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This is one of a series of thirteen unofficial narratives detailing the activities of units of the Third New Zealand Division and its base organisation during their service in the Pacific theatre of war from 1940, when the original 8th Brigade Group was despatched to Fiji, until 1944, when the division was disbanded. Between those two dates the brigade group was expanded to become a division, which came under command of American forces and with them took part in the Solomon's campaign.
At the conclusion of active operations in the Pacific, unit historical committees were appointed to select editors and arrange for the compilation and collection of all material, photographs and drawings. Final decisions and arrangements were vested in a Divisional Histories Committee and its editor. All the work associated with the writing and publication of these narratives has been done by officers NCOs and men of the units and has been performed anonymously.
Acknowledgment is made for the use of unit war diaries and narratives, to which the writers were given access by the archives section of Army Headquarters. Photographs were collected from private and official sources, both New Zealand and American, and the drawings and paintings of two official war artists who went into the Pacific have also been used.
The copyright is held by the trustees of the Third Division.
This book is dedicated to
those of our comrades of
the Second New Zealand
Expeditionary Force who
take their final rest on
Pacific Islands
Set up, printed and bound in New Zealand by
Hutcheson, Bowman & Stewart Ltd., Wellington
'A new force is being formed for the Pacific.' During August and September 1940 this rumour spread throughout the training camps in New Zealand, waxing and waning in popularity as rumours have the habit of doing. However all doubts were finally resolved when a body of troops, given the name of B Force, began to be assembled, with its two main infantry units encamped at Ngaruawahia and Te Rapa, in the Waikato district. These were named 29th and 30th Battalions respectively. Other elements of B Force were organised in Papakura and Trentham. Brigadier (later Major-General) W. H. Cunningham, Cbe, Dso, was in command of this new force. Because of the departure of the third echelon for the Middle East he faced some difficulty in raising sufficient men for the force, particularly as infantry battalions were required to take their reinforcements with them. Finally volunteers were obtained from the newly assembled fourth reinforcements who had just arrived in camp in October. These brought the B Force infantry reinforcements up to 450 men, to whom were added sixteen officers from the two battalions (eight from each) including Major F. W. Voelcker, Dso, Obe, Mc, second-in-command of the 30th Battalion. He was appointed to command the reinforcements.
B Force eventually embarked from New Zealand in three main flights. First of the infantry to sail was the 29th Battalion, which disembarked at Suva. The 30th Battalion, in the second flight, was landed at Lautoka, on the western side of Viti Levu, the main island of the Fiji group. The third flight, which left on 19 November, 1940, contained the reinforcements. They travelled on the armed merchant cruiser Monowai and the inter-island ferry steamer Rangatira. Monowai in particular has since carried thousands of New Zealand troops in the South Pacific area, and inspired that famous song;
which every soldier who has served in Fiji has at some time bellowed lustily. Immediately after arrival at Suva, Brigadier Cunningham came on board and told Major Voelcker that it had been decided not to send the reinforcements out to the battalions. They would be formed into a new unit, to be known as the Training Battalion, and commanded by Major Voelcker.Side, side, Monowai's side,The skipper looks on her with pride…
And so it began. There were many subsequent changes in personnel; its name was changed first from Training Battalion, to Reserve Battalion; then from Reserve to 34th Battalion. But it was the same unit that lived and worked from that day forward, until the ultimate disbanding of the New Zealand Expeditionary-Force in the Pacific nearly four years later.
It is a four-mile march from Suva wharves to Samambula, and on this day, 22 November, Suva gave our men an example of its typical weather—thick, warm rain and a humidity that pressed heavily on these newcomers—these 'white leghorns'—so used to New Zealand's fresh clean air. Up the hill, and out through an Indian settlement, the march brought us to a tented camp with a wide prospect over paddy-fields to the sea, a mile and a half to the east. This was Samambula Camp, known now to thousands of men, both New Zealand and American, who were later dispersed throughout the armed forces in all parts of the world.
There were five companies in the Training Battalion—Headquarters, W, X, Y and Z. From the 29th Battalion came Second-Lieutenant E. K. Norman, to be adjutant. Years later, in the Middle East, his name became well-known as the youngest Lieutenant-colonel in the British forces, and he was awarded the Dso and the Mc. Second-Lieutenant N. S. Triggs, also from the 29th, was appointed quartermaster, and he was faced with the initial problem of issuing out equally to the five companies the two 8-cwt trucks and four lewis guns that comprised the battalion's warlike equipment, apart from rifles. Handed down through the years is the story that, for the four lewis guns, there existed but one return Dcm, MM, and T. B. Allen, who sported chairs and tables of a similar type of wood. Everyone was remarkably keen, and it was typical of the enthusiasm of the whole team that Second-Lieutenant A. G. Morris and Lieutenant J. Osborne started what was called 'The Arsenal of Democracy', carving dummy bren guns and mortars out of rough timber and piping, to assist in the training.
'Though their rifles were of1914patternAnd their lewis guns had fought at "WaterlooThough their rounds were mostly misfiresAnd their air force had no SpitfiresThey were out to show the world what they could do'from The Army in Fijia song by an unknown composer.
While on literary subjects, mention could be made of an extract from the battalion's Routine Orders of 14 December 1940, which read:
'The Blue Light.
All copies distributed must be retained and destroyed.'
This magazine, produced by men of the 7th Field Ambulance, attained a tremendous popularity and circulation by virtue of the quaint frankness of many of its articles. As souvenirs, its earlier numbers commanded high values in later years.
By January 1941, a new camp had been built with huts, electric light, and some of the amenities similar to mobilisation camps in New Zealand. It was known as 'A Camp'. The battalion moved there just in time, for at 11 am on 20 February, the worst hurricane since 1910 struck the Suva peninsula. In camp, there was time to take the specified hurricane precautions—lashing down anything Rap) was destroyed by fire. As an act of God, one could cite the day, also in January, when the Colonial Sugar Refining Company Ltd. presented the battalion with a supply of pineapple juice.
The early months of the year passed by. The permanent guards on the petrol and ammunition dumps, and on the radio stations, came and stood their turn, week after week. Training continued. Concerts and boxing tournaments, and leave in Suva, combined to thwart that indescribable tropical sensation called 'malua— the desire to do nothing, or if it must be done, then leave it till tomorrow. But in May came welcome news—that a large draft of officers and men was to leave Fiji en route to the Middle East to join the Second Division. Almost the entire battalion was chosen to go. Lieutenant-Colonel Voelcker (whose promotion had been announced in January), a few of the other officers, and a mere handful of the other ranks, were retained to form the nucleus of a battalion of new men who were to come from New Zealand to relieve our departing draft. The change-Over took place in the last week of May, the first section of the new troops marching in on the 23 rd, and the remainder six days later. As they came, the 'old school' marched out, the original 'Samambula boys', who began this battalion, and did it well.
With the arrival of the new men, the battalion changed its name to 'Reserve'. It had just moved to B camp at Samambula, where a depressing expanse of rice fields spreads along the coastal flats. Two more trucks were added to the battalion's fleet of wheeled transport,
Many of the new draft had had only six weeks training before being sent to Fiji. For these men, laborious hours had to be put in on the parade ground, and on the elementary weapon-training courses. It was not till July that we enjoyed any variation from this weary, if necessary, routine. Then digging started, tunnelling under the hills, wiring defence positions. The parade ground in B camp, apart from its official functions, saw many an odd incident. There was the occasion when some cows strayed on the hallowed ground, and were discovered there by the battalion adjutant, who was possessed of a loud voice. He drilled those cows with meticulous attention to giving commands on the correct foot, with the result that the poor beasts finally found themselves marched off in column of threes in the direction of Samambula village. On another night one company sergeant-major, a notoriously heavy sleeper was carried, bed and all, and deposited in the exact centre of the parade ground where he continued sleeping until dawn, in blissful oblivion. Tragedy and pathos surrounded a little scene that was enacted at one side of the parade ground, near the quartermaster's store. There had been a number of wild dogs about the camp and a general license given to the troops to dispose of them. Doing his duty in this respect one day was the quartermaster, Lieutenant D. J. Maxwell, armed with a rifle. With dogged skill he stalked a particularly mangey specimen of the canine breed, took aim from a distance of five yards and fired. The shot missed. The dog looked up abjectly, trotted up to the quartermaster and gently licked his hand.
As the year advanced, the works programme was intensified. The digging of weapon pits and gun emplacements assumed a higher priority as conditions in the Pacific deteriorated. At Delaimbilo (more generally known as Bilo) a new camp was sited in a steamy gully, where the mud lay inches thick after rain. Anti-tank ditches were
On 7 December 1941, with no inkling of the momentous events that were to fall within the following 24hours, the battalion went out to its defence posts for a trial standto.
The war that burst upon the Pacific in December 1941 placed Fiji in the battle area. Until then war to this Colony had meant merely the threat of German raiders, and the necessity of protecting the lines of supply and communication across the South Pacific. The soldiers, sailors, and airmen who had been there primarily as garrison forces were transformed overnight into defenders of a front line. This line they held for months to come, under the imminent danger of enemy attack, with insufficient manpower and equipment, until the passing months saw the Japanese advance stemmed. Then, not until the closing of the year 1942, did the threat fade into re-moteness. Our battalion, and indeed the entire New Zealand forces in Fiji, believe, and history may probably show it to be so, that the presence in the Colony of New Zealand troops tempered the audacity of the enemy, deterred him from launching a precipitate assault, and served as an insurance against an attack on New Zealand itself. The enemy lost his chance.
The battalion was at battle stations on 8 December—when news was received—and this was but the forerunner of many hours and many days spent manning the posts in our sector, standing'to in the dawn and at sundown, and wondering when, and if, an attack would come. It was only a conincidence that the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbour occurred while the battalion was practising manning its battle stations, though the powers that be have sometimes claimed that it was the result of clairvoyance on their part (clairvoyance and im agination being two of the most useful defensive weapons in Fiji at this time). Extra ammunition was immediately issued to the companies and a condition of full readiness adopted. However, by 10
Reinforcements came from New Zealand hard on Christmas, still loud in their wrath over the scurvy trick played them at Taihape, when the train taking them on final leave was stopped, turned about, and hustled back to Auckland. They were embarked and on their way to the islands, before you could say 'Right stop pawl'. They were very welcome, for they brought the battalion up to strength both in officers and men. Within a few hours of their arrival, re-organisation took place, specialist platoons formed, and the unit committed to a policy of making itself fit to fight within (so the colonel demanded) ten days. From each of the 29th and 30th battalions a vickers platoon was passed over to us to build up our D support company to a strength of three machine-gun platoons and a mortar platoon. Bren guns, mortars, tommyguns, and vehicles were all coming to hand to augment the scanty equipment with which the battalion had previously made shift. A squadron of Airocobras swooping low over camp impressed us with their speed, and gave us some confidence in the air defences of the island which, believe it or not, had up to then consisted of four Hudsons, six Vincents, three light civil planes, and two Singapore flying boats. On an equally pathetic scale had been our artillery, the total for the whole island not exceeding four 6-inch guns, two 4.7'inch guns, and six 18-pounders. But, with the coming of the new year, there was an immense transformation in the forces and armament available for the defence of Fiji; equipment and men arrived in an increasing stream.
Even new radios were issued to the signals platoon, but their value proved rather limited. Their first real test came one filthy morning during an alarm. Battalion headquarters was at Ballantine
That name—Bilo. Years will not efface the memory of the early days when companies were sent there for a fortnight at a time, for special training; or, later, when they took turns to occupy the Bilo sector as part of the defence plan; the mortar pits that were sunk in the paddy fields and carved from the hillsides; Captain Penne-father's interlocking perimeters of weapon pits, that he claimed before all comers to be impenetrable; the Bilo spout bath; the mud that lay deeper in that gully than anywhere else in the world; recollections of a host of stories that made Bilo a reputation for being the last word in tropical bad-spots. Any soldier who proved that he had lived at Bilo could fairly claim to have passed through the fire. Time mellows many of the hardships that seemed so vivid in their day. In those early weeks of 1942, it was hot and humid, with lashing rain at frequent intervals, and hurricane warnings. Dotted far and wide over Suva peninsula, and around Suva Bay, we toiled in small groups, digging the pits out of solid soapstone— at Bilo, Grey's Point, Lami, Suvavou, and on the commanding face of Princes Ridge, the gateway to Suva. Up and down that precipitous escarpment men tramped, sweating and cursing, and still digging. Many a stick of 'jelly' was acquired surreptitiously from the engineers to help in the carving out of the pits. We built wire entanglements out in the sea, waist deep in water; excavated tank traps back in the hills; and no reminder is needed of the tunnels that were let into the hills around Suva for various defence and supply services. Perhaps the tunnels are the sharpest memory of all, for almost everyone played a part in the hewing of those great underground chambers.
In an endeavour to obtain the best results, different hours of work were tried. Some declare that the most popular was the 7 am to 1 pm idea, with the rest of the day free. Certainly six hours was the maximum time a man could work, and continue to work, efficiently. But at one stage, such was the urgency of the situation, work continued all day, and every day except Sunday. That could not be maintained for long. It reached its extreme when, in the middle of February, battle stations were manned from 5.30 am to 7 am and 6 pm to 8 pm with a full day's work on the tunnels and gunpits sand
Just before the end of the year 1941, the battalion had changed its name from Reserve to 34th, and had adopted a few weeks later a new hat patch. The old patch, dating back to Training Battalion days, was a red and yellow diamond, a combination of the colours of the 29th and 30th Battalions from whose reinforcement companies the original had been formed. The new patch became blue and gold, which thereafter remained the battalion colours. Contrariwise at about the same time we became camouflage-conscious, guided by the knowledge of Captain C. E. A. Buller, who later joined the battalion as pioneer officer. The cry everywhere was for vau bark, for after a process of soaking, drying and tieing vau bark made up into excellent camouflage netting. Borrowing from nature again, the bark of the donga tree, we found, provided a brown dye which served well to paint on sandbags. 'Mile-a-minute' creeper was planted over all gun positions. It grew fourteen inches a day reported an excused duty man at Suvavou, who had time to watch it.
In the middle of these war-like preparations, and despite the atmosphere of tension, the men of the battalion were in great heart. It was fully appreciated that, if the enemy came, he would possibly be in overwhelming numbers. Official estimates were that he would land probably one division in the initial stages of an invasion. It did not follow that it would thereby be successful. There was a determination that, even if he did effect a landing (which we would deny him if we could) he would certainly stub his toe, and lose a lot of skin in the process. The men in Samambula camp at this time will all vividly remember the weekly summary of the war situation that was given by Colonel Voelcker after church parade, sitting on the stage of the camp theatre, swinging his legs and chain-smoking. He left no one in doubt as to the threat that hung over Fiji, and he painted very clearly the progress of events on all fronts of the world.
Late in January there was a re-shuffle of defence areas. The battalion was relieved of its shoreline positions along the Vatawangga sector, and given the primary responsibility for protection of the western approaches to Suva. This involved defence in depth along the main coast road around the southern side of Viti Levu. It was planned that contact with an invading force would first be made by small mobile patrols along this road, who might withdraw into the main defence area nearer Suva. Bilo would become a fortress area.
Should the enemy bypass it, then he would be faced immediately with the first line of defence at Grey's Point. A mile further back was Lami and Suvavou, with their positions; Princes Ridge, further back still, would, if the worst should happen, be our last stop before Yokohama.
To carry out these tactical roles, X company, under Captain Pennefather, was shifted from Queen Victoria College to Bilo (where it relieved the two platoons of Y company which had been there for some time). Y company, commanded by Captain J. F. Hewitt, moved out northwards to the Queen Victoria College; Z company, under Major H. A. Wernham, handed over Vatawangga to the Fiji Defence Force and took station at Ballantine's School, between Princes Ridge and Lami. The support company detached its sections to the various rifle companies, maintining a reserve in Samambula camp. 'Time spent on reconnaissance is often wasted, and is frequently dangerous.' This statement, while not in the exact words of the well-known army maxim, might well apply to some of the activities of our officers just before moving out to sectors. One example could be offered of the carefree attitude of some young officers who on one occasion when out on reconnaissance with the commanding officer had to be smartly called to order for paying considerably more attention to the quaint behaviour of toads in an old Indian well than to the colonel's outline of the defensive plan. As for the danger, Lieutenant J. C. Braithwaite, the battalion intelligence officer, vouched for the accuracy of our anti-aircraft defences when they opened fire on a plane in which he and a number of other officers of high standing were making an aerial reconnaissance of the sectors. Lieutenant A. Dearsley's anti-aircraft platoon claimed only a 'near-miss' in this engagement. There was the occasion too, a little later, at Ballantine's School, when a group of Y company officers was inspecting these new-fangled hand grenades (there had been very few of them previously in Fiji). It slowly dawned on one of the younger and brighter subalterns that, several seconds previously, the safety pin had been removed from one grenade, the striker had sprung down, and a faint hissing was now issuing from the missile. Galvanised, he leapt upon the bomb and cast it mightily out through the window of the officers' mess, where it exploded heartily a few feet away from an unsuspecting Fijian fruit hawker. He departed in a very huffy frame of mind, but uninjured.
