondiwindi.

He used to annoy me but I loved him. I’d ask his views about a decision to be made. It was characteristic of him not to answer me but to go into thought. At that time, always, I felt

there’s no time for this, a decision must be made and I’d turn away from him and make my own decision. In post-war years I think I must have heard John many times. He became a chartered accountant, a Rotarian, very highly regarded by his district.

Not in the sense that you could communicate at the same level, no. And they towards you, you were their master. They were there to act on your bidding and there was never a question. John Corey was one of my closest, Harry Levy

was another. Also strangely, became a public accountant and company director in Melbourne, died two years ago. And as he once said to me on the phone, “Ralph, we are as brothers”. And he really summed it up. I’ve never gone that far in speaking with him.

Yes, I had (UNCLEAR) mates, a New South Welshman, who was manager of one of Goldsborough Mort’s flagship properties, a keen humorist, excuse me, very loyal.

Those three did,

yes. A number didn’t. I’ve just sent off to an unknown Legatee a photograph I’ve found in my unit book of a twenty-one year old reinforcement who was killed

on Tarakan. And this Legatee is a world, is a Vietnam Veteran. Sounds an awfully nice person on the phone. And he said “I’ve just been given a widow”, but she asked me “Could I help her get a photograph of a boy named Tony Kaye, Kayes,

who joined the 2/4th Commandos?” And I said to this man “I know that name, I remember him”. Now Tony, was able to get a four times blow up of the, of a group photograph of him with some of his mates.

Later.

Because we’re made up of fellows from all states, I don't know the intimacy of their mental circumstance. I think of one named Bruce Clarke, a Queenslander. Slender,

excellent athlete, shy, good sig, signaller, intensely loyal, I don't know what took his life or how he came to take his life. I was only told “He committed suicide”. George Squires was a seventeen year old in Timor.

Quite a good sig, not good on discipline, rebellious, he was wounded on the barge that we were on together, going in to attack Lae.

And I remember giving him several shots of morphia to reduce pain. And from the time that the barge was towed to the nearest port, I never saw him again. Those of us still in walking condition,

there were eleven out of forty-eight were alive, thirty-seven killed. By, I don't know whether you’ve been told about this, in which case I won’t repeat it. Well, in the afternoon that we were going in to attack Lae, the unit had been

split in, over three boats, which was a wise precaution. It was a small ship but we were struck by an aerial torpedo. My group of forty-eight were below decks, instantly above the ship’s magazine, which was in the stern of the ship.

And that’s where the torpedo struck. And it detonated the magazine, just blew the ship out of the water. And the stern curled up like a scorpion’s tail. Most of the fellows were peaceful, most of them were laying on their bunks, we’d

been sent below to rest before we went into attack. The bunks were a shambles but I clearly remember their faces were calm and relaxed. George was one of the seven injured. And many years later I was talking to a solicitor

who said, “I am George Squires’ son-in-law. Did you know that he took his own life?” And there are a couple of others, whose names at the moment elude me. Whether or not it’s war that causes this, I wouldn’t know. Maybe in the case of some it might have been

marriage or loss of job or whatever.

Yes.

Yes, they are. I’ll illustrate by telling you about a couple of Portuguese men. That

when we formed up on the beach as a unit for evacuation we were straggling in from all directions over East Timor. And there were two Portuguese men who apparently had been granted authority to go out with us on to the Arunta. Also it was the last group

of women and children. The arrangements were that we were to ignite a bonfire at ten thirty. During the afternoon we had been watching sharks cruising up and down at the surf line. The water was above blood temperature. At ten thirty, we

ignited the bonfire and at once a light blinked at sea. So you can imagine our emotions. We were that close to safety, not expecting to get off East Timor. For the next several hours from darkness,

we were trying to get women and children out to the ship, and each boatload was being overturned by the surf. Eventually as it got towards dawn, the ship’s captain signalled, “No more boats, you must swim for it”. The two Portuguese men shot themselves.

Don’t ask me why, maybe it was tension, maybe it was the sharks we’d been watching, can’t answer.

Yes.

Yes, well it was very, very frightening and speculative. This is one of the aspects of war I think or in civilian life that each man or woman comes

to a point where they evaluate life and they become fatalist, fatalistic. And I was fatalistic on Timor. I did not expect to survive. So each dawn brought a new endeavour, and what happened by nightfall was an unknown factor.

So to reach the beach was an immense sensation of hope and I’ve, I hope it’s not boring to you too. But I had a tremendous sense of emotion

when the ship drew in to the wharf at Darwin, in the late afternoon. And we could see on the wharf was a group of senior army officers and nurses. We were instructed to disembark and for the first time for many months,

we were instructed to fall in and form a unit. All bearded, no-one had shaved. We threw our razors away to save weight. A most dishevelled bunch of men you could expect to see, and then to be called to attention. And then to march

past these VIPs [very important persons] was ...

Very moving. (UNCLEAR).

I don't think so. The Timorese would sometimes ask us “Would we help them do over their neighbours?” There was a lot of tribal fighting. We never did, it was unwise.

No, I don’t remember meeting, have you come across

accounts of this?

In Timor.

Yes. Yes, they’d bring us whatever food they could. There’d always be bartering for it.

We’d pay them with Australian silver currency, which they prized because the Japanese would pay with printed money, which was, everyone accepts was worthless.

I don't know of an individual.

But we were exposed many times and had no animosity to those who would give us away. Especially as things got worse and it was nearly twenty thousand Japanese scouring for us. The net was drawing tighter and tighter. Self,

self-survival of the natives.

I witnessed a case, a boy about twenty-ish accused of being a traitor. Hand, arms bound behind his back, his elbows were touching.

And our natives drew sticks from the fire and slowly wiped them across his face and through his hair. A lot of them carried machetes. I was too distressed by what I had seen to stay and

wait for the killing. But he was killed. Just hacked to death. But that is the value of life.

Yes. There were a number but they’re so repetitious. And escape was

just so heaven granted, I don't know that my mind draws one and says “Here’s a good example”. There was, the only thing that comes more spontaneously is a human, humorous expression

of ambush activity. I may, you may have read about it if I spoke to Brad about it. Because the Timorese, so many carried machetes and in so many cases they are concealed in the scrub whilst we have an ambush,

when we call it off and go for our lives, they in many cases would rush in and decapitate those on the ground. On one occasion I had just reached the village that I was in. And a native came to me with a Japanese head in each hand. And he said, “Presento tuan.”

