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Story of the 34th

Chapter Eight — North To The Solomons

page 59

Chapter Eight
North To The Solomons

It was only a day's trip before the morning of 6 September saw the convoy nosing through the narrow channels into the harbour of Port Vila, on Efate Island, New Hebrides, and anchoring a mile from the township. Through binoculars, one could pick up the twin British and French flags, under which the territory is administered, and the typical bungalows of the tropics that all had come to know so well from past days in Fiji. The main purpose of our visit to the New Hebrides was to obtain practice in amphibious operations, so our time there was fairly busy, with landing exercises being done every day. The first afternoon there was a trial landing, which necessitated a five mile trip by the assault boats around to a long sweeping beach in Mele Bay. After the practice in Noumea, the nets were not so formidable to our men now, who were getting the knack of using the feet on the horizontals, the hands on the verticals. Luckier ones were the men assigned to the Wellin davit boats, for they climbed aboard on the boat deck and were lowered grandly to the water level. Nevertheless, they still remember the captain's fearsome threats that if they didn't take the weight off the davits by holding on to those so-and-so ropes, they would…!

Amphibious training was realistic and interesting work, a lot more so than simple infantry tactics on dry ground. It had it mo-ments, too—when landing craft (Lcvp) 32 charged up to the beach, flung down its ramp, and out into the surf spilled Private Joe King, an honest stretcher-bearer who had thought the ramp a suitable leaning place. There were times when breakers gave coxswains a troubled minute before they could get off the beach with a full load of troops aboard. 'Rock her, fellers, rock her' became a familiar appeal. One landing was made just before dawn, to accustom troops page 60to disembarking in the dark, but the big show was reserved for the last when, in addition to the men, 227 tons of cargo were taken ashore. As a result of this experience commanders found out just how many men it needs to handle the beach-work, apart from the front-line troops. Everyone slept ashore, got wet, and was glad to be taken aboard again next morning. Legend has it that the colonel spent frantic minutes shouting into the microphone of his radio in an endeavour to contact A company, which ultimately he did, only to find that A company headquarters was precisely ten yards away behind a hedge.

At 6 am next morning (according to the ship's Plan of the Day) the executive officer reported 'watertight integrity'. That always seemed to mean that we were putting to sea, and that we wouldn't 6ink if we did so. The long shore line of the various New Hebridean islands followed us that day, away out to the east. There was one spark of excitement when, about 8 pm the call general quarters was sounded, for an underwater contact had been made by the ship's submarine detecting apparatus. Nothing came of it, however, and the alert was lifted half an hour later.

The Solomon Islands came out of the sea on the morning of 14 September, first San Christobal, then the great bulk of Guadalcanal on our port side. For several hours the convoy steamed up the passage between Guadalcanal and Florida, until at 11 am the anchor was dropped, close in-shore, just off the mouth of the Matanikau River. All plans had previously been made for disembarkation, working parties and the necessary beach organisation, so simultaneously with the rumble of the anchor-chain the first boat loads of men were swung overboard and headed for shore. The battalion will not lightly forget that day on the beach near Point Cruz—the terrific heat; the sweating, toiling, working parties; the growing pile of conglomerate stores on the shore; the crates of fruit-juice that were broken into to relieve the thirsts of parched workers and the dusty trek up to the camp site, perched precariously along a number of grassy ridges. By nightfall it was mostly over—the ship had been unloaded at the rate 147 tons an hour, a record surpassing that made by Fijian troops a little earlier; the mass of stores and equipmen on the beach was sorted and piquetted; at camp the men had tents erected (in more or less make-shift manner). When it seemed that at last the end of the day had come, all hands had to turn to page 61and dig fox-holes, for the moon was high, and Jap bombers still operated from Kihili and other fields further north.