Pile Light was the strangest machine-gun post in all Christendom.
Far out in Suva Harbour, near the entrance in the reef, stood this singular structure, projecting from the sea on four frai-looking legs. Formerly a beacon, Pile Light was suddenly thought of as a sentry box to guard against sneak raids by enemy torpedo boats, and also as a spotting station to mark the position of any mines dropped in the harbour by enemy aircraft. It was manned by three machine-gunners and one signaller—there was no room for any more. A three-cell torch was its sole method of communication with the shore. In a high wind or sea, Pile Light swayed grandly in all directions. At such times, the chief pastime of the occupants was hanging on; woe betide them if they fell off, for there were no lifebelts; in calm weather, shooting at the sharks that cruised around was a diversion. Sharks were always a menace to swimming, and it was customary at some places (particularly Grey's, where the water was deep and warm) to have a man on shore ready with loaded rifle while others were in the water. The chances of being shot by the look-out man were considered every bit as good as being bitten by a shark.
To provide a change of work and environment, several shifts were made from one sector to another. On 11 February, Y and Z companies exchanged positions, Y going out to Ballantine's, Z moving to Queen Victoria College. A week later the use of the college for a barracks was discontinued, and Z company came into Samambula camp, where its personnel did necessary guard and fatigue duties. One platoon was detached to billets at the Technical School, in Suva, handy to its battle stations overlooking the waterfront. Then early in March, a complete change-over was made. X company from Bilo transferred to the comparative civilisation of Ballantine's, its place at Bilo being taken by Z company. Y company was brought into camp at Samambula.
The number of times the Germans or the Japs 'attacked' Fiji is astonishing. Miraculously, on every occasion, they were driven back into the sea, or horribly annihilated before making much progress. Who can forget Private 'Red' Peters' ominous bugle call in the witching hours of the night, summoning us out of bed and to battle stations? Earlier in history Private 'Brick' Wilson had been the regular bugle-tooter, but had resigned in favour of the younger man. Men of the Reserve Battalion recall the morning when the bugler (which one of the above two is uncertain), having had a hard night made several gallant but vain attempts to sound reveille, whereupon the orderly officer, Second-Lieutenant L. J. Kirk relaxed his position of attention
But to return to the bugle calls that used to announce the start of yet another 'flapor training manoeuvre. That particular call, the 'Alarm' (or was it the 'Rouse') had a singularly baleful note of foreboding in it. There would be the rush to dress in the dark, the cursing, stumbling, the piling on to trucks in the pitch darkness, and the settling in, down on the posts, waiting for the stand-down to be signalled through. From Samambula camp, first away would be the dispatch riders, racing through the night to convey to the companies out on sector the unhappy news of this fresh dastardly attack by the enemy. Hot-foot after them would go the motor-cycle platoon, wheezing and spluttering (for in the early days there was no shelter for them, and they just stood out in the rain) with Second-Lieutenant N. M. Cotching leading the way out to Navua, where the enemy usually landed. Perhaps twenty-five motor cycles would start out for Samambula—a brave sight which must have struck awe into the hearts of the Hindus and Sikhs living up in the village; but ere long one machine would falter and stop. This mixture of petrol and tropical rain-water was too much for any engine. A fair proportion might make the whole distance, out over the Vesari River and towards Navua. But when stand-down came, it was sometimes a matter of days before the last machine limped home. In fairness to the men of the motor-cycle platoon, this was not their fault; it was a credit to them that they managed to keep even one machine on the road.
Most portentous of all the alerts was that on 9 January, 1942. Coast-watchers on the islands to the north had reported the assembly of a substantial enemy task force. With this news came a message from headquarters warning Fiji to expect an enemy attack on 10 January. That day came and went, with all the forces in Fiji standing to expectantly. Why the blow did not fall, we cannot yet know for sure; but it appears certain that American naval resistance about this time temporarily staved off the enemy.
Alarms always had their lighter side. There was the occasion of the slight 'Battle of Lami, when Captain Wernham was the Japanese general and Captain Pennefather the leader of the defence. The attackers' bren guns were carved from wood, and firing was denoted by beating a rat-tat on a dixie lid. Mortars were simulated by stovepiping,
Messages from brigade headquarters to 34th Battalion on the night of 8 March 1942 and the morning of the following day bring back memories.
These messages outline the most notable of all the battles fought on the Suva side of Fiji. This time we believed it was true. The officers' conference that was held late that first night, the talks with the platoons that followed, the quietness of the move out to stations in the early morn—the atmosphere of a real show was all there. It was during the morning, when civilians were seen going to work, and the submarine net at the entrance to the reef was still open, that we realised this was just another exercise, clothed this time with rather more realism than usual.
Late in March a change was made in the battalion's tactical role. We became a mobile divisional reserve, prepared to move to any part of Vitu Levu, but with our main responsibilities still in the 8th Brigade area. This necessitated moving quarters to the small township of Nausori, some twelve miles from Suva, in the rich delta area of the Rewa River. In retrospect, Suva had given us many pleasures. To men on leave, there were the shops of never-failing interest, the Indian tailors and souvenir-sellers, who fully expected their price to be beaten down; there were the theatres, the hotels and the New Zealand Club; and while no army can help treading on the toes of local administration occasionally, yet the regard in which our soldiers were held by the local people was evident from the number of men who were entertained in Suva homes, and by residents in the neighbouring districts.
After a number of reconnaissances and the usual amount of jockeying for position with regard to billeting, the battalion moved out to Nausori on 30 March. Z company preceded the main body by two days, and occupied part of the Colonial Sugar Refining Company's residential quarters, opposite the sugar mill. One of its platoons was quartered in a large private house, with tennis courts attached, on high ground overlooking the township. X company had good billets near the river bank, with Y company stationed a mile down the road towards the sea, in two native schools. Pick of the positions, perhaps, was that occupied by D support company and headquarters company, on rising ground on the Suva side of the Rewa bridge. On a fine day there were magnificent views from here, over miles of green canefields, out over the delta area to the sea, with distant islands showing up mistily on the horizon. Not so attractive, however, was 'Rat Palace', a dingy barn on King's Road which, because of pressure of accommodation, had to be occupied by a number of men from the support company. The tally of rats destroyed was kept on a notice board hung outside the front door, brought up to date each morning with the latest killings.
Later in our stay, C company detached two platoons to a temporary camp in the hills at Raralevu to protect defence installations there. They were now C company, it will be noticed, for within a short time of arrival in Nausori, the old titles X, Y and Z were changed to A, B and C respectively. No time was wasted before the battalion settled down to a training programme containing many long treks through the delta flats, or over the heavily timbered high country inland. It was on these occasions that we found the real
Even the most tired and cynical of the troops enjoyed the crosscountry hikes, at the same time getting to know the land intimately—an important factor in the event of an invasion by the enemy through the delta flats and canefields, where a knowledge of the small tracks and waterways would prove invaluable. Of all the villages visited, none surpassed in beauty or warmth of greeting the tiny settlement of Maumi. Well off the regular tracks, it was not accustomed to visits, even from the roving platoons of the 34th. Whenever any patrol did chance to pass that way, the whole village turned out to shake hands—always a solemn rite with the Fijian—and to shower the visitors with gifts of food and flowers. A rifle company was one day given the task of ambushing a platoon from D support, which was expected to pass through Maumi en route to Raralevu. The trap was set about half a mile beyond Maumi. The machine-gunners appeared all right, but the ambush was an utter failure—who would have the heart to attack a party of sweaty, dirty, hairy-legged Kiwis with their pockets full of mandarins some still munching bananas, one carrying a grass skirt, and all festooned with leis and garlands of the most glorious exotic blooms?
But some of the treks were hard—the three-day exercises, for instance, that had men toiling through Fiji's tropical undergrowth, over hills and through steaming gullies, with the company commander who literally tore his hair because the carrier platoon ambushed him before he was ready; or the other company commander who ate
Much live shooting was done on the range at Samambula, while the machine-gunners and mortar-men frequently shattered the peace of the pleasant little seaside village of Londoni. Even the anti-aircraft platoon thought it was going to see real action one night when a message was flashed through from headquarters—'Enemy sub sighted off Kandavu. Man all antiaircraft guns'. This temporarily nonplussed the resourceful platoon commander, Lieutenant Archie Dearsley but, of course, only temporarily. Aerodrome defence was one important task of the battalion at Nausori. B company had prepared positions at the drome, while 50-calibre Browning guns there were manned by men from D support. At evening, poles had to be placed in position on the field and removed next morning, to prevent enemy planes making a surprise landing during hours of darkness. There was much ribald comment one evening when a friendly plane came in late, insisted on landing, and did so, with bland indifference to the maze of poles that were already in position, and which should have, by rights, brought it crashing. It reminds one of the other notable aerial exploit at Nausori—the American pilot who, to win a bet, flew his P39 (Airocobra) under the Rewa bridge—a gap of perhaps no more than twenty feet high and ninety feet wide. Mortality among the Airocobras was unfortunately heavy, and our men at the drome had close-up views of a number of crashes.
A 'toughening-up' programme was instituted by the commanding officer who, in a talk to the battalion, pointed out the necessity of matching the endurance and austerity of the Japanese soldier with similar hardihood on our part. We had to learn to travel fast and light and live frugally. At an agricultural station nearby, all ranks were trained in the cooking of native foods—yams, dalo, tapioca, breadfruit, kumala, plantains, and pawpaw—to enable them to live off the country should the need arise. Experiments with lighter equipment, and carrying of supplies across jungle country, were
Guarding against the possibility of small enemy raiding forces being landed, the carrier platoon did daily patrols down the strategically important Mbau Road, and to Londoni, using motor-cycles and their newly-acquired Beaverettes. It was down these roads, also, that the battalion had its full-scale manoeuvres on such occasions as practice alarms were held. There were several such shows, and they demonstrated the great problem of effectively employing a mobile force along a one-way road flanked with swamps. One alarm coincided with a general practice alert in Suva. With planes roaring over the town, it appeared so realistic that one elderly hindu dropped dead in the main street from sheer fright, and two Indian women gave birth to babies in an air-raid shelter. A curfew was imposed, requiring everyone to be indoors by 11.15 pm. The Rewa bridge was barricaded and guarded. One of the classic stories of how the guard was evaded concerns a soldier out well after the time when he should have been in camp, who had to pass two sentries on the bridge to get back to his quarters. Showing a streak of genius, he took off all his clothes except his shirt, rolled up the rest of his gear under his arm, and padded humbly across the bridge with a wheeezy 'Salaam' to each of the sentries who, in the darkness, took him for an Indian.
Nausori, while in some respects like an American wild-west
ava a pretty Chinese girl behind a junk-shop counter would speak with an unex-pected grace and charm to a soldier who had suddenly found that silks and rare fabrics were still on sale in this quaint out-of-the-world village. Down the river on Fridays came bamboo rafts, some even with a little cabin built on top, with vegetables, tobacco, seeds, souvenirs, and a weird motley of other things, for sale in the bazaar next day. On the grass patch near the bridge they would gather, each laying out his wares. It was a colourful sight, a source of never-failing interest to our men who, like most New Zealanders, were otherwise rather phlegmatic concerning native affairs and customs.
The white people in the town were almost all connected either with the Colonial Sugar Refining Company, or with one or other of the two European trading stores. In the surrounding districts there were planters and farmers and, on the Suva side of the river, a few people of the Methodist mission. The hospitality of these local residents was a feature of our life in Nausori, and some lasting friendships were formed. From as far north as Tailevu, men were invited to come for week-ends. There was little we could do to reciprocate this goodwill, but at concerts, church services and ceremonials, and at the battalion picture theatre, the local people were always invited and welcome. Shortly after our arrival, on Good Friday, many residents were our guests at a recital by the divisional band, followed by a reception at battalion headquarters officers' mess, more popularly know to soldiers and civilians alike as Tansy Palace'. At Sawani school, too, a few miles distant, we enjoyed several entertainments put on by the boys, and on more than one occasion during long treks, the headmaster gave us food and a roof over our heads for the night. We were able to invite the boys to a day in Nausori later on, which they seemed to enjoy with typical Fijian enthusiasm.
Lurid daily news-sheet, with everything from hog-breeding to die-quick quack remedies—such was the cheery little paper produced by Padre K. Liggett for our pleasure and information. When later he Ymca at Samambula, the push-bike which he pedalled valiantly out to Bilo, the discussion groups and debates he organised in Nausori, the church parades on the verandah of Tansy Palaceor, on fine days, under the trees on the nearby golf links.
Responsible for the battalion's early training and for much of its fine spirit, Colonel Voelcker left us in June 1942 to return to New Zealand. Taking his place as commanding officer came Lieutenant-Colonel J. A. M. Clachan, Nzsc. At about the same time, Captain Pennefather, who had commanded A company since its inception, departed, Lieutenant B. A. Lopdell taking over temporarily until a permanent appointment should be made. By this time the ever-present rumours of American troops coming to take over Fiji had grown in intensity. There were wild stories—that the twelve-months men (those who had arrived in May 1941) were to return to New Zealand immediately, while the remainder transferred to Queensland. But the truth gradually became known, that we were all returning home, after handing over to our American allies. Late in June, United States officers made reconnaissances of our areas, and as kitbags arrived from New Zealand with battledress and winter gear, it was evident that the move south was only a matter of time. For some reason, which we did not fathom, we worked harder on gun pits and posts in these last few weeks than ever before. An advanced party was announced, commanded by Major Logan, and on 2 July it left for New Zealand. The days ran out rapidly. Packing was finished, the shops of Nausori and Suva combed over again for lengths of material and for filigree brooches. On 16 July, after a certain amount of backing and filling, and the old game of 'Hurry up and wait', we rode in trucks into Suva, passing the convoys of United States troops that had arrived to take over.
There, on board the President Coolidge, we languished for four days watching the holds slowly filling and champing at the bit somewhat at the restrictions laid on us against leaving the ship. Still, with conducted route marches and swimming parades and ingenuity in other directions most men saw what they wished of Suva for the last time. The only untoward incident was when Lieutenant Dearsley, as anxious as anyone to return home, went for a walk on deck one evening to cool his fevered brow, and walked over the edge of
The end came at 5 pm on 20 July, when with an escort of a New Zealand light cruiser and a United States destroyer, and with air cover overhead, we cast off. On the wharf an American band breezed out 'Maori Battalion'. Our own divisional band on board replied with 'Stars and Stripes for Ever'. Friends on the wharf, and on the waterfront around the harbour watched us go, and waved. The band played, and we sang 'Now is the Hour'. As the ship turned slowly and headed southwards towards Pile Light, and the entrance in the reef, the melody of 'ha Lei', that most haunting and affecting of all island songs, followed us softly out into the bay.
The first members of New Zealand's Pacific forces to come in contact with the Japanese were a number of men from the Reserve Battalion who, early in 1941, volunteered for special duty as coast-watchers in the Gilbert and Ellice Islands. These men, all volunteers and specially selected for their qualities of self-reliance and intelligence, left Suva on 19 July 1941, and were stationed on the islands in the Gilbert and Ellice groups later overrun by the enemy in his initial drive southwards. Along with the men from the battalion were ten officers of the New Zealand Post and Telegraph Department who had also volunteered for service in the coast-watching organisation in the Pacific Islands. The job of our men was to assist the post and telegraph operators, and also to keep them company on the remote islands, very few of which had any regular white inhabitants.
The fate of all these men was unknown until late in 1944 when an official statement by the Prime Minister, the Right Hon. P. Fraser disclosed that seven of the operators and ten soldiers had been massacred, along with other Europeans, at Betio Island, Tarawa, on 15 October, 1942. The occupation of the Gilbert group by the enemy began in December 1941, immediately following the outbreak of war in the Pacific. The three northern islands of the group were seized by the Japanese and the three post and telegraph men and the four soldiers had been massacred, along with other Europeans, at Betio Island, Tarawa, on 15 October, 1942. The occupation of the Gilbert group by the enemy began in December 1941, immediately following the outbreak of war in the Pacific. The three northern islands of the group were seized by the Japanese and the three post and telegraph men and the four soldiers serving there captured, and removed from the colony.