I told him “What he could do with them”. And in no time at all the whole village had assembled and the men and the boys formed a ring in the compound. And began to clap and chant rhythmically, whilst the women and the girls played football with

the two heads. And after about twenty minutes that stopped and the heads were then placed on totem poles.

Well, I assume that totem poles were an expression of what would be done to any attacker.

That’s one thing. The other is they are terribly superstitious. We found what we regarded as a safe village that was deserted. And we occupied it late afternoon, went to bed that night, there were about six or eight grass huts.

And as you may recall many of them are elevated about eight or nine feet. In the morning the balcony of every hut except ours was occupied by native men, women and children sitting there, waiting for us to come out. We asked them “Why

and when did they come?” They said “We came back during the night when you occupied it and we came back because you removed a hoodoo. We can now come back to our village. And we’d like to celebrate it if you would shoot four water buffalo for us.”

That meant risking giving away our position. After a lot of arguing and a need for their support, we settled on two.

A lot of meat. Those buffaloes lay in the tropic sun for four days and they were so bloated

that we expected them to burst. But at the critical time they were cut and their entrails removed and given to us as the delicacy, straight from the animal. And the village stood, watched, giggling, to see how we’d deal with it. That wasn’t

easy. So that’s...

Cook them, we were supposed to eat them there and then in front of them, we had the audience. We put them, well I put mine in my mouth but I couldn’t swallow it.

I expected it. The risks were too high. And I think like the natives, they are just as fatalistic, when your time comes,

that’s it. So it, one was not as afraid, as you might think, because you don’t expect life to go on much longer.

Yes, definitely.

I think so,

we didn’t discuss it.

That’s correct.

I don’t think so. I can’t remember a

great deal of conversation.

No. There were no respite areas. No. Every section had its part to play and combat that day. So

you dealt with your business at that moment.

I think it was, yes.

Well, it might explain why they had their totem poles, which often were pretty full and to varying degrees had fresh meat.

There were only two units, the 2nd Company and our own.

Oh, only through, oh, perhaps I shouldn’t say that. I was thinking only through company

headquarters which was necessary to keep control. But I think, yes there were direct communications on occasion because of Japanese forces in our vicinity and the two platoons could co-ordinate an attack. But the messages were cryptic, they were in cipher, so there’s no conversational contact.

Yes.

More in, sounds like this unit, maybe it’s Bobby home - more in New Guinea.

Yes, well this was more in the group of bringing food to us. If caught, there’s only one result.

In moving across country, passing of information to us as we did so, once again, and goodwill, a love of fun and a tease or a chat.

There was no case of a Timorese running in to get a wounded Australian that I witnessed. They were always in the scrub watching.

Yes.

Strangely, only one Australian and one native but more afterwards…

Well, one was shot in an ambush, the Australian. A native, unfortunately, was

shot by an Australian, accidentally. Did John tell you the casualties among the Timorese after the war, after we left? Well, they had been warned that “If they helped us, they would be killed”. After we evacuated the Japanese slaughtered forty thousand.

The RAAF dropped leaflets saying “We will remember you”. Then history comes in and you’ll remember that Gough Whitlam visited Jakarta and concurred with the Indonesian Generals recommendations to Suharto that Timor should be occupied to fill

the vacuum. And Whitlam said “Provided it’s non-violent, I would agree”. And then for the next twenty-four years we go on financially helping the Indonesians and training their military, both officers and army with field exercises in northern Australia.

Nothing to East Timor, and no government recognition of the slaughter going on…

Ashamed to be an Australian. I’ve written and had

some letters published in the press. I’ve written to different Government Ministers.

Australia should have firstly

strongly put pressure on Suharto to withdraw from East Timor. But he, according to James, no that’s wrong. An Indonesian lecturer at the University of Newcastle stated that “Suharto took half a million hectares of East Timor’s most productive land”.

He gave the revenue of East Timor’s coffee crop worth forty million U.S. dollars annually to one of his daughters. He gave another daughter a marble quarry and it goes on and on.

Put the greatest pressure, had the courage of its

moral, moral convictions and say “You cannot do this to a defenceless country and say it’s yours. And we will seek the support of the United Nations to make things very uncomfortable if you do not withdraw.”

Yes.

It is so.

It is so. I can never repay it. You can’t repay being granted life.

Australian people have recognised it, I don't think the government has. I think they’ve done as much as they feel is politically expedient. I respect Howard for suggesting to Habebe that he allowed

a plebiscite. And now Australia has made no move to pressure Indonesia for accepting clearance of charged generals and allowing appeal or dropping the case.

But groups like Rotary and the Victorian Local Government’s Association are doing a tremendous amount to help.

Media correspondents I would say in the main and people like James Dunn, John Pilger

and that English fellow who was murdered by the Indonesians. What was his name, was it Baker or somebody, quite early, only a few years, nearer the time of the, was it, Sacramento, what’s the name...

Santa Cruz, yes. Massacre. There was an English journalist

there who was killed by the Indonesians. He wrote about conditions there, prevailing.

I have some very mixed feelings. And this comes from talking to people who are giving to East Timor. One aspect is a conversation I had with a Rotarian, who goes to

Timor a lot. He’s responsible for having arranged the delivery of hundreds of tons of sheet iron, galvanised, with the machinery to corrugate it for roofing. And now they are making water tanks. And you know how desperately that’s needed in the villages. He’s

teaching the Timorese to be self reliant with this equipment. He’s just returned from East Timor, either him or the public relations chap, Ian Toohill. I think he’s a Rotarian who said that “The young Timorese in many cases are becoming lazy. There are no

jobs, seventy percent unemployment. Education is still handicapped, the judicial system is very weak, police are weak and that the young are inclined to leave it to their elders to do things. Only if the elders don’t, do the young look for

remedy.”

Yes, oh yes. I can clearly see that.

Yes, sewerage.

It was deteriorating. That was one of the reasons that we were taken off. The commander of the force had signalled to Allied Land Headquarters that our health was deteriorating. Because food was irregular and totally

unhealthy, so the bodies weren’t coping.

Yes. I feel it’s been a privilege,

a rare experience that few Australians have shared, to have the respect and friendship of natives. But you know war is the strangest thing.

I had an experience in New Guinea in total darkness, so that I could not see the hand or the face of the giver. I stepped off a barge in total darkness into water up to my waist. And a hand grabbed my arm.