They were not long in coming. Before morning enemy planes were bombing Henderson Field, with our men awakened from their sleep by the whine of the sirens. It was a new and strange sensation to see twin searchlights picking out a Jap bomber directly overhead, but out of range of our guns. We were being introduced to 'Washing-machine Charlie'—the name given to enemy bombers by reason of the curious waxing and waning of their de-synchronized motors. 'Charlie' will never be forgotten.

There was little satisfaction about the camp site allotted to us and general pleasure at the news next day that at least two companies, and possibly the whole battalion, would move to a fine position overlooking the sea, a few miles further north. The two companies concerned starting their move out there full of high spirits; it was a sadder spectacle next day when the projected change was cancelled, and there was much gnashing of teeth. We would have to continue clinging to our grassy ridges. These things will be remembered of Guadalcanal—the dust that blew everywhere, the inadequacy of the water, and the sight of men tramping stolidly away from some deserted camp laden down with boxes, furniture, and the general line of 'loot' that helps to make life bearable in otherwise unpleasant surroundings. 'Charlie' came over every night, save one, for the first week. How everyone cheered that night when, clearly in view of us all, our night-fighter swept out of the dark, and we saw the tracer go pumping into first one, then the other, of two marauding bombers that came in from behind the hills. Both went flaming to earth. It was our first view of combat. We found suddenly, too, that falling flak consituted an unexpected menace, and there was much energy expended in covering fox-holes by some people not usually energetic. Vivid are the memories also of the huge working parties that were called for by higher headquarters—sometimes as many as three or four hundred men a day—and the occasions down near 'Hell's Point' when our men sheltered from enemy bombers in the unhealthy cover provided by the ammunition dumps there.

In Guadalcanal's fierce heat, it was a strenuous tramp up to Mt. Austen where a lot of fighting had taken place, but many excursions were made up that way to pick over the piles of Japanese respirators and grisly relics of war in the hope of finding something page 62useful. Shovels were the main prize, and before long a fair pro-portion of the men in the battalion were equipped with shovels acquired in this manner, or by trade with the Americans. Training could rarely be on anything more than a company basis because of the terrain, but there was a flavour to it now. Everyone knew, or sensed, that there was a show coming off soon. There was more range work, a lot of hiking to keep fit, and one interesting period when Valentine tanks were attached to the battalion to practice co-operation under jungle conditions. Nights sleeping in the jungle, to accustom men to its noises and atmosphere, were also a feature at this time. The carrier platoon, with its chequered history of motor' cycles, carriers, and beaverettes, got itself a new task—to be become commandoes. Major Wernham directed its new training, for which much of the first enthusiasm faded after a memorable afternoon when the platoon had to swim the Matanikau River fully equipped. Fortunately only a few rifles and some watches were lost, though much Matanikau water was swallowed in distress and anguish.

As days passed, so the rumours flowed more freely. The intelligence officer, Lieutenant Speight, gave talks on the various Solomon islands, leaving the men to take their pick. Betting favoured Choiseul, with Shortland and Kolombangara running it close. Talking about the future was almost all there was to do in the heat-laden evenings, except on those nights when films were showing at our own open-air theatre in the camp.

On 13 October, the commanding officer Colonel Eyre held a meeting of company commanders, and told them that the 8th Brigade's objective was the Treasury Islands, 300 miles north-west of Guadalcanal, and about 18 miles from the large enemy base on the Shortlands. The 34th Battalion had the task of landing on and seizing Stirling Island, the smaller of the two main islands in the Treasury Group; and while it was known that the Treasuries were garrisoned by enemy forces, latest reports indicated that a landing on Stirling would probably be unopposed. The bulk of the Japanese garrison was located in the Falamai district, on Mono Island, the assault on which was given to the 29th and 36th Battalions. In the meantime, realistic rehearsals were to be carried out with some of the identical ships that were to be used in the operation itself.