The Prime Minister's statement added that the remaining 17 personnel (ten soldiers and seven operators) were serving in the lower islands of the Gilbert group, which were not occupied by the Japanese until September 1942. Investigations made by the Resident Commissioner, following the recapture of the Gilberts by United States forces over a year later, disclose that, after their capture in September, the Europeans were all removed to Tarawa. There they were kept outside the quarters occupied by the Japanese commander, with their hands tied and secured to coconut trees for several days, awaiting examination by the commander. They were then confined at the Tarawa central hospital in the enclosure previously used for the detention of lunatics. While prisoners, they were required to work on the construction of a wharf at Betio. On the afternoon of 15 October 1942, the island was bombarded by American ships and planes. That evening, the 17 New Zealanders were beheaded or otherwise killed by the enemy. Five other Europeans suffered the same fate.
'I am sure' said the Prime Minister, 'that every citizen of this Dominion will join with the Government in expressing sincere sympathy to the relatives of those men who were so foully murdered by the Japanese. No tribute to their courage and devotion is too high. Notwithstanding the danger to which they were exposed following the outbreak of the war with Japan, they all remained at their posts and continued to send reports of enemy movements up till the time they were captured. The information which they gave of enemy activities in the group was of the utmost value, since it enabled the service authorities to dispose to best advantage the naval and air forces available in the Pacific in 1942 to arrest the progress of the Japanese, who were then moving south. The evidence of the natives and others, gathered since the reoccupation of the group, pays eloquent tribute to the bravery of all of the coast-watchers. They all discharged their duties with courage, and met an untimely death with fortitude.'
On a memorial tablet erected by British and American officials on on the site of the massacre is inscribed:
In memory of 22 British subjects murdered by the Japanese at Betio on the 15th October, 1942. Standing unarmed to their posts, they matched brutality with gallantry and met death with fortitude.'
The men from our battalion whose lives were so tragically lost were:—
Days at sea on troopships resolve themselves into waiting for hours in mess queues, standing guard over bulkheads and hatches, browsing topside in the sun and out of the wind, with head pillowed on a life-jacket but, more than anything, breathing the heavy hot air in the crowded troop quarters. Our return voyage to New Zealand followed the same pattern, but with the suppressed excitement of the knowledge that in a few hours we would see again the faces and hills of home. The last day was one of cruising down the northern coastline through the islands of the Hauraki Gulf and finally, at 3 pm, to a berth at the Auckland wharves. Retained on board that night, we were spirited away the next morning in closed trains, with drawn blinds, in very conspiratorial fashion, and were deposited, after a one-mile march up hill, in a camp near Manurewa.
Having arrived earlier than anticipated, the battalion was faced with its first night in New Zealand without blankets. Alas, many bottles, smuggled from Fiji to enrich some festive occasion back home, had to be broached to ward off the cold; but the blankets arrived in time. Even then this night, and the few weeks that followed it, are remembered as bitterly cold. To us, with our blood warm and thin from the balmy evenings of the tropics, sleeping on the floor of the pre-fabricated huts was a draughty experience. For several days the administrative staffs worked hard preparing rail warrants and leave passes, and ultimately everyone, save a rear party, marched out on fourteen days leave.
Enthusiasm to return to the colours on the expiration of leave was rather luke-warm on the part of a small number of the battalion who, thinking that fourteen days was an inadequate holiday, took such additional time as each considered proper. But, with a little
Those who took advantage of the social evenings and dances arranged by the residents of Manurewa found much enjoyment in these functions; the hospitality of the local people was very generous, and warmly appreciated. Then as Manurewa camp was gradually being converted into a more comfortable home, with gravelled roads and a Ymca, we were shifted some miles further south, to Hilldene. Here the procedure of setting up house and improving the surroundings and amenities began again.
Just before this happened, Colonel Clachan relinquished command of the battalion to go to Army Headquarters, after which he joined the directing staff of the Wanganui tactical school. In his place, Major R. J. Eyre, Nzsc, brigade major of 8th Brigade, was appointed commanding officer. There were many other changes amongst officers and men, the majority of men over forty being discharged from the army, or transferred to home defence units. Rein-forcements joined the battalion and there was a big re-shuffle of appointments in most companies. Shortly after arriving in Hilldene, the battalion did a 23'mile march to Waiuku for a three-day exercise, involving a well-organised advance over the coastal hills with covering fire from all weapons. The mortarmen were well pleased, for not only was the platoon commander Second-Lieutenant K. L. Sandford presented, on the march through Waiuku, with a sponge cake 'for your boys' supper', but next day they scored a direct hit on their target withthe very first bomb (from which feat they developed much conceit). Hilldene came to be remembered for the number of route marches that followed the Waiuku stunt. Tramping asphalt roads was found more wearing than the soft tracks of Fiji's canefields or jungle, and the Hilldene district could provide little variety. However, some useful exercises were done, particularly on the higher country towards Hunua and Alfriston. Second-Lieutenant H. B. Martin's platoon of B company gained renown one day when it successfully attacked by frontal assault a steep hill in the Alfriston area. Content with their victory, the men were just sitting down to enjoy a well-earned rest when the official umpires arrived to tell them that they had captured the wrong hill.
All the time, as is inevitable in army life, rumours were rife. One that gained some credence (and indeed had a measure of truth behind it) was that our next destination would be Norfolk Island, but this had to be discarded when the 36th Battalion was allotted that task, and sailed early in October. With the 36th went Padre Liggett, whom the battalion was very sorry to lose. He was replaced by Padre W. St. A. Osbourne-Brown, a man with a deep voice and stern mien whose request for a number of a hymn sounded like thunder approaching from afar.
Still, something was brewing for the 34th. Tropical clothing came to hand and was issued, to the accompaniment of much anguish and loud complaint, for it was in very poor condition. And this despite the projected move of the entire division to the Waikato district, where we had been given Te Awamutu as our camp site. Advanced parties went down there on reconnaissance, but were hastily recalled one day. The story was out. We were to sail, and in a matter of days. Major Wernham (second-in-command) and his batman, the one and only 'Scotty' Laing, disappeared in the direction of Wellington as a battalion advanced guard. The pendulum of public opinion swung between Lord Howe Island, Rarotonga, the Kermadecs, Tonga and Samoa. The mysterious name 'T Force' was given to us. On 21 October 1942 the main body of the battalion entrained at Papakura, after a day of high festivity as is the custom on such occasions. Next morning at Wellington we embarked on the American transport President Jackson and at 9 am on 23 October put to sea. Over the ship's loudspeakers was announced 'This ship is bound for Tongatabu.'
Tongatabu mean 'Sacred Tonga'. This name attests the importance which the island has always held in the minds of generations of Tongan people. For it is the main island of the whole Kingdom of Tonga, and has, from the earliest days of Tongan history up to the present, been the residence of the ruling kings, the centre of religious and social life, and the chief point of trade. Tonga consists of three main groups—Tongatabu in the south, then Ha-abai 99 miles to the north, with the third group Vava'u another 70 miles northwards. Farthest flung of all the islands of the Kingdom are Niua Fo'ou (the famous Tin-can Island) some 380 miles north of Tongatabu and, to the south, 85 miles distant, the ancient volcanic cone of Ata. These groups support a total population of nearly 33,000, of which 15,000 are found on Tongatabu alone. It is by far the largest island, having an area of 99 square miles, with its extreme length eighteen and a half miles, and greatest breadth nine miles. On its northern shore stands Nuku-alofa, capital of the Kingdom, centre of government and trade, and the home of the sovereign.
The ship on which the battalion travelled had an illustrious record, having been one of the convoy that landed the first American troops on Guadalcanal. But the knowledge of this renown did not offset the disheartening effects of mal de mer, which in the first two rough days at sea took heavy toll. On the morning of the fourth day, 27 October, we came in slowly through the entrance in the reef, into the glassy-smooth waters of Nuku-alofa Harbour. Spread out before us lay the island of Tongatabu, densely clad in coconut palms, with the few red roofs of Nuku-alofa township glinting in the sun. As far as the eye could see, this new land was as flat as a pancake.
We later found that the highest point of the island, in the remote south-eastern corner, was only 270 feet above sea-level.
Disembarkation began soon after mid-day, and the unloading of stores and equipment continued throughout most of the night. The news that several hundred bottles of beer amongst the cargo had been pillaged during the unloading did not help the frayed tempers of the working parties. On shore convoys of American trucks were waiting to transport the battalion to its sector—the reserve area—situated on flat thickly-wooded ground about six miles south of Nuku-alofa. Our reception by the Americans was very cordial; they provided a hot meal that evening, and throughout our stay in Tongatabu, the warmest possible relations existed between us. We served under the direct command of American Force Headquarters commanded by Brigadier-General B. R. Lockwood, and at no time was there the slightest element of friction. Rather was their goodwill manifest in a variety of ways—the opening to our troops of their post exchanges (corresponding to our canteens), the supply of numerous items of equipment, clothing and transport, and the arrangement whereby our troops were able to share in the use of the Red Cross recreation centre at Nuku-alofa.
We worked in the closest liaison. Lieutenant E. D. Burton was permanently attached to force headquarters in the operations room, while Second Lieutenant S. W, Smith became a liaison officer to the American ground force headquarters. We had an officer (Lieutenant H. B. Martin) on full-time duty with force intelligence, and detached another (Second-Lieutenant G. R. Black) to the air-warning-centre. Several of our signallers were used to augment the communications staff at the airfield, where they had work of much technical difficulty and importance. In December Colonel Eyre was appointed executive officer of all ground forces, serving under the American commander of ground forces, who was in turn responsible to Brigadier-General Lockwood, in command of the whole base, its air, naval, and ground resources.
From the Americans we acquired much knowledge which later was to be very useful to us. In return, we think they were able to benefit from us, particularly in connection with beach defences, and our adaptability to jungle conditions. Reserve area was undoubtedly gloomy. This was on account of the rigorous camouflage policy that was in force, requiring all overhead cover to be left standing. The camp consisted of American-type tents, with Quonset
The fleas of Tongatabu! There are two natural pests that have left their mark on the 34th Battalion—the mosquitoes of Bouloupari, New Caledonia, and the fleas of Tongatabu. The importance of the flea menace became so great that battalion headquarters sent two cables to Army Headquarters, Wellington, appealing for advice and assistance. Many fantastic devices were tried to keep the insects out of beds and blankets where they congregatd, literally, in hundreds and deprived men of sleep for nights on end. Fortunately they proved to be only a seasonal pest and had all but disappeared in December. There was, as usual, a period of settling in to the new camp area, sorting the equipment that had been landed on the
Nuku-alofa waterfront and, as ever, improvising gadgets and articles to improve personal comfort. Work took the form of some route marching, company exercises, and patrols that were required to cover possible landing places on the south coast, during hours of darkness. Road-making was a vital task also. The battalion had come equipped with 2-wheel-drive vehicles, which soon showed their inadequacy for rough clay roads under wet conditions. The company commanders had Morris cars, suitable for good roads in good weather, but to ride in them was at the risk of complete and utter collapse in the muddy crevasses that lined the roadways. Later jeeps came from New Zealand, and the transport officer, Lieutenant L. J. Kirk, by some curious business deal of which the facts were shrouded in mystery, acquired from American sources a number of 4-wheel-drive trucks which could tackle the worst that Tongatabu had to offer.
After Fiji, Tonga seemed to us fairly well away from the war zone but the authorities took no chances. Over the first two months there was morning stand-to from 4.30 am to 5.15 am while battle stations were manned at any hint of danger, even very far off. To give visual observation over the entire coastline of the island, the Americans had established watch-towers at strategic points. These structures, of the barest scaffolding, with perpendicular ladders and a small exposed platform at the top, looked very flimsy, and to climb them was quite an experience, especially the 90-feet tower near West Point, at the time when the ladder was broken in places. After training in the work of these towers, men from the battalion took over the job of manning them.
After two weeks at reserve area, the battalion moved out at short notice to take over the eastern sector from an American infantry battalion. Battalion headquarters, with headquarters company and B company occupied Mua, the ancient capital of Tongatabu, roughly in the centre of the sector, about two miles from the eastern coastline. Headquarters of A company was at a point known as RJ 49, about three miles north of Mua, with platoons detached to coastal outposts at Niutoua, Manuka and Kolonga. At these points, D (support) company kept machine-gun and mortar detachments, with company headquarters at Kolonga. C company did not move out to the eastern sector with the rest of the battalion, but had the task of protecting a coastal battery near Nuku-alofa from a new camp in the 'centre support' area. Vickers and mortars were also detailed to help in this role.
The coastal outposts were quite an unusual feature of the Tongatabu defence plan. Those along the north coast, at Manuka, Kolonga and Niutoua, were strong in fire-power with a variety of weapons but only a few riflemen. Then down the eastern coast and on the rocky south shoreline, smaller posts, mostly for observation purposes, were held by single sections. B company, from Mua, supplied the personnel for these. Lastly the aerodrome guard was made the responsibility of the carrier platoon, and one rifle platoon, also from B company. Life at these outposts had a peculiarly independent flavour about it. The officer in charge exercised a considerable moral power amongst the nearby natives, exchanged goods with them, approved or disapproved their intended fishing trips, settled some of their arguments, and generally set himself up in the Sanders-of-the-river style. Little children came to him to be patted on the head.
The original plan was that the battalion should spend about six weeks on the eastern sector, and then return to reserve area, but with the departure of large numbers of the Americans the position so changed that we continued to occupy the sector for the remainder of our five-months stay on the island. There were only two changes in the disposition of companies. The camp at centre support was abandoned, C company coming back to reserve area on 28 November. Later it was taken out to the eastern sector, moving into RJ 49. From there A company was withdrawn to the reserve, its departure from RJ 49 being a highlight in social events, Captain J. A. Toon, the company commander having acquired a reputation amongst the natives as a man, just and right, was decorated with flowers by the local tahines (native girls) and was, with the rest of the company, being given a very tender and touching farewell when the colonel arrived. The convoy left for reserve area immediately, trailing flowers in its wake.
The camp at Mua was situated on historic ground where, in ancient times, the Tongans buried the more illustrious of their dead in elaborate tombs. These tombs (langi in the native tongue), of which there are 28 in the Mua area, are massive structures, roughly pyramidal in design, varying from thirty to forty yards square at their base, and sometimes about thirty feet high. They are built in terraces with great slabs of coral limestone. The hewing and transporting of these immense stones (some estimated to weigh 50 tons), with the most primitive tools and equipment, must have involved long Tonga (Spiritual King) in the summit of the pyramid. Not infrequently hostile tribes raided Mua with the object of stealing the sacred bodies from their resting places. One tradition has it that, to prevent this, the old funeral directors actually used any lowly corpse available to put in the tomb, and buried the kingly cadavers elsewhere, out of the way of any plunderers. More famous is the edifice near Kolonga, the Ha-amonga Trilithon, built by the eleventh Tu'i Tonga, one Tu-itatui, about the year 1200 AD. Still a spectacle for tourists from all over the world, this remarkable stone monument consists of two huge oblong slabs set upright in the ground, with a third, of the same size, resting in grooves across the top. It bears a similarity to the ancient Celtic monuments at Stonehenge, England, but historians are not in agreement as to its original purpose or meaning. Possibly it was simply a memorial to the Tu'i Tonga, or maybe an entrance gateway to the royal compound. There it now stands, the undergrowth cleared from around it, but with the scrub forest pressing hard about it on all sides, treated with irreverence by soldiers who insisted on sitting on top of it, a mute reminder of an ingenious industrious people.
It is freely admitted that, of all the islands on which the battalion has served, Tongatabu was the most enjoyable. There were the early days of wearisome stand-to, there was a lot of monotonous guard duty at night for men at the posts and on the towers, and there was no civilian life to be enjoyed after the fashion of Fiji. There were times when rain made roads impassable, and tents were flooded inches deep, and there were days and nights when the mosquito seemed almost as bad as the flea. But once settled in to the camps in the eastern sector, we came to appreciate the mildness of the climate, the beauty of much of the scenery, the friendliness of the natives, and to take advantage of the ample time and opportunities there were for sports and recreation. For training there was a plentiful supply of ammunition for all weapons. The most interesting and profitable work with live rounds that the battalion had hitherto done was on the jungle courses that each company made. These involved men moving down prepared lanes through the undergrowth, with fast close-range shooting from the hip or shoulder at targets difficult to spot in the thick foliage. It was found that many men, mediocre at deliberate shooting on the rifle range, were adept at this type of
New weapons and equipment were tried out. The ST grenade (the stick bomb) was the subject of a course of instruction; it was chiefly remarkable for the big hauls of fish that its explosion in the sea produced. Prolific catches went to the credit of Captain E. M. Oswald and Second-Lieutenant B. R. Sneddon, while Major Logan, of the support company, established the record when from a well-chosen vantage point on the beach at Kolonga he landed over 300 fish with one bomb, enough to feed the entire population.