As it was an American vessel I’d stepped from, I said “Thanks Yank”. And a voice said, “That’s okay Aussie, it’s you we should thank”. And it was just the warmth of the voice.

And neither of us would know the other if we were seen in daylight. So, “C’est la guerre”.

Yes. It just shows communications between humans. So my devotion to the Timorese is very

deep.

Telling Diki “I would not help him”.

He’d done so much for me. The rest I accepted as part of war.

Yes it was.

No, I cannot. Don’t ask me any more about that.

... military head knew we were coming back. And maybe they wanted to pay tribute, maybe they felt it was an occasion that they had to be there - army nurses of varying ranks to cater for any physical situation as well as their interest.

And from our point of view, we had to get from the side of the ship to transport. So it’s the military thing to do, to march off rather than go as a group of refugees. But it was an emotional moment to see how those fellows in spite of their condition and their dishevelled clothing and beards and

no, no weapons, just a dreadfully dirty bunch of men.

Yes, yes.

Yes, well it was a mixture of course of gratitude that we had been granted more life and the other aspect was pride. What would we do without you?

There was a lot of pride. We knew the odds were against us and that we had helped do a lot of damage. Just on twenty thousand troops is a lot to hold up when your country is, well Darwin being constantly bombed and the military command expecting an attack

from the west because of its surrounded the country. So that was that. Then we were all put into a camp for one month.

At Larrimah, actually. Down the rail track, in order to become accustomed to European food, and those who were hospital cases already went straight into hospital.

I guess we were. Yes, I think that you know section by section we were marched off to the hospital.

No. Tropical ulcers, I didn’t report those which is my pity.

In the process of.

They’re not as bad as they had been. And young people don’t do this. Look, when, you know these cases of members of the crew of the [HMAS] Melbourne that went into the Voyager. And they are being paid hundreds of thousands of dollars for the psychological damage they’ve suffered.

Didn’t occur to soldiers in Second World War. When our ship was blown up by a torpedo, and eleven out of forty-eight lived, and only seven of those are able to walk around, you don’t think of saying “My country owes me compensation”. We were transferred to another ship and on

we went. And we arrived at the attack point a few hours after our unit.

There’s a humorous answer to that when I think of the Americans and what they were fed. But the serious answer is, no I think our country

was on the back foot for most of the war. And everybody did their best.

Larrimah.

Yes.

I think that was relaxation. No

training. We did that after we were sent on leave and then went to Canungra. Have you heard of Canungra?

Yes, we were taken by train down to Adelaide and then dispersed east and west from there. Now remember the train arriving at Quorn, South Australia, have you ever been there?

Well today it’s quite a busy town. Then it was on the fringe of South Australia’s north. Out beyond the Goyder line and beyond economic agriculture. Our train pulled in about three am. And the

station was brilliantly lit. And the country women had table after table of food, our country women coming in to show hospitality. And we, most of us were just too tired to get out of the train. And I felt badly.

And, no

worse still, no one saying “Thank you”.

Yes. They’re just little mental pictures that have covered the years.

Yes, back to Melbourne and I think we were given two or three weeks’ leave. And then we had to report to a rail

transport officer and put on a train and sent up to Canungra.

I can’t remember much at all about leave, quite frankly.

I can remember visiting

a family, in the company of my mother, they were just friends. And they were curious about North Timor. I don’t remember a lot about leave.

Must have been notified, I think. As a matter of fact I did a terrible thing.

Left with her a code to say “Where I was”, all guessing but just picking islands around Australia. And she met a women’s group connected with my unit. And they talked with one another and they all seemed to know where we were. But the

letters home were rather curious because they were sent on message pads or there wasn’t any toilet paper, certainly no writing paper. And we just folded it and tucked one end into another and it got back to your company headquarters and they sent it on from there.

Out yes.

In a way, yes. Yes, I suppose so. I had been fond of a girl for whom I have since felt sorrow. I think she loved me.

There was never any sexual activity. I held women in such high esteem and we were friends up to the time that I joined an independent company, no other girl. After

the war I must have made contact with her, because I really can’t remember this clearly. I remember my mother saying “I don’t think that you should keep a friendship with Marjorie any longer. She’s not up to the standard”, that’s the

meaning of her message. And so I broke it off. It might have been before we went away, because in the few months afterwards, after the war was over, I met Bobby who was a trained nurse and theatre sister to a surgeon. And I immediately fell deeply in love with her. And she was

wonderful to my mother and to her parents. And she’s been an outstanding person. And I understand my mother’s evaluation now. But now Marjorie, my first girlfriend rang me after the war was over. And said, “Would you meet me, only for five

minutes? I just would like to see you again.” We met and she said “Thank you”, she left.

No. Didn’t, I hadn’t corresponded with her, so we must have broken off before hand. As an older fellow, I realised I must have hurt her

very deeply.

No. No. “Just would I meet her?”

Well, the unit went to Canungra, me included.

It had just been formed as a

2/4th Independent Company.

Every time, always between combat

it was always more training. Because there were reinforcements would come in after each campaign. So they had to weld the unit and each section. Each section had new men. Signals had new people. You had to bring them up to a standard. Understand each piece of equipment and then bond the men

together. And whilst it was monotonous, it achieved results. And we’d go away as an efficient fighting force. And every man knowing his job, and you’d get to know others, in other parts of the unit. When you’re in a training camp, when you’re in action, you’re working as separate independent

little groups. And you may not meet again until that campaign is over.

Yes, I suppose so but not fundamentally different. Only refinements, like changing one car model for another. Nothing like, for example

in Borneo we had walkie talkies for the first time. Most unreliable, and compared with the, what do you, the mobiles, and most crude. They were American made and that long with an antennae going up another twelve inches. And heavy because

the number of long batteries they held. And unless it was flat country, you couldn’t communicate. It was only broadcast band. So they were useless. In countries like Timor and Tarakan it was different country and we used field telephones a lot. And

that meant that the sigs had to carry one mile of drums, of cable, join it up, be fed out a mile of it. Insulate it and on with the next mile drum. And on mountain slopes and the wet season, permanent rain, you slept in rain. Your only protection was a ground

sheet six feet by two and a half feet. No other cover, just drill shirt. At that stage we had jungle greens, so they came to your ankles. But that was heavy work, slippery work. But each campaign was different.

Well, I might as well explain that when the independent company was sent to New Guinea we were sent as part of the 9th Division. Prior to that we were just a group of operatives working in enemy territory.