There was no delay about it. The next day D company were sent off to embark at Kokumbona beach and, two days later, the rest of the battalion found themselves on destroyers streaking out across page 63Sealark Channel towards Florida Island. There, on a delightful beach on the east coast, we did two landing exercises, the night in between being spent in the sheltered reaches of Port Purvis. Back in Guadalcanal and to the work of preparation. First it was announced that only 600 men could be taken up in the first echelon, and companies had to be reduced in strength accordingly; of this 600 a proportion had to be set aside for unloading operations on the Treasury beaches; the remainder were allocated into the respective first, second and third landing waves, the number of men for each wave depending on the capacity of the landing craft that would carry them to the shore. Then only a certain tonnage of equipment could go forward. Conferences were held daily to decide what weapons, stores, and other equipment might be taken by each company, and how much of this would be landed with the first echelon or retained for subsequent convoys to carry north. Once that was determined, a decision had to be made fixing what items of equipment would be needed on shore with the first assaulting troops, and what could safely be left to the slower ships some hours later. As all this data was being prepared, word came that D company, commanded by Captain I. Graham, was to be detached for a special job, as part of 'Loganforce' whose task it was to make a landing at Soanotalu, on the northern side of Mono Island. Major Logan, formerly company commander of D (support) in the 34th, was in command of this special force, which was to have other supporting troops and a number of American technical and construction men. Although no personnel of the 34th Battalion were concerned, mention should be made of an expedition that materially helped in the ultimate success of the Treasury operation. Led by Sergeant W. A. Cowan, Dcm, of the brigade intelligence section, a small party of men made a landing on Mono just about a week before the date fixed for the invasion, and from the information obtained all units were supplied with reliable notes on the Japanese gun positions and other information of much importance. Of interest to us was the assurance that there were still no Japs on Stirling, but that 100 enemy reinforcements had very recently arrived on Mono, and were quartered in Falamai village. It was possible that these men, or some of them, might be transferred over to Stirling before our arrival.

Finally the actual operation orders were issued. We read (or were told) how American destroyers were to lay down a naval bombardment on the Falamai positions up to within four minutes ofpage 64the first wave hitting the beach; how minesweepers were to follow straight behind the assaulting wave, and clear Blanche Harbour for the LSTs and LCIs that were to beach later; how fighter cover was to be provided partly by a New Zealand fighter squadron; and just where the perimeters were to be established on both Mono and Stirling, once the beaches had been won. Here was the plan, so far as it affected our battalion. With the first wave, we would land B company (under Captain P. H. Brooks) at a beach (to be known as Purple 3) down towards the west end of Stirling. This company would form a perimeter sufficient to enable brigade headquarters to establish there, and would patrol the western end of the island. A company (commanded by Captain A. G. Steele) would hit the shore at beach Purple 2, further east, and expand the beachhead to enable stores to be landed. C company (Major J. C. Braithwaite) would come in half an hour later with the second wave, pass through A company to the south coast, and then move eastward up the island, sweeping the jungle and patrolling as for as Soalo Lake and Wilson Point (at the far eastern end). Battalion headquarters was to land with A company at Purple 2, as well as the carrier platoon, which had a special patrolling role on Stirling. The administrative troops of headquarters company were to be largely used for unloading operations, some at Falamai, the remainder on the Purple beaches on Stirling.

On Sunday and Monday, 24 and 25 October, those men travelling on LSTs and LCIs embarked. Over the previous few days all the necessary cargo and stores had been rolling down to Kukum beach for loading. Finally on Tuesday, the remainder tramped hot and sweaty from camp down to the beaches, each man with his half pup-tent, cursing under the heavy packs, and with the uncomfortable feel of two grenades in the trouser pocket of the jungle suit. At noon, we were underway … up past Savo Island, the Russells, with the other destroyers of the convoy forming a fine picture under the brilliant sunshine. At nightfall, Gatukai, Vanggunu, and the outline of Rendova had come in view. For the officers concerned, there were final conferences with the ship's staff; non-commissioned officers were seen glancing over their maps for the last time. For many men, the hard-worn pack of cards passed away the time. It was to be an early rising. Some men slept on deck in the pitch darkness, for there was no moon.