The residents of Mua, being inland did not get such opportunities for enriching their menu, and had to be content with the odd pig. Pigs, by the way, could almost be a symbol for Tongatabu for they were everywhere, frequently under the wheels of trucks and jeeps. Government statistics declare that there were 18,231 pigs in the Kingdom in 1931, so the odd one or two that were captured and fattened up in the pens at Mua would not be missed. An innovation was the formation of a 37-millimetre anti-tank platoon, and a reconnaissance platoon equipped with armoured half-track vehicles, supplied by the American forces. Nor should the bicycle platoons be overlooked, one in A company, another in C. Their bicycles were in great demand at the time of the battalion's sports meeting later on, when cycle races were a feature of the programme.
Talking of training would not be complete without mention of the thirsty route marches that became popular during the latter part of our sojourn in Tonga. There was some spice added to these, or to a number of them, by the requirement that the company must cross Fanga Uta, the mile-wide lagoon that makes a deep indentation into the northern coast of Tongatabu. Local resources had to be impressed for the crossing, and many weird tales are spun concerning the crazy craft that made perilous trips across the lagoon, laden down to the gunwales with men. Perhaps it would have heartened our troops had they known at the time that Captain Cook himself, on 26 June 1777, had sailed across Fanga Uta in a small boat during his third exploratory visit to Tonga.
Almost everything happened during the festive season on Tongatabu—battle alerts, eating and drinking traditional Christmas fare, sports meetings, and hurricane warnings. They began at 11.32 pm on the night of 23 December when warning of an approaching hurricane
The 29th of the month saw us in the throes of an alert, with special patrols and full manning of posts by night. This condition of readiness lasted until New Year's Day, when the danger (which seemed rather remote) apparently subsided altogether. But the spectre of war did not daunt the enthusiastic organisers of the battalion's festivities who, on the last day of the year, ran a spectacular sports meeting and gala at Mua. There were basketball tournaments, steeplechases, running events, cycle races, and horse-racing. Out of all the broken-down overloaded hacks ever seen by the casual visitor to the native villages, it was hardly to be expected that any could be found capable of standing up to more than two furlongs gallop. But 'horsey gents' of the battalion searched far and wide, and put in many hours assiduously training their entrants. As a result, many thrilling tussles were seen over the clay road that comprised the race-track. Sporting gentlemen like Jock Smith, 'Marty', 'Shorty' Howard and 'Whitey' were much in demand to give their advice on prospects, for a tote was in operation, and it handled an amazing amount of money. There was much disappointment from the heavy punters when Captain P. H. Brooks tailed the field on 'Grey Boy' but he retrieved his reputation at a later engagement. That night, supplies arrived for the wet canteen. This contributed to the undoubted
Friendly Island is the name often found on maps of Tonga. Strictly speaking, Friendly Island was the name given by Captain Cook to Lifuka, in the Ha-abai group, but Europeans came to apply it to the whole of the Tongan Islands. And although Tonga has had much bloodshed and strife in its last 200 years, the word 'Friendly' is most apt for its condition today. It seems an unconscious attribute of the New Zealander that he gets along well with native races, and in none of the islands the battalion has visited has a better feeling existed than pertained between our men and the native people of Tongatabu. Similar to the Maoris in colouring, appearance and language, they impressed us with their good humour, high standard of intelligence, and religious loyalty.
Official permission was given for men to attend native dances, or hula-hulas, which were regularly organised by girls of the villages for Tongan Patriotic and Red Cross purposes. These became very popular, and many good times were had in the ramshackle halls or cottages in which the hulas were held. So important as social functions did hula-hulas become that there came into being at Mua a society known as the 'Dalo-munchers Society'. Qualification for being a dalo muncher was to have been seen by a sentry walking home from a hula, with one of the tahines.. Actually a dalo-muncher was somewhat superior in the scale of values of the society, for the lowest order—that of a yam-eater—was conferred on anyone who attended a hula. Then came the muncher, and there were one or two grades more superior still. One quaint practice of the natives, which was not without its humorous side, was due to the absence of any form of fresh running water on the island. The only time a complete ablution was possible was during heavy rain, when young men and women in many villages would remove all their clothes and
The Tongan men, though perhaps not as impressive as the Fijians were nevertheless of fine stamp. As soldiers in the Tonga Defence Force, which shared the protection of the island with American forces and ourselves, they displayed immense enthusiasm and much efficiency. Later, in the Solomons, this was to stand them in good stead under actual combat conditions. Apart from the mobilised force, fit young men in the villages were organised into Home Guard units. For the eastern area, Major Logan was appointed officer in command, with junior officers and non-commissioned officers in command at the separate villages. However, malm resulted in only small attendances at most places. We liked the Tongan natives, with them we enjoyed the same spirit of good-will as existed between us and the American troops and the few European civilians. Shortly before leaving, the colonel received the personal thanks of the British consul and the American commanding general for the good conduct of the men of the battalion whilst on the island.
Nuku-alofa had very little to offer to any men inclined to wander or hitch-hike that way on leave. There were a few European stores, their shelves pitifully bare. The remainder, Chinese, Indian, or half-caste, had the usual array of tropical souvenirs and worthless junk. One could lean over a stone wall and look at the palace of the Queen of Tonga or occasionally watch bananas being shipped to New Zealand at the wharf. There was one excellent institution that catered for men on leave—the Red Cross recreation centre, established by the Americans and opened to our battalion under an arrangement whereby we provided a share of the necessary fatigues and staff duties. Men went there for three-days' leave and had a thoroughly good time. Back in our own camps, Mr. Hugh Nees was a very popular Ymca secretary, and his activities helped immeasurably to ward off the monotony of garrison existence. Regular picture shows in the typical open-air theatres of the tropics were another diversion, even though the same films circulated time and again, and broke down at least once at every performance.
The people who care to lay odds on rumours were very confident that the battalion was to return to New Zealand after its term in Tongatabu. This supposition grew after battalion headquarters put out an instruction to prepare shipping lists and leave destinations, despite the statement that it was only a precautionary measure, and no inferences were to be drawn from it. But the fact that our departure was impending became clear when advanced staffs of officers began to arrive from New Zealand, with news that other troops were to relieve us. Marked by continuous heavy rain, the first week in March 1943 was largely devoted to packing and making final preparations for leaving the island. Finally, on 8 March, two New Zealand ships Monowai and Wahine hove-to in Nuku-alofa Harbour, and disembarked the 6th Battalion Canterbury Regiment, our relieving force which moved to the eastern sector to take cover. Our embarkation and loading of cargo was completed during the night, and early in the morning of the following day our ships moved out and headed westwards. There were still some optimists who thought New Zealand lay in that direction.
There was much jubilation at the news that four hours' shore-leave would be granted at Suva, where we arrived one day out from Tongatabu. The 'old hands' were eager to visit their former haunts, and there was much exaggeration in pointing out to the newer members of the battalion gunpits and wire for which the veterans had been responsible in the old days. Hotels were out of bounds to all ranks, and pickets placed on them. They performed their duties so admirably that the only persons who had to be helped on board again were the pickets themselves. On shore the warmth of the reception given us by the people of Suva was a gratifying tribute to the good reputation that had endured after our departure eight months before. But it not quite the same Suva. In particular, prices in the now scantily-stocked shops had soared, and there were other obvious changes brought about by the huge influx of American troops. As we steamed out of Suva Bay that night it seemed to mark the end of an epoch in the battalion's history. Ending now was the period in which we had lived with a large measure of independence—in Nausori, and particularly in Tongatabu; beginning was our absorption into one greater organisation—the New Zealand Expeditionary Force in the Pacific (the NZEF IP) which, while this involved the abandonment of much of our freedom and choice of action, promised for us a future of some definiteness and purpose.
Noumea, which we reached on 13 March, provided convincing evidence that the war in the South Pacific was still close at hand. Warships and merchant vessels by the score crowded the docks and anchorages. On shore the streets of the little city and the countryside around were thronged with military traffic, moving in endless
Bouloupari, an unkempt village about 45 miles north of Noumea, was our new camp site. Here the first party arrived during the afternoon followed throughout the rest of the day, and through the night, by later convoys. Working parties which had been left in Noumea to help unload ship reached camp shortly before dawn next morning. Low rolling country, grassy, with high ranges some miles to the east—these were our surroundings when we came to take stock. Everywhere there grew a curious gnarled tree, similar to a eucalyptus, with ragged bark. It was the niaouli—perhaps the one thing that will forever live in the memories of Third Division men. The niaouli came to be almost a symbol of our life in New Caledonia, for its wood went into our cookhouse fires and made goalposts for the rugby and soccer grounds; the smoke from its leaves warded off mosquitoes; the bark made roofs, huts, store-houses, recreation halls; and old inhabitants said that its juice cured rheumatism. As far as the eye could see there was niaouli.
The battalion was unfortunate with its camp site in that the Bouloupari area was intolerably infested with mosquitoes. From tidal flats and swamps close at hand these winged nuisances rose in countless swarms, and attacked our succulent bodies with ruthless joy. In every minute of every day the contest with the mosquito was the uppermost thought in everyone's mind, for it invaded every part of our life and never ceased attacking. Chief anti-invasion weapon was the smudge fire, the main ingredient being the pungent-smelling niaouli leaf and bark. At night every tent had its smudge fire burning; orderly room and other administrative staffs kept fires smoking beside them all day. To the inexperienced, the fantastic proportions which the mosquito menace reached in Bouloupari would be incredible. By great good fortune, the worst was over by the end of April, but we were never entirely free. Standing up to the insect blitz with typical New Zealand fortitude and the expenditure of a vast amount of profanity, the battalion proceeded with the usual task of home-building. Improvements soon began to appear—niaouli huts, wind-breaks around tents, better roads, mess-halls, and recreation rooms. Padre Osbourne-Brown, nearly at the end of his stay niaouli, and strips of canvas. As time passed every company became more and more active in building itself better quarters, and there was hardly a niaouli tree within miles that had not lost most of its bark to our marauders. Mr. Pat Parker, Ymca secretary, joined the battalion at a fairly late stage, and many hands helped him establish a new Ymca, which proved very popular. Another notable achievement was the building of a bakehouse—with shining vats of beaten tin, and that worthy baker, Private C. F. Oak, of B company, presiding over a good output of loaves each day. We liked our own bread and scones.
Who will ever forget that feat of complicated engineering—the dam over the stream, that was to provide the camp with an all-the-year-round swimming pool We lost count how many times it was started, collapsed, then started again, but we put on record the admirable work done by the carriers in finally putting it through. It was a most impressive structure—the water banked up for miles back, inundating local farms, and when it finally broke, the water swept away four hens and (it was rumoured) a Javanese laundry man who happened to be labouring innocently by the water's edge. The impression that the average soldier formed of New Caledonia was, rightly or wrongly, a poor one. He was influenced so much by the curse of the mosquito, by the barren aspect of the niaouliclad country, by the inadequacy of the water supply (so far as the 34th was concerned) and by the apparent squalor of the local people. There were many, however, who appreciated the mild temperate climate, the grandeur of much of the scenery, and who came to know French families, between whom and ourselves the only difference was language.
Very soon after the arrival in Necal training recommenced. (Necal or Cale were the popular abbreviations for New Caledonia). We started with the usual liberal amounts of route marching and cross-country treks. But as the battalion was now a unit once more of the 8th Brigade, it had to fulfill the tactical roles set down for it. This involved taking turns with the other battalions in guarding strategic points. So after a fortnight of settling in at Bouloupari, companies moved out to do guard duties at the Tontouta and Ouat' om airfields, and to occupy the strategically important areas of Sara-mea and Thio. Although this entailed much sentry work at night, going out to sectors was a popular move, for the men enjoyed greater freedom
As camp sites, Saramea and Thio were unexcelled. Both had fine rivers, and mosquitoes were not bad. Ouatom and Tontouta, however, were miserable camps in the heart of the mosquito country, with niaouli crowding in on all sides. Still, they were occupied for only a fortnight or three weeks at a time, and the airfields nearby provided a steady source of interest. The morning at Ouatom when a P38—a Lightning—was testing its guns, and a burst was fired through our camp, was certainly interesting enough. Off-duty hours through the day were often profitably occupied in deer-stalking expeditions. At Tontouta, softball and cricket were the popular games. Swimming was the favourite at Saramea and Thio, though the little football ground at Thio also saw some doughty contests.
There were three notable training exercises in New Caledonia. The first, and least arduous, was known as 'Exercise Para'—the idea being that American paratroops would co-operate in the manoeuvres. Unforunately at the last minute a shortage of planes prevented their participation and the exercise went on without them. From a conical peak shown on the map as Me Pin, troops advanced through lightly-wooded country with heavy undergrowth, around or over the steep spur of 'Sugarloaf' and on up to a high ridge some two miles from the starting point. Aircraft, controlled from battalion headquarters, dropped dummy bombs to add realism, while mortars and other weapons fired happily in all directions. One of the chief objects of the exercise was to test communications, and the radios (No. 108 sets) were found not to measure up to the required standard for jungle country. This break-down in communications was largely responsible for what then appeared to be the mysterious disappearance from the battleground of A company and an attached machine-gun platoon at a crucial stage of the battle. Left out of the picture by the failure of the radios, Captain Toon's worthy foemen betook themselves in the direction of the nearest road where
Undoubtedly the severest physical test our men ever endured was the stunt done some time later over the high country surrounding the Dent de St. Vincent, a 4,700 foot peak a few miles south of Bouloupari. The 'dent' is the third highest mountain in New Caledonia, and can be climbed by a rough track which gets progressively steeper and more arduous as it ascends. The plan was that the battalion should take to these hills to attack a band of 'guerillas', allegedly operating from the slopes of the 'dent'. Every man carried four days' rations, plus full personal equipment and weapons. Machine-gunners and mortarmen slung their 40-50 lb loads and hoped for the best. A special band of water carriers (the carrier platoon mostly) tied two-gallon tins of water on top of their packs. From the Ouenghi River (almost at sea level) the ascent began. Two nights were spent sleeping beside the track on the mountain, men huddling to keep warm in the bitter wind at altitudes of over 3,000 feet. The main body of the battalion was over the summit of the 'peak' in the afternoon of the second day. On the third day, the 'guerillas' were located, attacked, and (though there is some dispute about it) routed. The 29th Battalion, who provided the 'guerilla' force, maintain that they withdrew in orderly fashion. By the afternoon of the fourth day we had descended the precipitous 1,000 foot 'Zigzag', waded the rivers, and were on the way home. Third, and longest manoeuvre, was 'Exercise Bula'—which lasted six days and carried the whole brigade over some 50 miles of country from Bouloupari to Moindou, in a northerly direction. In the early stages everybody and everything became thoroughly wet and, of necessity, this gave men good practice at living and working under difficulties. Few gunners or drivers will forget the 'Saddle', where all vehicles and guns had to be winched through the mud over that ridge. To boil the inevitable billy at every possible halt the men worked miracles in conjuring flames out of the wettest wood. Stories aplenty came out of 'Exercise Bula'—the senior officer who fired a red flare as a 'success signal,' and then realising that it was a little premature shouted to all and sundry 'Recall that flare!' There was the unaccountable delay in the attack on the 'enemy' just south of Moindou until it was discovered that the leading battalion had stopped to eat lunch; the miracle that the 34th performed in beginning the attack on La Foa at 15 minutes' notice, when half the men were
Apart from these large-scale manoeuvres, there was an atmosphere of greater realism in all the training done by the battalion. Experiments in jungle perimeters were tried, live shooting continued on an extensive scale; and many smaller exercises were held, one featuring the evacuation of casualties, even to the last detail of preparing a military cemetery. Some honest French farmer will be nonplussed one day when he comes upon that patch of ground, with the names of the 'casualties' still visible on the pegs. Obviously the division was schooling itself for something more serious ahead of it. For special training, many officers and other ranks were sent away to courses of instruction. Lieutenant I. Graham and Lieutenant M. W. Speight attended combat intelligence courses at Guadalcanal; the gas officer, Lieutenant H. R. Waldegrave learnt the latest about chemical frightfulness in Australia, and returned with fine samples of lewisite and mustard gas burns on his arm. Numbers of others went back to New Zealand to attend schools in various branches of infantry work. Even the batmen were not forgotten, and a special class in the sterner side of their duties was organised at Bouloupari. New radios, jeeps, new equipment of a variety of kinds, kept coming to hand. For the first time in its history, the battalion found it had all it wanted in the way of war-like stores, should it need them.