Now we’re under command. We’re under the command of a brigadier. He had three

battalions of men plus support troops of engineers and artillery and transport. Everything. Hospitals.

We didn’t. They didn’t understand the meaning of independent company, working in enemy territory. Didn’t occur

to General Thomas Blamey and, or the brigadiers or the generals in the 6th, 7th, and 9th Division of the AIF. We were used as infantry but special infantry. For tough jobs or reconnaissance work. But not to go into enemy territory and carry out

raids or whatever, so entirely different work. And I think illustrative of that was that in New Guinea we were working on the inland flank of the 9th Division 26th Brigade at Lae - rain tumbling down perpetually. The rivers

were in flood, roaring, powerful streams. Men could not stand in them, tremendous power of water. One of our platoons was upstream from the position that I was in. And they came to a vine bridge.

And there was no sign of Japanese on the other side. We were the most inland group of soldiers for the Australian forces. And the platoon commander wanted to cross this bridge and establish himself on the other side. Our unit commander endorsed it. He told

the brigade commander “What we were going to do” and we were told “You’ll do nothing of the kind until you’re given permission”. Permission was given next day. The Japanese were on the other side of the bridge, already set up waiting to give us a reception. We moved our men onto the bridge

and they were shot to ribbons. And that illustrates the difference between working as an independent company and part of a division. And when Zelda asked me about heroism that was one case where it jumped to my mind.

One of those who were seriously wounded, on the vine bridge, fell into the water. And his corporal was aware that this man couldn’t swim. The corporal instantly jumped into the water, grasped the fellow, dragged his head to the surface

and said, “You are going to swim underwater and I’ll bring you to the top to get air. You’ll feel it.” So the corporal dragged him underwater, they were swept downstream, Brian dragged the fellow up to the surface, they both gulped air, and under again,

until out of sight of the machine guns on the other side. And with remarkable strength Brian brought him in to the bank. In this terrible torrent of water, it took great strength. Both survived. And Brian was

awarded the Military Medal.

Our medical sergeant in Borneo, Tarakan, again being used as special forces, but not in enemy territory.

We were working with the same brigade. We had been sent in to Tarakan twenty-four hours before the Australians attacked. And we took with us an Australian artillery battery to provide shelling cover next day. We were told “To land on a certain island

adjacent to Tarakan”, which itself is an island. Oil rich. To our astonishment there wasn’t a Japanese on this island. We got the artillery ashore. Next day the American Navy bombarded Tarakan itself.

And the 26th Brigade landed there. We were still on this safe island. The next day we were brought in to land at Tarakan. And the town was devastated from the shelling from the navy. Oil wells

all over the place. There was a dominant hill at the back of the town with oil wells even on the hill. And on the day before we landed one of the 26th Brigade had been instructed to capture that hill. By nightfall

they had not been able to do so. It was heavily defended and it was discovered that the hill was riddled with, what do you call them, tunnels? And there were even steel doors at the entrance to the tunnels. And this had all been built by the Dutch as shelter in the event of fire in the oil fields.

The Japanese were using it as a field hospital and now as defence and they had a strong force of troops there. Also, with their own tunnels coming off the tunnels to, what do they call them, gun pits? So it was like a beehive.

And the, I won’t mention the name of the battalion, but they were withdrawn and the 2/4th with its two hundred and fifty men were instructed to capture the hill. We felt that’s a tough ask when you’ve just pulled seven to eight hundred troops away from it. Well,

we sent out sections to probe all around it and we assessed the situation and learned what was happening. We lost men in doing so. Shot.

I think only about seven. But this is because they were walking at the hill. Directly into the line of

fire. But by the end of the second or third day, I think the end of the second day we had captured the hill by going around behind it and over the top, and sealing the tunnels. Blasting them, so the Japanese

were trapped. Now our medical sergeant was another very quiet man. Rather remote, you couldn’t become a close friend. He won the Military Medal for running in under fire to grab the wounded and get them out.

So different people, different emergencies.

Yes, well, it’s of course people in Europe

and elsewhere, Australians in North Africa had most dreadful experiences. And I think of the Australian Air Force flying over Europe, one in three would not return.

We were taken in a convoy, I could show you a photograph of the convoy but it’s time consuming to get the book. I would imagine that there’d be at

least ten troop carrying vessels. Large infantry carrying vessels, they’re called landing ship tanks, LSTs. They’re made for tanks, perhaps three or four tanks could go in the middle and troops quarters around them or we had no tanks but. And

it was one of those that was torpedoed. So a destroyer came alongside and strapped our thing to it and towed us to the nearest port, which was nearby. Told to get on to the next one. And off we went.

Well virtually,

yes. Within three or four hours we were on our way.

Oh yes, yes. It’s amazing what detail, was it a recorded conversation, Brad [Researcher] couldn’t have put, written all this down.

Yes but he must have been doing it so rapidly.

Well, it was quite an experience. Funny things happen. I remember in the same flooded river that I told you

about that heroism, I was cleaning my teeth. I had a small plate with one tooth on it. And it was just before dusk. That can be recorded. The noise of the torrent against the rocks was just a roar.

But suddenly I became aware that bullets were striking the rocks I was sitting beside. So it was the other, the Nips were on the other side and here was this silly Australian cleaning his teeth. Somehow or other I managed to drop my plate in the river.

After the Lae campaign.

Certainly not. It would probably be three miles downstream.

Well, there is a sequel because it’s attached [?] the prisoner of war. When the campaign was over, my CO said “I hear that you

behaved yourself pretty well on that disabled LST, Ralph”. I’d like you to take a Japanese prisoner to Port Moresby. So, there’s no taxi to catch, you had to find your own way. So I made my way with this prisoner to the Lae airport.

Now I hadn’t seen Lae until that time because we were inland. The Americans were running all the transport and the plane went into an important air junction called Nadzab, which had been captured by the 7th Division. Whilst I was asking “Where can I find a plane that’s going to Port Moresby?”,

I met an Australian war correspondent who spoke Japanese. And I asked him “Would he tell the prisoner that I was born at Yokohama?” And when he did the delight of this prisoner was something worth capturing on film. And he was much more comfortable from thereon.

So we were directed to an aircraft crossing the Owen Stanleys, twelve thousand feet. And we landed at Jackson Airport, Port Moresby. We got down the steps of the aircraft and a neighbouring plane was being unloaded by some huge American Negroes. And when they turned and saw a Japanese

they rushed at him. And I remember one saying, “Let me at this bastard”. I had to draw my pistol and I learned a lesson about human nature. These men were far from home, they were involved in a war, and had never seen a Japanese.