Following the circulation of wild rumours, a new organisation for an infantry battalion was announced towards the end of May. Our D (support) company was disbanded, the mortars going over to headquarters company, and one selected vickers platoon leaving the battalion entirely, to join the new brigade machine-gun company. This new company was to be commanded by Major Logan who had for so long presided over D (support). The remainder of the vickers men were split up between the rifle companies. A brand new D company came into being, the other rifle companies sending over a platoon each to make it up to strength.
Reinforcements from the disbanded Scots and Ruahine Battalions, both officers and men, were very welcome additions to our strength. We could well understand the unhappiness of these men who had grown up to be proud of their own regiments, and then,
Never at any time in the islands were troops able to enjoy leave as could their fellows in other war theatres. In Fiji there had been Suva to visit, though its attractions were limited, Tongatabu was barren of anything to offer a soldier out on leave, save the Red Cross recreation centre. In New Caledonia the one lure was Noumea, and from time to time small leave parties were able to spend a few days trudging around the rather grimy streets, eyeing the many attractive French girls (who, from long practice, never responded), sampling the concoctions of the street bars, and buying up copious quantities of the stock of American post exchanges. There was also a leave camp at Thio, on the nortlveast coast of the island, where conditions were very pleasant. Early in August, horrifying rumours (based on fact) began to gain currency that the brigade was to embark on a 100-mile route march. This dire prospect was suddenly transformed into incredulity when it was announced that the march had been cancelled, and a weeks' holiday at Thio granted to the whole brigade. The troops rode over to Thio through the one-way gorge road that ran across the island in an attitude of watchful expectancy. This seemed too good. But there was a catch. Camps were pitched down the valley, some along the river bank, others, such as our own, hard by the sea beach. And there we enjoyed a week of sun-bathing, swimming, visiting the mines, and playing games in intervals between sleeping. Leave at Thio ended on a dramatic note, as reports came from Island Command that a Japanese spy had been seen in the Thio district. The 34th Battalion would investigate. The battalion returned to Bouloupari, leaving a rear party at Thio under command of Captain C. W. McMillan. This redoubtable band wandered hopefully about the Thio and Canala area looking for Jap footprints, but without success. To this day and hour that spy may still be at large.
Everyone knew that our stay in New Caledonia was preliminary to service further afield—and the shape of things to come had begun to be clear after three months of hut-building, training, and swatting mosquitoes. Accent was laid on amphibious operations. It
The advanced party left for Guadalcanal on 21 August. By this time we knew that the remainder of us were to travel on an American transport due to leave on 4 September. The days that followed were as busy as any in the battalion's long history of moves and transfers. Convoys night and day rolled down to Noumea, loaded with cargoes arranged in their particular priorities. Lights burned in battalion headquarters and the various quartermaster stores till late hours. Billeting parties, messing details, loading-parties—all moved south. Transport drivers were working overtime. Final nails were hammered into place. A rear party from base reception depot arrived to take over the camp.
Then the tents got wet. The commanding officer wanted to keep the battalion in its tents until the last possible moment, deciding to risk the rain over the last few hours. The rain won. It was necessary to dry the tents by 3 am, when the last convoy of equipment was timed to leave. The time was 8 pm and there were 5 3 wet tents. A contraption was concocted by someone's fertile imagination and erected in the Ymca. It would have made a picture for some demented artist trying to conjure up a vision of the 'Inferno'. From it belched masses of smoke; flames licked from the firebox; benzine drums, tied together with wire, formed a massive drying chimney. Through the murk of the billowing smoke, one could barely distinguish the figures of Lieutenant H. C. Wynyard and his helpers, as they laid out the tents over the chimney, one after another, 53 in all. It was a Heath Robinson contrivance of devilish appearance. But it worked, and at 3 am the tents went on the trucks.
There Was the final night in old Bouloupari when many men slept in L'Epicerie in the village, while the rest crowded into the huts that were left standing. Next day, 2 September, the final convoys rolled away, and at 2 pm that afternoon the battalion embarked on the American transport President Hayes in Noumea Harbour. For two days we lay at anchor, while we accustomed ourselves to the arnvstraining exercise of climbing the nets up the ship's side. Two landing practices were carried out with the assault boats. After lunch on 4 September, the convoy got underway and, under a blue sky and a bright sun, headed out through the reef and turned north.
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
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
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
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 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 of
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.
Faint light came from the east, and through the haze of rain squalls, the other ships of the invasion fleet could be detected, now moving only slowly. Ahead, slightly to starboard, a flat dark outline was visible. That would be Stirling Island. All around on the decks and below, men were quietly buckling on their web, putting clips into the magazines, finishing a rather sketchy breakfast. Word came through that zero hour was postponed for 20 minutes—until 6.26 am. The destroyers crept forward, waiting for the time. Behind us were the heavier, slower ships, the LSTs and LCIs, that had been overtaken in the early hours of the morning.
It grew lighter. Over beyond Stirling the dense, wooded ridges of Mono came into view. Somewhere on those ridges was a Jap observation post, its men peering south to warn of the invasion that was now hard upon them. Somewhere in those hills, too, this morning, were a few New Zealanders of a secret patrol whose job was to cut Japanese communications just before the dawn. High overhead two planes wheeled and banked. They might be ours, they might be enemy. Men of the first wave were now on deck, standing by their boat stations. The destroyers hove to. It was drizzling slightly. 'Lower all boats' and the swift landing craft slipped down their davits into the sea. In piled the troops. 'Shove off!' With a roar the craft sped away. It was getting lighter every minute. From all the destroyers the assault boats could be seen pulling away, headed for the entrance to Blanche Harbour.
Then the naval bombardment started. Tons of high explosive shells careered through the sky towards the enemy positions on Mono, the tracers weaving a wierd pattern in the half-light of early morning. Opinions can still be heard from those who claim to know
Our first wave landed on Stirling at Purple 2 and 3 at 6.25 am. There was no opposition. The first duty was to inform brigade headquarters that the landing was successful. For this purpose, the assaulting troops had been issued with a special rocket device which was to throw a white flare indicating success. Independent observers tell of the curious spectacle on Purple 2 when the men were peering into the jungle alert for sniper or ambushes while on the beach,
Ymca secretary ever to have landed with the assaulting wave of an invasion force was Mr. Pat Parker, who came ashore with B company, and was 'boiling up' soon afterwards.
Half an hour later, the first LCIs came into shore. By this time the minesweepers had swept a channel from the western entrance, and the heavier landing ships were ploughing their way in towards the beaches. Still further out, waiting till the beaches were definitely clear, were the LSTs, with the destroyers and other escorting war-ships standing by. Gunboats were cruising up and down Blanche Harbour with the task of engaging shore targets. C company landed on Purple 2 from an LCI, immediately went through A company, and pushed down to the south coast. During the remainder of the day patrols scoured the area eastwards of Purple 2, and as far as Soala Lake and Wilson Point. Shortly after 10 am instructions were received to send one platoon to investigate a suspected enemy mortar on Watson Island. This fell to Lieutenant Black's men from A company, and by 1 pm the island had been searched and reported clear. The result of this was that two sections of our mortar platoon were to instal themselves on Watson Island, with the role of assisting the 29th and 36th Battalions over on Mono. They moved on to the island the same afternoon, unaware that Lieutenant Block's platoon was still in occupation. Guided by sounds of creaking branches and broken twigs, the worthy mortarmen stalked this platoon for nigh on three hours around the tiny circumference of Watson Island, before realising their mistake.
Meantime extensive patrolling had been done on Stirling by the carriers, who moved down the island from Purple 2, contacted B company, and returned via the south coast. B company had also
Some of the finest personal performances put up by the men of the battalion were seen on the beaches on Mono, where we had a number of officers and men unloading the ships and working in the dumps nearby. There were several noteworthy examples of commendable coolness under fire, particularly during the morning when Jap mortars were dropping bombs on the beach without warning. Many officers and men showed an inspiring indifference to personal danger. It was here that we suffered our first casualties. There was equally gruelling work done on Purple beaches, on Stirling, where the battalion second-in-command, Major J. M. Reidy, was in charge of beach operations. But there, fortunately, no enemy fire was directed at the ships or working parties, and the only danger lay in the threat of snipers. The story of Soanotalu is such a striking one and so distinct from the other operations on Treasury, that it must be told separately, a little later.
So the first day came to an end. The sound of firing from Mono had died down, to be renewed only at intervals throughout the night. Antiaircraft gunners had had a quiet day, with only one enemy plane running the gauntlet of the air cover and breaking through. The artillery had ferried their guns across from Mono to Stirling, and were digging them in. Night drew on, with men listening to the curious noises of the jungle and to the sound of Japanese bombers cruising in low overhead. There was tenseness. A bomb might fall near; a Jap might lurk behind a tree, within reach of the foxhole; at dawn we might be fighting hard to repel the expected enemy counter-attack from the Shortlands. Pup-tents kept out some of the rain.
There followed several days of searching. So far the Jap had not made his presence known on Stirling Island and by the evening of 29 October (the third day) it could be fairly assumed that the island was clear.
B company, on the perimeter at Purple 3, was responsible for patrolling the western end of the island. C company cleared the eastern sector, and in addition was manning an observation post at Wilson Point, which gave a view out over the sea in the direction of the Shortlands. In the opinion of those who did it, the hardest work was being done by the parties at the main dumps near beaches Purple 1 and 2. Sorting and carrying tons of stores and hundreds of crates, unloading ammunition, trucks and guns, is at any time a thankless task. Overhead, every night, came the enemy bombers. Major Reidy, his batman Private D. Anderson, the medical officer Captain 'Hatch' Fookes, and 'Brad' (the transport officer) still occasionally recount the night they spent in the shelter of a rock near Laliti Cove when, with felonious intent and malice aforethought, a Jap bomber deliberately attacked them with a stick of bombs (so they declare.) But they maintain that a worse danger was from the bofors anti-aircraft guns a few yards away, which were depressed so much to meet the low-flying plane that the tracer was nicking the bushes just over their fox-holes. Bombing each night was mostly indiscriminate and scattered, though the night of 31 October saw 20 bombs all dropped in the Purple 2 area, but without causing any casualties or damage to the dumps.
Mystery has darkly enveloped one curious incident at battalion headquarters during this time. It was half-way through the night of 29 October when, through the stillness in the little perimeter that
Down at the Purple beaches, a common sight was Private Les Gooday, Padre Froud's right-hand man, climbing every coconut palm in sight, for the Padre and his friends loved their coconuts. The carriers were down there too, armed with their assortment of cutthroat weapons. Captain Cotching, in full battle-kit was truly a sight to wonder at—with pistol, carbine, two jungle knives, elaborate cartridge belt, two water bottles, compass, map case, and the usual web impedimenta, at least two coils of rope slung around his shoulders, and a garotting cord. On the morning of the 29th, brigade headquarters sent instructions to the battalion to detach a company to assist the 20th Battalion at Falamai. Like the 36th, the 29th was having trouble in fully manning its sector of the perimeter. Captain Steele's A company was accordingly sent. This left the 34th very short of men—B company still intact, but A gone, D away at Soanotalu, one platoon of C company with the 36th, and two other sections of C company at the observation post on Wilson Point. A further disintegration took place later the same day. By this time, the Brigadier had decided the reinforce Soanotalu so, with no men to spare from the Falamai and Saveke sectors, the 34th was again called on. The carriers were sent around, and the remaining platoon of C company, along with its company headquarters.
Rumours have always to be checked during an action. Stirling Island had its quota. There was one, reported by Americans of a construction battalion, that there were signs of Japs being in the neighbourhood of Soala Lake. A day or two later others were reported swimming near the naval base. Both of these stories had to be checked, and patrols spent many hours searching the areas concerned. The disembowelling of the battalion became almost complete when on the 31st, at 8 am, word was received that B company would have to move over to Saveke to relieve a very tired company of the 36th Battalion which had been having a hard time every night. B company transferred over that day, and in exchange, Captain K. E. Louden's company of the 36th came under command of the 34th. The men were very thankful to move into Captain Brookes's
At this stage of the campaign, it was clear that Stirling Island was free of enemy; activity around the Falamai and Saveke sectors was decreasing every night, and patrols established that there was a general movement of the retreating Japs across Mono Island to-wards Malsi or Soanotalu. Artillery fire was hustling them along the way. The threatened counter-attack from Shortlands or Bougainville had not materialised and, once the big show at Empress Augusta Bay on Bougainville Island began on 1 November, little further air interference was expected. Almost certainly the American landings there would restrain the enemy from making an attempt to re-take the Treasuries. All that was left to dq was to keep hustling the Jap, to seek him with patrols, and stop him escaping through the northern beaches. To implement this plan, battalion headquarters went around to Malsi (on the north-east side of Mono) on the afternoon of 2 November, taking with it Captain Louden's company of the 36th. Headquarters company was not able to spare many men from the heavy task on the dumps at Purple beaches, but a few from headquarters came too. There was also a section from C company. This left Lieutenant H. C. Wynyard with his two sections of C company sitting on Wilson Point observation post, sending plaintive messages to battalion headquarters to 'get us out of it, and give us something to do.' Colonel Eyre still cherishes one messsage that came in from there—'No sign of Japs. Attacked by strong mosquito force. Took immediate repellant action. Please get us out of here—Wynyard'.
Malsi was a likely spot for the Japs to attack. The previous night they had made a determined assault on the garrison at Soanotalu, and had been repulsed with heavy losses. There was more than a fair chance that they would, next night, turn their attention at the even better beach at Malsi in an attempt to break out. Here, furthermore, were a number of native canoes in which they could have escaped. So, in the hour of daylight that was left, there was much
The grimmest fighting of the Treasury engagement occurred in the Soanotalu district, on the northern side of Mono Island. Here it was that the special combat team known as 'Loganforce' was landed on the morning of 27 October. It was under command of Major Logan, formerly of 34th Battalion, but at this time officer commanding the 8th Brigade Machine-gun Company. There were men of various units in 'Loganforce', but they won't quibble at seeing the story of Soanotalu told in a 34th Battalion history; for the bulk of the troops were men from this battalion. Most of our casualties were suffered at Soanotalu, and all the awards given to the battalion, save one, arose out of exploits performed there. The story of 'Logan-force' is one of the finest in the history of the Third Division.
Major Logan had the following troops under his command: a small headquarters; D company of 34th Battalion (commanded by Captain I. Graham); a section of machine-guns from the 8th Brigade machine-gun company; a field-ambulance detachment; an artillery observation party; 20 Americans of a construction battalion; and 60 American technical troops. At 6.30 am on 27 October a landing was made at the mouth of the Soanotalu River. Cliffs and sheer ridges, densely wooded, crowded in on the little 40'yard beach. There was no opposition, no sign of enemy occupation, and within a few minutes D company had fanned out, and was shortly holding a perimeter of about 150 yards radius. Patrols searched an area of 400 yards out from the perimeter and reported it clear. The CBs (men of the construction battalion) thereupon sent for their bulldozer and had it working by midday, ripping out a road up the steep incline from the beach. At 11 am a Jap, rifle slung, and unsuspecting walked into the lines of No 14 platoon, D company. He
With the coming of dawn next day patrols were soon out, to a depth of 1000 yards, but no Japs were seen. The day passed uneventfully and the night was quiet. At 4.30 pm on 29 October, an attack was launched on the western perimeter by a party of about 20 Japanese. This part of the line was held by No 14 platoon, commanded by Lieutenant R. M. Martin. Two sections of another platoon were sent across to reinforce him, and a strong 3-inch mortar barrage laid down in front of the positions. The engagement lasted until dusk, when the Japs withdrew leaving five dead. We had no casualties. During the night, all was quiet, save for the intermittent crashing of our artillery which shelled the area outside the western perimeter.
At this stage the indications were that the enemy was retreating across the island from Falamai to Ulapu—the area immediately westward of Soanotalu. With the prospect of greater activity developing in this sector, brigade headquarters reinforced Loganforce' with the carrier platoon, C company headquarters, and one platoon of C company, all from 34th Battalion on Stirling. These arrived at first light on the morning of 30 October, bringing with them welcome replenishments of mortar ammunition. There were ominous signs that day that the enemy was concentrating in some strength to the west. Japs were frequently seen outside the western perimeter. From captured enemy diaries, it appears that the enemy spent the day scouting our positions and, as it turned out, his reconnaissances were accurate and well executed. The carriers were sent off eastwards towards Malsi, to patrol that ground, and careful probes were made south of the perimeter by small patrols, who kept constant line communication with the mortars, in case they ran into trouble. Throughout the night, the Japs were very active on the western perimeter, endeavouring to draw fire but no attack developed.
There followed a day of increased tension. Patrols moved up the Soanotalu River valley without making contact. The carriers returned from Malsi. All was clear in that direction. Out on the western flank, cautious patrolling indicated that the enemy was building up strength for an assault on Soanotalu, and possessed possibly 200 men with which to do it. Further reinforcements were asked for,
On 1 November, the lack of sleep and mental strain were beginning to tell. Major Logan considered the advisability of relieving the two platoons on the western side, for they were obviously in the hottest spot; but as the situation was likely to get worse, he decided against this, as the men knew their ground and could be expected to hold on there at least another night. Working out towards Ulapu that morning, a patrol under Lieutenant J. A. H. Dowell ran into trouble some 1500 yards from Soanotalu. There was a brisk skirmish lasting half an hour, in the course of which the enemy sustained a number of casualties. In this engagement, Corporal R. H. Haresnape, of D company, lost his life. Our patrol, probably outnumbered, withdrew toward our lines, but it had seen enough to confirm the growing evidence of Japanese intentions in the Ulapu-Soanotalu area. The whole of the perimeter and a blockhouse that had been erected on the beach were now tightly ringed with booby-traps, which were set each night. The C company men (under Major J. C. Braithwaite) along with the carriers were holding a separate perimeter 600 yards further inland.
Mention ought to be made at this stage of the enthusiasm and efficiency of the American CBs. Apart from the fine work they did in putting through the roads, they showed great zeal for getting, out on patrols, which greatly helped to relieve our own infantry, who naturally were expected to bear the brunt of the defence and patrolling work. The main battle for Soanotalu developed on the western perimeter shortly after dark on 1 November. Lieutenant Martin rang through to D company headquarters to report the presence of large numbers of the enemy. Sporadic fighting then broke out. The phone went dead shortly afterwards. Grenades, machine-gun and mortar fire were used by the enemy in this opening attack. It became an intermittent affair, with periods of quietness interspersed throughout the night, with fighting then flaring up from time to time. This sustained attempt to break the western defences reached a peak soon after midnight. All the expected Japanese ruses were tried, some succeeding, most failing.
Soon after 7 pm enemy troops were also reported on the eastern flank and in the headquarters area. It became clear during the early 'hours of the night that some of the enemy were infiltrating through the lines. By 1.30 am a substantial enemy force had come through the perimeter in this manner, and was more or less at large within the defence. Most of the Japanese were on the western side, assembled on the steep slopes just above the shoreline, and some 50 yards westward of the beach. That this was part of a concerted plan is clear. At other parts of the sector, isolated Japs made attacks, but it was apparent that the assault on the beach, which now started to develop, was the main show. All communication within the perimeter had now gone. The phone from the blockhouse up to D company headquarters went out at midnight. The landing barge that was lying on the beach represented one of the few surviving chances for the enemy to escape from the island, and for this reason he made a most determined effort to obtain control of the beach. Apparently he considered it necessary to subdue the blockhouse before attempting a break-away in the barge. While it is difficult to estimate the strength employed by the enemy for the attack on the beach, the most reliable opinions are that between 70 and 100 Japanese were engaged.
From the early hours of the morning, until almost dawn, heavy fighting occurred all around the blockhouse. This post was commanded by the second-in-command of D company, Captain L. J. Kirk who had with him six New Zealanders and three Americans. The armament of the post comprised rifles, grenades, one tommy-gun, one 50 calibre machine-gun, and one .300 machine-gun, these latter two having been brought ashore off the barge. In the first Jap assault, at about 1.30 am Staff-Sergeant D. O. Hannafin was killed, and a little later Captain Kirk was knocked unconscious by a slight wound on the head. However, he soon recovered. Grenade splinters then put both machine-guns out of action, and the subsequent defence was conducted principally with grenades at ranges of 10 to 15 yards. Undoubtedly, heavier casualties would have been suffered by the little garrison but for a gadget they erected over the dug-out to deflect enemy grenades. When sounds indicated that a Jap was approaching, the shelter could be raised to enable our own men to throw grenades.
In face of such overwhelming odds, the men debated whether they should abandon the blockhouse and endeavour to withdraw to
At 8 am contact was re-established with the western perimeter, where Nos 14 and 16 platoons had had a hard night. There was only one casualty up there—Private G. D. Clarke, who was wounded. On the other perimeter inland, the night had been disturbed by Japs setting off booby traps. This caused them several casualties, but there was no fixed engagement similar to that on the beach, or on the western flank. All told, 50 Japanese were counted killed as a result of the night's operations—26 on the beach, 15 on the west perimeter, and nine on the east perimeter and in the headquarters area. No wounded were found. Captured equipment included five knee-mortars, four light machine-guns, several dozen rifles, two pairs of binoculars, and one sword. After this night, the two platoons on the west flank had to be spelled, and Major Logan moved in the carrier platoon, and Lieutenant W. M. Maxwell's platoon from C company, who had hitherto been on the inland perimeter.
The night of 2 November saw these comparatively fresh platoons on the western perimeter, and not long after dark an attack with grenades was launched by the enemy. Spasmodic exchanges continued until dawn, but no break-through was made. We lost two killed—Corporal R. S. Dimery, of the carriers, and Private G. W. Hanson of C company. There was one wounded. On the following two nights depleted Japanese forces made half-hearted sorties against our line, but each night their strength was less and attacks were completely unsuccessful. Our patrols fanned out during daylight, picking up enemy stragglers here and there, and ascertaining beyond doubt that Soanotalu was now safe from any large scale attack. The enemy force which, more clearly now than before had made Ulapu its rendezvous, was either destroyed or completely dispersed.
The merit of the stand put up by the outnumbered garrison of Soanotalu, and of the personal part played by some of those taking part, was recognised by the award of the Military Medal to Private Smith, while Major Logan, Captain Kirk and Private Sherson received a Mention in Dispatches. Major Logan was also decorated with the American Legion of Merit. There are many other tales of individual courage and resourcefulness, which are impossible to chronicle, but which you may sometimes still hear from the men who fought on those jungle perimeters.
Meanwhile, at_Malsi, the position remained quiet. Once the enemy had failed to make his break-through at Soanotalu there was every chance of his attempting a similar operation at Malsi, and the defences were prepared accordingly. But no attack came. Flares were seen some distance along the coast, and a booby-trap was sprung one night just across the Malaoini river, which flowed into Malsi Bay. All the time, trailing the scattering remnants of the enemy, were the 'blokes'—the code name given to the native Solomon Islanders, many of them members of the Solomon Islands Defence Force, others police boys, some just village men who wanted to help rid the island of the Japanese. There were black-trackers whose facility in following trails through the jungle was astounding, who could tell just how many men had passed along a trail, how long ago, and what they had been carrying.
We knew beforehand what a help they had been in sheltering crashed airmen and in assisting Sergeant Cowan's secret patrol that had landed a week before the attack on Treasury. But now they were coming into their own. Directed by Sergeant Cowan, who had now shifted his headquarters from a high point in the jungle down to Malsi village, the 'blokes' were out every day, searching the trails and gardens, and coming back at dusk to tell us where the enemy lay, what his strength was, and what he was doing. They brought in prisoners. One trick they used was to invite any of the enemy they saw to be paddled over to Shortlands. Readily assenting, the un-suspecting Jap would be persuaded to lie low in the canoe 'so that the New Zealanders wouldn't see him' and, to the great glee of the natives, he would then be deposited on the beach at Malsi and taken into custody. Some Japs arrived with the odd black eye, for some of
By now, with the main enemy force destroyed around Soanotalu, brigade headquarters had instituted a series of sweeping patrols, designed to ferret out the enemy in his most likely hiding places. The 34th's main responsibility was the ground between Malsi and Soanotalu—a distance of roughly three miles, and, day after day, patrols searched this area. The Japs, their organised resistance broken, were trying to escape in any way they could. Two were seen swimming with a log off Lua Point, near Malsi; one was shot, and the other probably drowned. Rafts were discovered, and signs that individuals were living in caves, or near native gardens around the coast.
There was only one change in the disposition of the companies. D company was released from Soanotalu and came under command of 29th Battalion at Falamai, on the Kolehe perimeter. This company replaced our A company, which had been there since 28 October, and which now transferred to Soanotalu. B company was still with the 36th at Saveke, while C company remained divided, with company headquarters and one platoon at Soanotalu, another platoon under command of 36th Battalion, two sections at Wilson Point observation post, and one section at Malsi. A sudden flare-up with a small pocket of the enemy happened on 6 November, when A company, under instructions to transfer from Soanotalu to Malsi, was moving around the coastline. Twelve Japs were sprung in a rocky cave area 800 yards east of Soanotalu. The ensuing action lasted nearly two hours, before the enemy were all destroyed. There was notably fine work done by our men. Corporal D. J. Flynn, who lay wounded near the entrance to the Jap cave for a long time, and directed much of the fire, later received a Mention in Dispatches for this exploit. It was not a bloodless victory by any means, for we
Things began to settle down. Patrols moved in all directions—around the coast to Soanotalu, down through the gardens to Falamai, and the defences of the area were helped by the arrival of four 6-pounder anti-tank guns for use against sea-borne invasion. These were divided between Malsi and Soanotalu. The threat of counter-invasion was still present, despite the American campaign on Bougainville, and the battalion was required to maintain continuous observation posts both at Soanotalu and Malsi, and later at Luana also. Through binoculars, an enemy watch tower could be seen on Shortland Islands, a mere 18 miles away, from which the enemy no doubt constantly watched us. This game of cat watching mouse, and vice versa, across a narrow strip of sea, continued for the duration of our seven-months stay in the Treasuries. About all the observation posts ever were the great fleets of Allied bombers and fighters cruising north to hit enemy targets, and the occasional display of American naval power in the Shortlands area. But each evening there was the fine spectacle of the motor torpedo boats roaring out from Blanche Harbour to chase enemy shipping during the night. With their huge bow wave, these tough little craft made a great picture. Usually just before dawn, they would come home, sometimes a little battered, but still looking very pugnacious.
It is right and proper to call attention to the work done by the signals platoon up till now, without suggesting any comparison with the fine job performed by every other platoon of the battalion. For the 'sigs' are a clan apart, responsible only to that great idol 'communications'. To appease and satisfy this greedy Deity, 'sigs' will do anything. They left Tongatabu with as fair a collection of allied phone equipment as the eye has ever rested on; they 'borrow' cable, pliers, trucks, in fact anything, with an air of the greatest innocence; they 'wired-up' their store tent at Bouloupari so as to pass electric shocks though any intruder; no one is quite sure what they are doing, or why they are doing it. But they achieve results, sometimes, it seems, contrary to all the laws of man and nature. They dug the exchanges into the sides of their own fox-holes. They wearily trailed reels of combat wire behind jungle patrols. When all other men were weather-bound, they took it as part of the day's work to go forth in the dark or storm, to check on lines that had 'gone out'. Over on Stirling, they had the heart-breaking task of putting up their Banzai) swam around the nearest headland, landed on the beach, and thought he was on the Shortlands. Even when the natives brought him into Malsi camp, he still insisted that he had swum all the way across.
By 10 November, sleeping at night had returned to normal. During the action, men had had to take the risk of contracting malaria. The heavy camouflage clothing, mosquito repellant, and a stronger daily dose of atebrin were the only precautions available. Now, with everyone sleeping above ground once more, mosquito nets became compulsory, and the atebrin doseage reduced to a half-tablet a day. The battalion anti-malaria squad started its work of draining and spraying. B company returned home from the 36th, staying a while at Soanotalu before taking up permanent residence at Luana—to be known later as the 'Brooks Estate'. Hitherto B company had killed only one Jap (the score was increased later) while the records of the other companies were: A, 12; C, 35; D, 60.
As proof that the 'fire-fight' was over, battalion headquarters began producing routine orders again. For them, too, the paper war recommenced, with calls from higher headquarters for lists of captured equipment, explanations, recommendations for awards, and reports on many subjects connected with the action. Post mortem conferences were held to thrash out and report on the many administrative, planning, and tactical problems that had arisen during the campaign, for the benefit of those taking part in similar operations in the future. The remainder of November can be passed over rapidly. 'Washing-machine Charlie' was a very frequent visitor, and not a day passed without the wail of the sirens.
It was not long before the whole battalion was together again in the one sector. D company came back to Malsi from the 2,9th Battalion, and the remainder of headquarters company moved over from the dumps at Stirling. C company regained Lieutenant Sutherland's platoon from the 36th Battalion, and its two sections from the observation post at Wilson Point. This left the companies disposed Ymca.
On 1 December, an extensive re-shuffle took place in the appointments of officers in the division. This was designed to give younger men the opportunity of exercising command in the forward area, and also to have experienced men take back their knowledge to those who had been left behind at base. Our Commanding Officer Lieutenant-Colonel Eyre returned to New Zealand on account of age, and the Second-in-Command, Major Reidy, was promoted to lieutenant-colonel and appointed our new commanding officer. There were many other changes—Major H. A. Wernham, who had for years been somewhat of a battalion institution, was transferred to the 8th Brigade Machine-gun Company; and we had several other officers transferred to base on tour of duty, or posted to other battalions on promotion.
The search for Japanese stragglers continued. In the dense gullies of Mono a Japanese could live indefinitely without capture if he had food; and it was only on the occasions when he was forced into the garden areas in search of provisions that we had any chance of catching him. A spectacular escape was attempted one night in December by two of the enemy who seized a native canoe a few hundred yards south of Malsi, and were paddling strongly in the direction of the Shortlands before word reached battalion headquarters. The wires hummed and, within half an hour, a PT boat come roaring out of Blanche Harbour in pursuit. Three miles off-shore we watched the ship slow down, circling, and then a stream of tracer come flying from its guns. The canoe and its occupants had been located and destroyed. More Japs were shot by our patrols, and the natives continued to claim an occasional prisoner. One afternoon a native
Our new Chaplain, Padre A. H. Lowden, who had now relieved Padre Froud, was very wrath on one occasion when he struck up an acquaintance with a figure some 50 yards away in the jungle. The figure made a few remarks to the padre in good English. Too late Padre Lowden realised that it was a Jap wearing our clothing and not one of our men. Attempts to induce the enemy to give themselves up were not successful, despite a number of notices which we had written up in Japanese characters urging the stragglers to surrender and telling them they would be 'well fed and looked after'. We had five or six of these prepared and tacked to trees in the garden areas where the Japs were most likely to see them. The only response was that one notice was carefully removed from its tack, turned upside down, and re-hung. This was probably the Japanese equivalent of saying 'Nuts!' Such of the enemy as remained at large lived here after as hunted animals. Frequent patrols were out, investigating reports of footprints, or keeping watch on the gardens, and hardly a week passed, right up to the time of our final departure from the island, when there was not some chase afoot. Even dogs from American units were used to track down those whose footprints we discovered.