Here was their chance. So these fellows backed off and I found a fellow with a jeep prepared to take me to the prisoner of war camp and there I was given a receipt, which I’ve held

for many, many years. And then in the last couple of years my life has come, become interwoven a bit with 2 Commando Company Army Reserve at Williamstown. And I thought “Some of my mementos may be of interest to them”. I’d sent most of my things to Darwin.

Because an artillery colonel had written to me from Darwin saying that “He was starting a museum, would my unit be prepared to send mementoes from East Timor?”, and I published this in this thing that you’ve got. ‘Cause I happened to be the unit president at the time.

And a lot of fellows sent me their mementos. And I sent off a big parcel to this man including a twelve-inch dagger of mine, we were all issued with daggers.

Yes. And they were fearsome things. And I felt keeping this in my house may be

dangerous. If there was an intruder and I killed a man with it, what happens then? So I sent that with other stuff to Darwin. Never had any acknowledgement. So.

The whole of a day, daylight hours, I just felt remote really. He was a prisoner,

it could have been the other way around. Australian attitudes are different. You delivered a prisoner. But I sent my receipt to commando company together with tissue paper tracings I had made on Timor of military maps using indelible

lead pencil because there weren’t biros. And I always carried two maps in my wallet with these tracings in case of need. When I was on my own, getting from A to B. And the OC of 2 Commando said “We’d love to have them”. So they have them.

I remember crossing the Owen Stanleys in a Douglas DC3 with holes cut in every window so that if it was used as a troop carrier, soldiers could

fire out of the windows. I was dressed in khaki shorts and shirt, and was it cold. On aluminium seats running up the side, it was freezing. But the plane landed at Buna, which was many miles away from Lae where I’d left my unit. Buna had been shot to pieces,

coconut plantations with the tops gone and so on. And there I met a dental sergeant and he could see that I was missing a tooth right in the front. And he said “Would you like us to fix that up?” And I said, “Would I?” He said “Well, you come to our surgery at nine o'clock tomorrow”.

I was there. Shown into the chair. The dentist approached. Said, “What are you here for?” “A new plate”, said I so innocently. And his reply was, “What do you think this is a bloody beauty parlour, get out of

the chair”. So that was my dental treatment. Okay. So.

Buna. Well, I had to get back to my unit. I was told “There’s no aircraft going from here. Best that you go down the coast and get a lift with American”, what do they call them, water transport

people. They run little trawlers up and down the coast. Excuse me. “Sure Aussie”, was the reply when I got down there, “Jump aboard”. So there were about five or six Americans on this thing and they were taking food supplies I think. Comfortable journey, and they’d go into mangrove

to shelter for the night to be able to sight some Japanese aircraft. And we learned that my unit had moved from Lae to attack Finschhafen. And on we went. And the next night they, the boat pulled into mangroves and we could hear the fighting going on.

And there was plenty of it. The Americans said, they’d given me a beautiful dinner, they said, “What would you like for breakfast Ralph? Would you like flapjacks and maple syrup, bacon and eggs?” And I thought “My poor pals in there with all that fighting and they’ll be opening tins of bully beef and dog biscuits.”

So that was a contrast to the two nations’ armies.

No, I had not. It’s really learning of your husband’s experiences with Americans that caused me to think what stupid idiots they

are. Infantrymen smoking, or having radios going, unbelievable, what sort of discipline’s in an army like that? Did your husband have that sort of experience?

Cannot comprehend that. No, these fellows were all full of goodwill towards the Australians.

But Tarakan was a bitter war and a wasteful one of Australian lives.

To keep the Australians occupied and out of the way, the Japanese were now retreating. MacArthur wanted the full glory and media attention without any other troops

intervening.

Yes.

And the same rotation arrangements, you went into camp after leave, you had, you were supplied with reinforcement troops and you went through training exercised again, so that you

all melded together as an integral unit.

Well, this was the Atherton Tablelands,

where the 9th Australian Division was in training.

And we all found it deadly boring because we felt we knew our jobs.

One can say, yes but there were a lot of soldiers worked harder. You know with more constant exposure to danger and threat, I don't know. I particularly feel for the air force men who’d fly over Europe and so many aircraft were shot down. Or

in the current terms, brought down by friendly fire.

Aircraft in formation above would release their bombs and strike.

For six months I think, five to six months. And I think that we came back from New Guinea about November ’44, I think. And then May ‘45 we were in Tarakan.

Yes.

Oh yes.

Our war in Tarakan was ending when VE day occurred. They were almost synonymous or concurrent. It was a nasty war for the waste of life, the ferocity of the fighting. The Japanese were trapped,

they had no support from divisional or mainland forces. They were purely a force on Tarakan, fighting for their lives and they fought very bravely. Attacking constantly from concealed bunkers, so that every inch of the way

our fellows were exposed to machine gun fire, which could not be seen. And that’s how young Tony Kayes lost his life. I mentioned when we first met about his, this woman saying to the legatee, “I was in love with this boy when he went away”.

I was the signals sergeant. We had a very weak signals officer, a drunkard. Knew nothing about signals. Hadn’t been trained in

signals. He’d been sent to the unit to fill a post. And so it was my job, with the help of my mates, Sergeant John Corey to run and organise communications for the unit. And this was almost entirely by field telephone.

It was just nasty. It was nasty because it was jungle warfare. And you could not see your enemy who was facing you all the time because he couldn’t afford to

retreat. So there was a lot of loss of what we call “Forward scouts”. The Japanese would strap themselves into the treetops. And as you were searching

a track for any sign of machine gun emplacements, down you went. And number two behind you in many cases, the back up forward scout. We lost a number of men in that way. Young Tony Kayes had been searching for a machine gun emplacement

when he was shot. All sorts of occasions come to your mind. I remember walking along a track

where we had had a number of casualties. And the fellow in front of me stood on a land mine. It’s only feet. It was his foot, not mine. Tom Dillon was a casualty, total casualty.

Blown up, yes.

Just, body torn to pieces.

Yes, oh yes. There are, you have to keep going, you are in attack mode. And the Japanese just as fiercely are defending their soil.

It’s happening to them.

Yes. I was carrying a sub machine gun and a pistol and grenades.

Yes, carrying, either on Tarakan, field telephones which were

heavy things. So poor in comparison with the quality of the Japanese field telephones. One of which I was fortunate to be able to give to the Australian War Memorial. And they said “This is in the best condition of any Japanese field telephone we’ve been given”.

Now I got that at the end of the New Guinea campaign, from an American who had bought it from a brigade soldier, fighting. And had come into one of these American camps and here was the phone. Brought it down to the coast and the American bought it.

And I bought it from him. But they were interesting. It interested me because I was using Australian equipment and here were all the refinements of the Japanese technology, which pre-war we regarded as tin junk. Their toys were so cheaply made. And their motor cars, there were cars on Tarakan that were so crude

compared to American or British. Excuse me. The air force on Tarakan operated under difficulties. It was so marshy as an island that it was necessary to lay down these metal strips that overlapped one another. Have you seen them or photographs of them?

They’re very heavy gauge metal with slots cut in them and they’d be the width of this room in length, and about that wide. And they had hinges or wings on them at intervals. So you hooked, you put this one on the ground, you hooked the next one in to it and so on

until you’d laid out an airstrip for four or five hundred metres. And they didn’t take bombers but they took fighter aircraft. And they’d just coming in to land on this metallic airstrip. And they were losing men, Japanese penetrating our lines. And wanting to get at the

aircraft or anyone near them. So the air force lost some men too.

Yes, fighter-cover, yes or strafing, yes. So, in the end the

Japanese were coming in to our camp. We were camped right at the extremity of the 9th Division forces and you’d call them virtually “Stragglers”. Officers and soldiers whose units or sections had been so shot up, that they were just stragglers. They realised

the war was lost or war had been declared over. They’d heard the news and they’d come in, given themselves up. And at about that point we were point, we were told “To pack up and go down to the wharf. We were going to be picked up by an Australian warship.”

No other information, we sat there all day. And when nightfall came we were sent back to our camp. Next day we learned that we were to have gone to Sandakan where the Australian prisoners of war had been held for a few years. No survivors there. But six survivors from the march across the country,

and the information had only just reached Tarakan, so the manoeuvre was called off.

Yes.

Well, beer was supplied to the unit. In fact

it saddens me to say that during that campaign our commanding officer who was a Griffith’s Accountant and a very nice person, broke down, nervous collapse. At the, our losses, and his second in command

took over. And he was a man I had a great liking for, keen sense of humour. He had not been as involved with the 2/4th even though he was with us when we formed up at Wilsons Promontory.

But at intervals he’d left, so he didn’t serve with us in New Guinea, he didn’t serve with us in Timor. He’d gone to Timor, been pulled off. And now here he was in command of the unit.

Quite. But in relation to the number of men

who passed through the unit, it would be small. We had about seven hundred and fifty men to fill the two hundred and fifty positions in the unit. And we lost between sixty and sixty-five men. Now, Pat Haig as the new CO of

the unit wrote a letter to his wife saying “He was scornful of the brigade attitude in sending us cases of beer instead of sending us ammunition”.

His letter was censored. He was stripped of his command.

Disgust. He was a good officer. Capable and with his sense of humour he could accept shock, distress. He used to

get rid of it by talking French, and just nonsense.

No, he wasn’t implying that. No he, no it was

a very direct criticism privately made to his wife in his letter. “That brigade should support our unit still, in combat. We want ammunition not cases of beer, thank you. The others may want beer but we need ammunition.” And with this useless signals officer,

I was the CO’s signals director of operations. So all kinds of theories have been developed by the troops about him being relieved as commander. But I resumed our friendship after the war.

We were all home, and I asked him point blank, “Why was he relieved?” And the story came out.

Yes.

Peace came in August, didn’t it? I boarded the ship in December. There was a points system. Married men, quite rightly, received priority and then length of service, well I’d had six years of service. So we came home on a British aircraft carrier. Which

was luxurious, sleep in the hangars and sun bake on the deck and ample food.

Yes.

Well sensibly, the brigade had instructed units to draw upon the resources of the members

to hold classes in different things. And I was half way through an accountancy degree, so I was teaching bookkeeping. And get, I had been getting no pleasure from the accountancy. It was just a tangle of figures. And removed from personal relationship, people was what attracted me. But I was

teaching bookkeeping. And my good friend, who managed one of Goldsborough Mort’s properties, said that he really learned how to manage books for the property through sitting in on this post-war business.

Yes, yes.

We had the biggest rats I’ve ever seen on Borneo. Huge, they were like cats.

I suppose they were but they lived in the oil fields and we were camped in the oil fields. Filthy conditions. And this

Goldsborough Mort man had the intelligence to say, “I’ll fix them Ralph.” And he cut open a kerosene tin, laid it flat and cut a disk out of it and then cut an outer disk, so that there was a gap between the kerosene tin and the inner disk. And he fastened

electrical cable to each. And then a number of batteries all in series, so there’s a strong charge. And as we went to bed, he’d have food in the centre. And before the lights were out you’d hear, bang. The rats were just blown up.

So, initiative.

It would have been about Christmas time or fifteenth, maybe that date. It was certainly you know, late in December.

No, I think it

would be a Queensland port and then flown down to Melbourne, be a number of us, and nice to be at home. And during the war when we were training, there was an army paper published from time to time. It was called Salt. Have you heard of it? Just a little magazine

but full of interesting subjects. And I read, “When the war is over, Australia must export”. I thought “Well, that makes sense. And wouldn’t it be fun?” So when I was discharged I went to the Australian Department of Trade and said, “How do

I become an exporter?”

Or foolishness.

A joy. Yes, it was just gratitude and joy, felt so sorry

for my mother who had been alone. My two brothers returned but one had his deficiencies. And the other was a highly-strung person who didn’t find human relationship easy, and me as the third person with all my frailties.

But it was nice to be home. And the Department of Trade said, “Well, we get many letters from overseas asking ‘Can we supply?’ If you come to us as often as you like you can get a list of the enquiries. From thereon it’s up to you.” So, I’d walk out with the list

and think agricultural machinery, food, billiard tables, all sorts of things. Where will I stick the pin? So, I’d go to manufacturers and say, I’ve got an enquiry for four hundred and fifty cases of, ah four hundred, four and a half thousand cases of this or that. Or

so many pieces of agricultural equipment.” But Australia was struggling to meet its own needs. It was extremely difficult to get what you wanted. But of course law of averages, I’d get some orders. And my shipping agents said to me

“Ralph, you are not adding enough profit”. And I thought “I’m living comfortably, I don’t want to be greedy, I didn’t heed the advice”. And then after a couple of years I met Bobby. Wanted to buy a house, didn’t have the capital.