A highlight of this patrolling activity was a remarkable incident which occurred when part of the carrier platoon was searching the area near Lake Akea, between Malsi and Soanotalu. (They spent half the time looking for Japs, the other half looking for crocodiles, a few of which were to be found in the lake). Two Japs leapt out of cover some distance ahead of the patrol, and ran for healthier regions. Without pause Private 'Jungle' Holmes threw up a .455 Webley revolver that he had just recently bought and fired. One worshipper of the 'Son of Heaven', who did not want to die, dropped kicking in his tracks, while the other escaped. The victim had been shot through the head and at a range (for it was measured) of 63 yards! Not even gunmen on the silver screen would normally dare to hit their target at this distance. It was a fluke, but a magnificent one. Towards the end of January 1944, frequent traces of Japanese
It is acknowledged that much of the credit for the allied success in the Pacific must go to the supply services, which functioned so magnificently under great difficulties. Many civilian people have an impression that supply is a thing performed by some nebulous 'third party', and few have any idea of the vast calls it makes on the manpower of an army. It is seldom appreciated that the colossal amount of work done in getting petrol on to forward air bases, in having available replenishments of ammunition up to five times the amount required in an action, in storing and shipping rations for thousands of men sufficient to last them several months—this work, while primarily the responsibility of, and organised by the supply departments of the army, is usually performed by the ordinary soldier of the line. He works more often than he fights. On the. Treasuries human hands had to unload every particle of equipment that was required for the operation of what was becoming an important naval and air base. As more and more supplies arrived, so heavier grew the calls on the battalion for working parties, particularly with the development of the air field on Stirling Island and the consequent tremendous demand for petrol. Unloading and stacking of 44 gallon petrol drums will always occupy a special place in the memory of the men. Many days were spent at this gruelling task, which was not without its danger as the drums came hurtling out of the open bows of an LST, down the ramp and on to the shore. As fast as the men on the ship could roll the drums out, and send them leaping crazily down the ramp, so the waiting men on shore grabbed them and rolled them to the stacks. There was a number of injuries, fortunately none serious. In handling bombs, explosives, or other ammunition there was no extra pay; perhaps, when unloading rations, a case of fruit-juice might be opened for
A man of picturesque speech, with an enviable beard, 'Hank' Puhle was a personality known to everyone in the battalion. He was coxswain and skipper of the large barge alloted to the battalion for its exclusive use. 'Hank', and the other Americans of his crew, were adopted as members of the battalion. There was no access to Malsi except by water (save by a difficult foot track through from Falamai) so every working party, all foods and stores, every man going out of camp on duty, travelled on 'Hank's' barge. He was no mean coxswain, and we had many an occasion to admire his skill as he negotiated the difficult landing at Soanotalu or Luana in a heavy sea. Prior to the war, 'Hank' had never been off the land. As regular as a train service (and about as punctual) the daily ferry barge would come around from Stirling and Falamai, bringing mail, stores, passengers or equipment. It usually reached Luana at about 12.15 pm and Malsi a quarter of an hour later. The arrival of the ferry was always the occasion for a small crowd to gather to see who and what was coming to our domains. Depending on the state of the beach, the barge would carry on around to Soanotalu and then make its return journey, stopping again at Malsi and Luana.
They chose the name Spam because it typified, more than anything else, the life of a soldier in the tropics. It was the name given to the new battalion magazine produced under the joint direction of Captain McMillan, Captain A. Alison and Corporal J. G. Stevenson. Since the Rag-Bag of Nausori days, the battalion had not had a news-sheet, so the publication of Spam in December was very welcome. With each of its irregular editions it improved—there was even a Christmas gala number—and the editors had the satisfaction of seeing the main story in one of the last issues awarded the prize by Kiwi News as the best contribution of the week. As proof of its own popularity, Spam printed the following comments, allegedly sent to it by some of its enthusiastic readers:
Winston C.—Spam will be read on the beaches, in our villages, on the streets, in our mountains.
Franklin D. R.—Youse guys sure have toined on de woiks.
Joseph S.—The best I've red.
Ex-senior officer.—Nothing like it since Waterloo.
34th Battalion.—We read your first issue and are eagerly looking forward to your final number.
All copies of Spam have been preserved for posterity in official army archives.
For men of the 34th Battalion, Christmas 1943 was a period of unusual contrast. Despite the carnival atmosphere, the war had a poor habit of persistently intruding. The commanding officer had formed a small committee to organise all events over the Christmas season, and it did an excellent job. Turkey dinner was the feature of Christmas Day itself, served in traditional style by the officers to the men. There had been special church services in the morning, and in the evening a big crowd gathered in the recently completed Ymca hut for an interesting talk by the new senior chaplain, Bishop Gerard. A party of natives arrived at this talk, and sang a number of hymns.
A full-scale athletic carnival started on Boxing Day and carried on for four days. It included competitions in swimming, water-polo, canoe-racing, basket-ball, wood-chopping, and a cross-country race over the rough jungle track between Soanotalu and Malsi. Everything went with a swing the first two days, and then on the morning of 28 December the contestants in the cross-country race set off from Soanotalu for Malsi. The intelligence officer, Lieutenant I. G. Turbott soon went into the lead and held a commanding position to within half a mile from home. At that point he had the disturbing experience of coming upon a Jap at the side of the track. The Jap made off into the bush, pursued for a short distance by Lieutenant Turbott, clad in his shorts and jungle boots and, of course, unarmed. Being thus in no condition for a long pursuit, he returned to the track, resumed running and still came in first, to the delight of his several backers who knew of his previous experience in athletic circles in Auckland. On the tote, he returned a handsome figure. Then the next bunch of runners arrived in, with a story of having seen another Jap on the track at about the same point. Private Keith saw this one in a kneeling position apparently taking aim at one of the leading runners. He threw a piece of coral at him and the Jap took to his heels. It is said, very unfairly, that all the contestants made remarkably good time over the last half-mile. While the other events on the day's programme continued, a patrol hastily assembled, but found no trace of the enemy. It would have been interesting to learn the reactions of the Japanese at the sight of the New Zealanders, straining every nerve, running, scrambling, slipping and sliding through the jungle for no apparent reason, in the
The scene at Malsi this day was particularly bizarre. On the beach, hundreds of scantily clad New Zealanders and Americans milled about, watching and taking part in the sports events, investing their dollars on the totalisator, with not a gun or other weapon of war in sight. But overhead in tight formation roared squadron upon squadron of American bombers keeping up non-stop attacks on Japanese bases to the north. From the Fauro Islands, just to the right of Shortland, huge billowing columns of smoke and occasional flashes testified to the attentiveness of Allied bombardiers.
With Christmas festivities finished, the battalion settled down again to its normal routine. This consisted of supplying working parties, doing a certain amount of training and patrolling and, perhaps more than anything else, improving camp sites. Roads and tracks periodically washed out by storms, needed constant maintenance. The work of clearing undergrowth from the camp areas could go on indefinitely. Although the threat of air-raids from nearby Jap bases was still real enough to necessitate leaving most of the big trees standing, so as to preserve overhead cover, yet clearing away the lower growth served to let in light and air, and kept the areas dry. Most men had rapidly learnt the native art of plaiting ivory-nut leaf for making walls and roofs of huts, and everyone was encouraged to build huts of this material. They were cooler, and more airy, than the tents which by now were showing signs of wear and mildew, and were in very few instances waterproof. As the men became more expert, ambitious new mess rooms and cookhouses were designed and went into construction. Adequate free issues of toilet requirements, and an occasional ration of beer, helped to improve living conditions. The canteen was operating with limited stocks. We managed to increase the number of showings of films and few members of the battalion failed to see every movie that was screened, regardless of the number of times it had been shown before, and of the weather. Many a night the crowd sat on the coconut logs, peering at the screen, wrapped in their capes, while the rain lashed down and dripped from the brims of their jungle hats.
The greatest immediate threat to the safety of the battalion came from above—from coconuts and branches of towering palms throughout the camp area that were likely to fall and, indeed did fall, with
In February and March, heavy seas played havoc with the beach at Malsi, sweeping away much of the fine sand that had formerly made it so attractive for swimming. Sometimes the landings at Soanotalu and Luana were unworkable, despite the skill of 'Hank'. In rough weather the barge trip around to Falamai or Stirling was far from pleasant. The beach at Malsi could no longer be used by trucks as a roadway along to the water-point at one end of the beach; bulldozers and the enthusiasm of the pioneer officer, Lieutenant C. E. A. Buller were responsible for a new road being cut on the waterfront, well above high water mark. Storms always had one interesting consequence at Malsi. As frequently as not they resulted in the Malaoini River (which ran out at the southern end of the beach) changing course slightly. At times there would be a fine sand-spit, with easy access to the machine-gun company camped across the river on the southern side; then the sand would disappear, and the Malaoini in sullen flood would sweep straight out to sea, discolouring the bay and cutting off communication with the machine-gunners except by boat.
The Goc, Major-General H. E. Barrowclough, Cb, Dso, Mc, visited the battalion shortly before Christmas, and while he had no definite news to impart, he indicated the type of operation the division could expect to be put into should it be required. For many weeks that followed there were surmises and rumours, but with the passage of time the chances of the division, and the battalion, seeing another operation seemed to become more and more remote. However, in the first week in March a warning was issued that the Japanese
But the Japs were not inactive all this time. They still managed to keep some of their airfields operative and we became very accustomed to enemy bombers droning overhead. Occasionally they did some damage to the airfield on Stirling, and a few casualties were sustained by units who perforce had to live on that island. No bombs ever dropped in the 34th's area, though we received our reasonable share of falling shrapnel. One period of intense enemy air activity was before Christmas, in the three weeks between 17 November and 7 December. During this time, there were 96 air raid alerts, and the anti-aircraft guns went into action 26 times. Figures taken from the beginning of the Treasury action right through to the end of February (125 days) show that we had 268 air alerts, with enemy planes closing to within range of the guns on 56 occasions. So Treasury was far from peaceful. One memorable night was the 12 January when a terrific anti-aircraft barrage was put up to fight off 20 enemy planes that attacked Stirling in three waves. Tens of thousands of rounds were flung into the air that night, making a fantastic picture.
Not too much stress was laid on training while in the Treasuries. It was appreciated that all that was required was to keep the troops in good physical condition, while maintaining familiarity with their weapons. Weapon training therefore continued, with range practices, Goc. Once below the few inches of top-soil, the men found themselves digging into coral, to which the shovel and the pick do not take kindly. Then there was the night attack on Luana, defended with much guile by B company. Feature of this operation was the amount of mud with which every one became covered for no one could see a thing in the Stygian darkness; and the gallant escape of Lieutenant Wynyard who, hav ing been captured by B company and incarcerated in a leaf hut, eluded his captors by the simple expedient of charging straight out through the wall.
As the year advanced, much surplus ammunition was expended in live shoots. Particularly generous was the allocation of mortar bombs, which were partly unserviceable. It was thought that the best way of disposing of them was to fire them off. So the mortars enjoyed terrifying the rest of the battalion by placing their 'stovepipes' on the beach, pointing out to sea, dropping the bombs down the barrel, and seeing what would happen. One bomb would cough apologetically, pop out of the barrel and land a few feet away on the beach, while the audience scattered. Others would drop down the barrel, lie dormant for a second or two, and then, when someone was about to look to see what had happened, would leap out with a mighty roar and travel far out to sea. A smoke bomb heaved itself just as far as the end of the barrel, where it hung out forlornly, as if deciding that it might as well start smoking now. Others would go off magnificently, landing 800 yards away from the floating target, at which the mortars would sagely remark that they were bent on obtaining a 'long bracket'.
From the beginning of the year, a suggestion had been afoot that some practical tribute should be paid to the memory of those men of the battalion who had been killed in action or had died of wounds. The commanding officer formed a committee, representative of all ranks in the battalion, and plans were laid for establishing a war dependants fund, it being the intention that the fund should ultimately be divided between the dependants of the men whose lives had been lost. It was announced that 5,000 dollars was to be the aim. Individual contributions were at first obtained (this alone bringing in 1,000 dollars) and companies were invited to stage car-
Biggest event of all, however, was the benefit gala at Malsi, lasting two days. The row of side-shows reminded visitors of a scene from a New Zealand show day. The gaming laws were flouted right and left as various money-making devices practised their trade, some as honest-to-goodness a gamble as one could get, others requiring skill. Water-polo and wood-chopping contests, race meetings with the dummy horses that move so many spaces according to the throw of dice, raffles, totalisator attendants calling the odds, and, Between the excitement, the divisional band playing selections with its usual artistry. Visitors came from far and near, most of them returning sadder and wiser, but all declaring that they had had a grand time. The financial results exceeded expectations. One sideshow alone realised over 2000 dollars. When all the last contributions came in, the total of the fund stood at no less than 5,400 dollars—a really remarkable achievement on the part of all those who worked so hard. This fund was finally equally divided between the dependants of the five men whom we lost in action.
Great success attended the formation of a handicrafts club, under the guidance of Lieutenant Buller. For many men in the battalion, the opportunity of turning their leisure hours into fascinating and profitable hobbies came as a welcome variation from normal camp life. Lieutenant Buller was an expert and soon the fever for whittling and carving spread to all the surrounding camps. At Luana, Lieutenant S. W. Smith ably organised the work. A special hut was erected at Malsi—certainly the best in the camp—workbenches were installed; in one end went stray pieces of metal and wood, out came perfectly finished ornaments, ashtrays, bowls, inlaid knives, model aeroplanes, beads—a host of articles, to be taken home to friends and families, or sold to souvenir-hungry Americans. Some of the work produced was astounding, bearing in mind the limited tools available and the paucity of material. Several exhibitions were held in the hut (at which Lieutenant Buller's collection of snakes was one curious exhibit) and, in the brigade arts and crafts
The Aews (Army Education and Welfare Service) also provided an admirable outlet for men's spare time activities. Study courses in petrol engines, electricity, accountancy, science, farm-book-keeping, and many other subjects, filled in leisure hours, and at one stage, nearly 30 per cent of the battalion were enrolled in the AEWS classes. Captain D. B. Cameron and Lance-Sergeant R. A. Myers were the leaders in the running of a Young Farmer's Club, which held meetings regularly to discuss matters of interest to men on the land, and was very successful. Another bright organisation, which unfortunately did not survive more than its inaugural meeting, was the Easter Brides Club, otherwise known as the band of brother bridegrooms, membership of which was confined to such men as hoped to take the fatal plunge into matrimony at the following Easter. Lectures were scheduled from a number of alleged experts in marital matters, including an historical review by a learned scholar on 'Famous First Night's.
The more ambitious of wood-carvers and whittlers turned their talents to boat-building. With few tools and only such materials as could be acquired from the jungle or from junk heaps, some fine types of small yachts came into being. The framework was usually of ripped down dunnage, with a skin of old tentage stretched over it. Sails were provided from the remains of air force drogue targets, sometimes from parachutes. Ingenuity and improvisation had full rein. So many of these craft were eventually launched that several yacht races, and regattas, were held. What the Japanese, watching from their look-out tower on Shortlands, thought of it all we cannot imagine.
In April 1944 there appeared the writing on the wall. The Pacific Force was to be called on to supply men for essential industry in New Zealand. Volunteeers were asked for in some half-dozen specific industries. For days there was no other subjects of conversation. Men were told that if they volunteered, they would not be completely released from the army, but would be liable to recall; for many men, tradesmen, essential industry offered a better use of their talents than did this present defence duty in the Pacific. Farmers were needed in New Zealand more than were soldiers in the army. Then there were arguments the other way. Each man had to make his individual choice. With the speed at which big changes
In April we began our last man-hunt. It was reported that a Japanese coast-watcher was suspected on Mono Island and had to be found. Each battalion was allotted a sector to search, our territory being the Soanotalu-Ulapu district. For three days our patrols combed that area, finding traces of enemy stragglers (some as recent as 24 hours old) but these did not indicate that the enemy was in possession of any equipment. A coast-watcher would be expected to have at least a radio. So when these searches failed, a direction-finding detachment from an American unit was brought up from Guadalcanal. One set was installed at Malsi, the other at Soanotalu. Within a few hours, a radio contact was made, not very clearly, but it was possible that an enemy radio set was at a certain point in the Soanotalu district. We had patrols there speedily but there was no indication whatsoever of enemy occupation. The DF (direction finding) set went back to work. On 16 May they reported a definite contact on the coast line south of Luana. Again we searched, again unsuccessfully. More contacts were made in the same area, the cross-bearings showing the position of the enemy transmitter to be a few hundred yards off-shore. The truth was realised; this was no coast-watcher; it was an enemy submarine. Just a few days, after we had left the Treasuries, the sub was sighted and sunk.
The end came quickly. American coloured troops suddenly arrived at Malsi, took over our positions and gave us an extraordinary concert of close harmony and strange patter. Packing had been done days before; much equipment had already been shipped back to New Caledonia. On 19 May, a convoy of barges pulled in to Malsi Mormachawk and were sailing out through the western entrance, bound of Noumea. After eight months in the Solomon Islands, we were glad to be heading towards home.
Convoys of trucks were awaiting us on the waterfront at Noumea when we arrived there on 23 May. It had been a calm and uneventful voyage, direct from the Treasuries, without passing within sight of land. Somewhere off Guadalcanal, our escort warship had left us and the remainder of the journey south had been on our own. Noumea represented civilisation again. We stared with open curiosity at the French girls that we passed in the street. They were the first white women we had seen in eight months.