So I did the most stupid thing I think I’ve ever done. I just shut the door of the office and walked away from it and took a salaried position as a sales representative for a large paint company to cover all of north Victoria from the Calder Highway to the Hume

Highway, and all in between - whereas if I’d kept going - and Bobby as a theatre sister - one learns.

Two children. Yes, yes.

I suggested on Tarakan that we should form one. And the CO at the next unit parade said “There has been a suggestion, those in favour”, and almost every man endorsed it. And so, I was made the unit secretary,

there was no president but I was to get things moving, get the name, the private addresses of everybody and hold the first reunion and so on.

Yes.

I haven’t found it so but once the years start ticking

by, it makes you feel you’ve gone this far and it’s a great experience, and a remembrance. There’s so many faces come before your mind, terrible loss of life.

All positive, I would say. I know that I served my country, I’ve made some life long friendships, we’ve shared

experiences. We’ve had an enormous amount of fun by helping a TPI friend who desperately needed his house being put into order. And a hundred and sixty houses were painted through this business. And a lot of paint spilled

on carpets and so on, lot of fun altogether - an understanding of the sacrifices by others who went through much worse. Let me tell you about Essington Lewis, I mentioned him early. In 1934, he made

a business trip to Japan. When he arrived he felt he was not welcome. The Japanese did not want to show him their steel mills. There was an atmosphere of aggression in the public behaviour. They had huge armed forces. And Essington

Lewis got the belief that the public was expecting some result from them. He returned via Singapore and found the British Naval dockyards were in disrepair and one dilapidated warship in the harbour. When he reached Australia

he spoke to John Latham, Deputy Prime Minister and said “I believe it’s only a matter of time before Japan will be at war”. And Essington Lewis at once stepped up steel production at BHP. When war was declared he was made

director of munitions. So they’re just little instances. But life went on after that and I’ve always believed in community, service, and so it’s one thing after another.

A great deal in the first few years, yes.

Nightmare, horrible dreams.

No, no.

No, not necessarily just mixed dreams, and you know how mixed dreams get. But they were very, they were just very frightening dreams.

Self-preservation was more powerful than killing others.

I would think so, I didn’t ask others direct. Whether you think of the other fellow, you can’t afford to let the other fellow have first turn.

Yes I do but less frequently but yes I do.

It is so foolish when there’s a lifetime, sixty years has passed but it returns.

Yes, of course you are right. Yes, it’s true. It keeps bringing me back to the East Timorese in spite of

the frightening experience of being blown up and I was hurled, I was lucky to be hurled against a steel balustrade. And survive. It’s my gratitude to the East Timorese for their goodwill towards Australia. They think Australia is a great country.

They admire Australia and they love Australians. We’ve treated them so shabbily.

But it was of tremendous interest to attend a Victorian Local Government convention a couple of months ago. And experience the enthusiasm of people from different cities and towns. And how they are working to help the East Timorese. But as you may know, there is so much

bureaucracy obstructing the receipt and distribution of Australia’s suppliers. Do you know the story there that’s associated with that?

Yes, you’re amazing that you remember that date. That...

Gladly, and I’ll precede it with a short story...

Yes, well a few months ago Bobby and I went to a fund-raising dinner for the town, Suai. Where they had terrible massacre as you know. And I decided to take prints of some

slides I had taken. When we went to Timor we took little scraps of things that would appeal, such as balloons and blow out things for children and boxes of matches for men because they ignite or get a fire going by rubbing a stick in coconut fibre and so on. Excuse me.

I took a photograph at Maliana of Bobby giving children these different gifts. And there was a pretty little girl blowing one of these paper things that rolled out, and towards the end of the evening, we began talking to a group of Timorese women.

And one of them said “That’s Josie, my niece”. Looking at a photograph now, thirty years old. But she was so certain about it. And she showed the photograph to her friends, “Look at Josie”. So of course she has the photograph. That was the pleasure of that.

When we went to East Timor as men we took First World War bandoleers, which Australian soldiers used to wear. They were leather pouches. It was strapped across their chest. Remember seeing photographs of those. And these were going to be given as gifts to the creados. At Maubisse one man

came up and said “He was Tuan Baldi’s creado” and he was so sincere Bobby and I believed him. But we knew no Tuan Baldi. And no one else in our party knew him. So the leader of our party dismissed it and said “Tell the fellow to get on his way”.

That wasn’t good enough. Bobby took his photograph and [?], with me. And I kept insisting to Ken, my friend, that “This man is genuine”. Ken said, “Look Ralph, if you are so convinced, although we don’t know a Baldi,

you give him a bandoleer.” I did. And the man’s gratitude was such that he wept. Next morning he was back at the hotel at Maubisse with a huge basket of fruit and his son. And there was a great presentation of this. He was wearing his bandoleer.

And Bobby was determined to find this Tuan Baldi. She kept the photograph. Ten years later we were making a visit to Kakadu, we were on a bus tour. And as the bus approached Katherine the driver said, “Just for the interest of passengers,

has anyone among you ever been to Katherine?” And a man sitting in front of us said, “Well, I was up here during the war for a short period and then we went elsewhere”. The driver said, “Would you come to, care to come and tell the passengers?” This man’s name was Rolf Baldwin,

who was a Master at Geelong Grammar. And we had met him just before leaving Melbourne. And Bobby thought, Baldwin. Tuan Baldi. So after he finished speaking he returned to his seat and Bobby went up and sat beside him and said,

“Tuan Baldi”. And he turned and looked at her with such surprise. And Bobby said, “Did you have a creado named Maubisse?” “Yes”, said Rolf Baldwin. “He came from Maubisse. He called himself Maubisse.” And Bobby said “I have his photograph. When we get back to Melbourne I’ll post it to you.”

And Rolf Baldwin was overjoyed. He was second in command of the force on Timor.

Two things. A strong affection for the people

who all greeted us openly and with broad smiles. And a feeling of criticism I’m afraid towards the Portuguese Governor and his administration. That they had had this place for over four hundred years and drew the revenue from its production but did very little for it in schools or roads

or whatever.

Yes. Well I had not been in the town of Dili during the war but as far as village life was concerned, things were much the same. Except, I suppose that there was no head hunting going

on so far as I knew. Same warm friendship everywhere. And going out into places like Ermera and Hatu-Lia and Atsabe where coffee and rubber were being produced. The Portuguese showed great friendship towards us too. So there was mutual warmth.

Yes, yes there was. Yes, there seemed to be adequate food. The roads were so primitive that only four wheeled drive jeeps could be used. So we were broken up into small parties. The accommodation was so restricted that we couldn’t stay as a party of twenty-

five or thirty. We had to go in different directions and overlap. Toilet facilities were absolutely appalling. You would know about that.

Yes. Much the same as you, I guess. As one woman said to her as she was about to enter a toilet,

“Bobby take a deep breathe and don’t let go”.

Yes.

Only as far as the tour itinerary permitted. I’d

ask for him as we getting nearer and nearer to Atsabe, and in Atsabe and at Ainaro where he first joined me. And we met Mother Marina who was an Italian missionary, had come out there at the age of seventeen, now my age. And she was running an orphanage. She’d never heard

of Diki. But I, Bobby and I asked her “How can we help you?” And it’s rather an interesting story if I may tell it. She said “Would you send me children’s clothing?” I said “Right” and we published this in the “Unit Newsletter Quarterly”. Many, many cartons of clothing, men, women’s and

children came until our garage was full. So I approached Ansett and told them the story. “Could they help us?” And they said, “We will give you cartons if you will deliver it to our freight department and leave it to us”. We will transport it at no cost to

the west coast, or near Wyndham, I can’t think of its name. But there was Burma Oil, were flying from there to Suai in search of oil. And Ansett said “If you contact Burma Oil, they may help you get it across”. I wrote to them.

They agreed saying “Leave it to us, we’re flying helicopters over we’ll, take it, bit by bit”. And somebody in their office told the story to commercial radio in Perth and Burma Oil was flooded with clothing. And they were shipping this immense quantity to Mother Marina. And

probably for the first time in her life, she wrote to me saying, “Please, stop”. So that was quite a satisfying experience.

Yes, she got help. Yes, quite a wonderful woman, very direct but doing so much to help kids.

And all the way around, people.

Yes it has. Yes, I’ve been so pained by the twenty-four years of occupation and the

narrowness of successive Australian governments to put trade as well as fear of intimidation from Indonesia perhaps ahead of what we proclaim as human rights. That has made me a cynical person in that respect.

I had admiration for the media film producers. I was certain of its outcome. Admiration for the

ballot supervisors, all unarmed, and then to see the scores of thousands of people driven into Akusi [?] and down the coast further. Admiration for the Australian troops, I met General Cosgrove

and I asked him “How did you feel when you met the Indonesian Commander at the take-over?” And his reply was, “It was a touchy situation.”

Yes, yes.

Very glad and proud. I was later invited to attend the induction of an army reserve company into the permanent A RAR [Royal Australian Regiment]. They would just be finishing their six months of service in East Timor. But there’s a

parade held at Simpson Barracks and they were mostly Victoria but some New South Welshmen. There was a very stirring parade, good discipline. And to be invited as a guest was very nice indeed. Not many I, suppose East Timor fellows still about.

So they’re, having to scratch the dirt a bit.

Yes. I knew that they would uphold the high reputation. Fine fellows and

there’s a number of men from 2 Commando Company Williamstown had gone. There’d be oh at least sixty have gone over there. They’re very fine young fellows with high ideals. So only part of the force but I think the regular army too are good calibre fellows. And the girls that go

over too.

Good.

How long were you there on this occasion of the plebiscite?

Can we?

Is any war just? It had

to be. You know of the, what’s the word, well the massacre of six million Jews in Europe. And the theft of all their accumulated treasures in art,

and in jewellery and in wealth and so on. That’s one aspect. But the bigger picture is the march across Europe crushing nations and taking them over, to cleanse Europe and make it an Aryan state. That can’t be allowed to go on. You may have read as I have

of the loss of millions of Russians, men, women, children. When you think of millions, I often say to people I’d speak to about East Timor, and ask them, “What would be their reaction if tomorrow’s newspapers carried the headlines

“Six million Australians slaughtered”. People wouldn’t believe it. But with a population of twenty million, one third of our population, direct ratio to East Timor’s six hundred and fifty thousand at the time of 1975. So in Europe

there was a most frightening tragedy unfolding. So from this point of view it was a just war.

It is.

You are amazing with your questions.

There’s some things that I’m

ashamed of, not personally, but what I’ve witnessed in the behaviour of my colleagues. I don't think it would be helpful to be on this tape. There’s no credit to this country.

Ah,

it wouldn’t matter if it was spanning a hundred years, I’m ashamed of fellows who are in my mind. I don’t think it does…

Yes, yes. Yes, it’s not good, no one would get pleasure from them.

I acknowledge all of that and I endorse it, but there’s behaviour by some that so disgusts me that to have it as part of the archives, I think is like putting a stain there, I don’t want it.

No, they’re not. They were momentary experiences. They revealed the characters of the men. I can’t undo it. It’s in its own little box and it has nothing to do with

my life now.

That’s hard to answer because you

don’t look for recognition. You see, Australian troops as you know have served all over the world. Do you know for example that Australia sent 360,000 men abroad in First World War. 60,000

were killed, a 160,000 were wounded and then Great Britain sent Australia a bill for forty-five million pounds as our share of the cost. And we paid the bill. So when you ask me, do I feel that my little unit got recognition,

it’s a drop of salt. I’m just ashamed of Australia disregarding East Timor in its agony and not doing a thing to shelter it.

Of course, we all owe our lives to those people. It can, we can never repay. We can acknowledge and express things. And I’m trying as hundreds of other Australians are trying to give some things they need.

But the other aspect is as people coming back from Timor say to me, “We have to be careful that we don’t spoil that country and make them dependent on others’ giving. They’ve got to strive for themselves, it’s the young ones who are uneducated who haven’t the will to work and

so on.” Complex again, isn’t it, this human nature and life?

Thank you for the invitation. I congratulate the archives for

this decision. It’s a very gracious compliment that you’ve allowed me to contribute. There’d be countless thousands of ex-servicemen, with far worse experiences than mine, with richer information to contribute. But, it’s so important

for school children to grow up and know what their ancestors have done. And what a wonderful country we have here. We are blessed. And if young Australians can get a sense of relationship towards other people and their difficulties it might give them the incentive to put maximum effort into their own

goals. And I think you two are epitomising that, you’re great representatives.

Deserved. So thank you for the time you’ve put into it.