Up the niaouli valleys of New Caledonia, past the airfields, now a mere shadow of their former importance, over the Moindou Pass, with its magnificent view, the convoys carried us almost to Bourail—100 miles from Noumea, turning off to deposit us in the base training depot (Btd) area, in the Tene Valley. Here again was the life that went according to pattern and plan—tents laid out in exact rows, bugles and whisles that blew, rivers in which we could wash, but only at fixed hours; and the mess-rooms, storehouses, canteens and recreation buildings looked solid and bare, not jostling for space with lush growth nor hidden beneath the leafiest trees for concealment from enemy planes. This, then, would do for a while, if only we could keep warm. But for the first week we couldn't.
Once up in the Solomons there had been a battalion debate on the subject 'That WAACs are good' and, midst violent controversy, the negative side (composed mostly of very old grade three men) won the day. But now even they changed their views. At the Bourail Club (in our Tene Valley camp) and at the Kiwi Club, (on the Bourail beach) we found New Zealand girls doing a grand job. In the hospitals there were others, we knew, but we did not come in contact with them so often. The club girls earned our respect and Btd. A New Zealand soldier in his full regalia of green jungle suit and jungle hat, both ill-fitting, and the grime of a sea voyage still on him certainly looks a tough customer.
The whole brigade fed from the one cook-house at Btd, involving huge fatigue parties for the battalion on duty, and mess queues that extended for 100 yards and more. Around the lines there was much necessary work to be done—draining and metalling the roads and paths, building wash-stands, clearing the banks of the rivers so as to provide suitable washing and bathing areas, and building up around the edges of the tents barricades of canvas to keep out the flying dust. It was announced that there would be no military training, save one weekly route march and one parade. The time before return to New Zealand would be spent in organised sport, recreation, leave trips, and entertainment. To this end much preliminary planning brought forth good results. Lecturers from New Zealand were on hand to give talks on a wide variety of subjects, both during the day, and in the evenings; a National Broadcasting Service concert party and repertory party gave many programmes to enthusiastic audiences; recitals by Mr. Henri Penn, the noted pianist, were heard; and sports committees planned out the use of the grounds so as to permit the greatest number of men to take part in all the available games. Leave parties were sent off to spend four days at the Kiwi Club, Bourail beach, where a man could enjoy a great holiday. Up to Houailou, on the east coast of New Caledonia, more groups were sent. And Noumea had its quota too. Towels and shoes seemed the popular thing to buy in Noumea but you had to know the right places, and great was the triumph of any man who discovered some new canteen of post exchange where one could buy a greater number of towels or shoes than anywhere else.
Another draft of men left the battalion on 20 June, bound for essential industry in New Zealand, and it was shortly followed by a special force, known as the army troops special draft, whose task was to dismantle disused camps. To this the battalion contributed 21 men. But, best of all, leave in New Zealand started to materialise, based on the policy that those with longest continuous service overseas btd on 3 July. The second and third leave drafts went home in July also. By the end of the month the battalion was left with only 17 officers and 80 other ranks—and of these over 60 were expecting to be called up for service in freezing works in New Zealand. Everyone had an idea that, after all furlough had been completed, the division would return to New Caledonia to re-organise, and few thought, as these drafts moved out of camp on their way home, that the many old faces were being seen for the last time. Part way through the month all doubts were set at rest for it was definitely stated that the division would not be returning, and all equipment was to be prepared for shipment back to New Zealand. For the men remaining there began the big job of cleaning, sorting and packing all the battalion's stores.
With a few men detached to join the brigade rear party, the remainder of the battalion left Tene Valley on 9 August. The last cup of tea had been drunk at the Bourail Club, the last surfing done at the beach, the final bottle of French wine disposed of, and we watched some poor local farmers picking over the huge junk heaps that had been formed in the final days of clearing up. In a staging camp on the outskirts of Noumea we tarried for several days, until 15 August saw the last of the 34th embark on their return to New Zealand. There was glorious sunshine and smooth water inside the reef, as we moved out from the docks. Outside, the seas were rough and the winds keen, and many a strong man was ill-disposed.
But Auckland, grey and sombre on this winter morning, looked beautiful as we came alongside. It was the 17 August. There was tea and cakes in the wharf sheds, a march through the streets, where the people welcomed us in their genuine but undemonstrative way, and in Papakura Camp we were impressed with the good organisation for sending men off to their homes with the minimum delay.
There is little to add now. While men of the earlier furlough drafts had completed their leave and were back in camp, those in the last draft travelled the country on their rail warrants, or sat at home and watched the papers for news of the future of the Third Division. The news came. The Prime Minister announced the fact
Back in the mobile-station camps, we found the identity of all units had now been lost. A soldier was simply infantry, or artillery, or medical. Men were sorted in their respective districts and sent away to the camp nearest their own homes. A small staff from each unit was assembled at Mangere Camp, near Auckland, for the purpose of returning the last of the unit equipment to ordnance. On the afternoon of 20 October 1944, at 5 pm, headquarters of the Third Division ceased to function. That moment also marked the end of the life of the 34th Battalion. There was no ceremony to ac company its passing, no handing-in of colours or of keys. It simply passed into history, leaving behind only the memory of its activities as recorded in books like these, and bequeathing to the men who served in it a spirit of which they all can be justly proud.
Every soldier will agree that any attempt to put down in words the story of how the men in a battalion filled in their leisure hours must give only a hazy and insufficient picture. It is easy to describe the concerts, the picture shows, community sings and organised trips. But for the men who served in the Pacific (perhaps more so for them than for those elsewhere in the world) entertainment in off-duty hours was largely of their own making. There would be the small group who sat in the evening air on the shore at Suvavou, Fiji, listening to a few happy Fijians chanting quietly down the road; or one of them might be on his back playing a mouth-organ while the others smoked and listened.
In Nausori, perhaps, one would pause while walking up the little street and marvel at the weird discords of an Indian gramophone record. The same man in Tongatabu might entertain his tent-mates for half-an-hour with tales of deer-stalking in the country back of Whakatane, and then they would sit and watch the fire-flies dancing lazily in the air. There would be the entertainment from the man who inevitably sang under the showers, or the professional joke-maker who repeated the latest 'shaggy-dog' stories, or gathered around him the little group of compatriots who derived their amusement from salacious anecdotes. A man chose his friends deliberately; for there were many months of weary tropical duty ahead, in which one relied on the company of these friends to fill in the long evenings.
So let us remember that the hours of mutual comradeship, the hours we spent simply sitting with our friends, enjoying their company, their speech, and their conduct, according to our respective tastes, provided the basis of our entertainment. A soldier learns to be satisfied with a little and to derive pleasure out of simple things. It has to be like that, for more often than not, he relies for his pleasure and entertainment simply on the company of his fellows.
In the early days in Fiji there were few facilities at Samambula for organised entertainment. Taxis, by the score, could rush a man into Suva for three shillings (the price varied) where he could choose between two picture theatres, a variety of kava saloons, or the less expensive habit of poring through the junk shops. In June 1941 the opening of the New Zealand Club, on the Suva waterfront, was a timely event, and it served as a welcome haven to thousands of troops from that time onward. The generous work of local residents in staffing the Club was deeply appreciated. Back in camp, there were a number of concerts organised—in the training battalion days, by Lieutenant J. Osborne, and later by small committees on which Padre Liggett was a leading light. The padre, incidentally, gave many a delightful hour at the piano in the Ymca, which, opening in B camp, was a popular meeting ground and recreation centre.
Companies frequently ran their own concerts. Particularly successful were ones at Ballantine's School, and the headquarter's company show at Samambula where Colonel Voelcker brought down the house with his song 'And What Did You Do In The Great War, Daddy?' The Samambula theatre showed its first film in January 1942. The programmes there were always popular, if not always up-to-date. Excursions away from camp to Levuka, Sawani School, Queen Victoria College, and visits to private homes in Suva, Nausori and the Tailevu district introduced us to the warm hospitality of the Fiji people, both European and native. The story of entertainment in Samambula days would not be complete without a reminder of those nights when, after lights out, the sweet strains of 'Toss' Brown's violin would be the last sounds drifting across the camp.
With the move out to Nausori we were largely cut off from the glittering attractions of Suva's theatres and milk bars, and so were the more obliged to produce our own entertainment. Companies formed separate committees, some of which operated most enthusiastically, organising card evenings, sing-songs, and sometimes wrestling tournaments, to fill in the hours. Outstanding, however, were the efforts of Second-Lieutenant Maxwell and Padre Liggett who turned their knowledge of the screen and the stage to good account by taking over the ramshackle Nausori picture theatre, and showing several films there every week. The pictures were not exactly direct from Hollywood and Elstree, and occasionally broke down, to the immense good-humoured derision of the audience. Before each show
Discussion groups and accountancy classes were formed, while several debates catered for the orators of the battalion, one interesting conclusion being that women are too pampered in these stern days of the 20th century. There was the series of talks in the Colonial Sugar Refining Company's library on 'My job after the war', where one could learn from fellow soldiers how to make a success of business (proved by Lieutenant Dearsley) and how to wield the school strap over (a) primary schoolchildren (Lieutenant Kirk) and (b) secondary schoolchildren (Captain Braithwaite). There was no Ymca or recreation centre at Nausori, so cafes and milk bars in the township enjoyed good custom before being placed out of bounds. Launch trips on the Rewa River, excursions to Levuka, and entertainment from private residents all played their part in providing men of the battalion with rest and relaxation.
The 34th witnessed the first performance of the newly-formed 8th Brigade concert party, which throughout the rest of the life of the brigade provided regular cheerful programmes of high order. The Baker Memorial Hall, in the mission area, Nausori, was the setting for this first show on 5 June, when several men of the battalion themselves performed as members of the concert party. A number of local residents were present in the audience on invitation from battalion headquarters. Lastly, to mention the divisional band though to say 'lastly' is to place it far from the position it held in our estimation. Always close attuned to the music that the troops liked to hear, the divisional band gave us many programmes of light classics, marches, extracts from opera and musical comedy, and the occasional swing. Certainly no other unit in all the Pacific Force enjoyed the same esteem and affection of the men, as did the Band.
On returning home, and before going overseas again, the battalion had little opportunity, or need, of arranging entertainment in Man urewa or Hilldene camps. They were desolate places, and cold. If one had no friends to visit in Auckland, then bed was the best place on those bitter evenings. Patriotic huts were erected in both 'camps, rather tardily, and were deservedly popular. These recreational institutions certainly do fill a prominent place in camp life
Concerts and pictures, hula-hulas, and cups of tea at the Ymca—probably this encompasses all the entertainment that was available in organised form while the battalion was serving in the Kingdom of Tonga. We came to know the open-air picture theatre, with the screen suspended from two palm trees, where we could sit on logs watching the fireflies until the film started. It often rained, and the films often broke. These were theatres erected by the Americans for their own men and we appreciated their consideration in allowing us the free use of them. It was another example of the happy relations that existed between the two forces on Tongatabu.
There were several battalion concerts, into which was thrown the organising zeal of Sergeant-Major G. A. Ross, Sergeant G. W. Melvin, Private S. J. Carroll and several other stalwarts. One followed the sports meeting on 31 December, and was combined with a dance on the grassy area at the back of Mua Camp. Companies also staged their own concerts, of which the most notable was at Kolonga late in January. Mr. Hugh Nees, our Ymca secretary, was a popular figure, presiding over his main marquee at Mua and his branch offices at the other areas, with much good humour and efficiency. He was largely responsible for introducing to the battalion the game of American basketball, which gained a big following.
Once back with the division, we were able to enjoy the facilities for entertainment that had been missed while in Tongatabu. The divisional band, for instance, paid us several visits, with excellent programmers, and once again the 8th Brigade concert party took the stage, putting on two fine shows at Bouloupari, despite the ravages of the mosquito which made every evening a torment. We had been sorry to leave Mr. Nees behind in Tongatabu. For a while then we were without a recreation centre of any kind. However Padre W. St. A. Osbourne-Brown made a small study room which served in some measure to improve things; and then, with the arrival of Mr. Pat Parker, the new Ymca secretary, and Padre J. D. Froud, a start was made on a substantial hut, in the remains of the old ration store. Companies had their own rooms also, staging card evenings, small concerts and entertainments for their own benefit. The honest game of 'housie' never lacked support, and most companies held regular housie evenings. One battalion concert was presented,
Save for the pictures, and one or two USO shows at nearby camps, there was no entertainment on Guadalcanal. We built a theatre in our own area, to which visitors from other camps would come, New Zealand and American, just as, when we were not showing pictures, we would walk or ride to their camps to see what was on there.
It was singular that in the Treasury Islands, far-flung little British outpost near the equator, we enjoyed more entertainment than at any previous time in our history. This was partly due to the vital necessity of combating the hardships of climate and environment, and the knowledge that we must go to more than usual lengths to amuse ourselves. Once again the staple form of entertainment was the film. At Malsi we carved out a theatre, with seating accommodation for upwards of 600, and with a stage large enough for visiting concert parties. Soanotalu and Luana did likewise, though on a smaller scale. Films were regularly shown at all places, at least once a week, and usually more often. There were two visits from the Kiwi concert party, that admirable combination of artists, and one show from the 8th Brigade party. Several American USO shows were also presented. For the delight of the swing fan, an American regimental band gave a few programmes, playing in the heat of the mid-day sun on the beach at Malsi. Somewhat in the same style was the unusual concert by American coloured troops who arrived to relieve us in the Treasuries, and gave us this entertainment as a farewell gesture.
Then the divisional band arrived to help in the benefit gala held in March 1944. They put on five different performances, all of which were keenly enjoyed. A typical evening was to listen to the band play for 45 minutes, then watch a film, and finish the day with supper at the Ymca or in the mess.. Pat Parker's Ymca was one of the biggest native-type buildings in the Treasury Islands. Built almost entirely of sago palm leaf, it took several weeks to construct, but the labour involved was worth it. Suppers, games, a library, writing tables—it had everything to warm the heart of the Ymca fortnightly. Featured item of its repertoire was the impressive Brains Trust, a gathering of learned men who claimed to know an answer to everything. Its horse racing expert ('Marty' for short) displayed a staggering knowledge of that deceptive pastime, and the other members of the trust were little behind him in other subjects. A debate conducted by the committee unfortunately proved beyond shadow of doubt that WAACs are not good (despite the earnest protestations of the Sergeants who had to argue that they were, as against the officers, who claimed to know better). Other interesting truths which the debates revealed were that Pacific islands are definitely beautiful, and that life would not be more interesting if the women of New Zealand dressed like the women of Mono.
Other evenings were devoted to inter-company talent tournaments, and to talks from some of our globe trotters, Captain H. F. Fookes discoursing on Japan, Captain W. M. Maxwell on the Baltic States, and Captain F. Bentley, (of the British Colonial Service) on the London blitz. And, as proof that people are not what they seem, Padre A. H. Lowden, who, as a chaplain, should not do these things, gave an exhibition of knife-throwing.
Good preparations had been made in New Caledonia for the entertainment of the men as they returned from the forward area. There were waiting for us pictures, concert parties, recreation huts and clubs. In the few weeks that we spent there in Tene Valley, we saw a number of programmes from the National Broadcasting Service concert party, which presented individual and concerted singing items of a high standard. There was Henri Penn to display his mastery of the piano in several recitals. Separate theatres were speedily built for the 8th and 14th Brigades, and a pretentious camp theatre, with a large stage, and a seating capacity of several thousand, was soon completed. Some programmes were presented by the divisional band, and much interest attached to the arrival of the Royal New Zealand Air Force Band from New Zealand, which gave drill displays on the sports ground, and a fine musical programme in
Sports enjoyed an unusual and enviable position in the 34th Battalion. This was brought about by the fact that on only rare occasions did the battalion possess in its ranks individual performers of outstanding ability. From the point of view of competition with other units, this was unfortunate, and it was seldom that we achieved pre-eminence in any particular field of sport. But this had the result of giving more men of lesser ability the chance of improving their games. There were no 'regular members' who, on account of their superior skill, were inevitably selected for the battalion or company teams. Accordingly there was kindled within the battalion a warmer competitive spirit, a feeling that every player had a chance in any sport we chose to adopt. Thus there developed a greater enthusiasm for platoon and company games, for matches just between ourselves—and, after all, perhaps this was the finest spirit to have.
There was much keen competition in the Training Battalion days. In December 1940 a Samambula Camp sports committee was formed with the following representing the battalion: Cricket, Sergeant L. W. Curtayne; Boxing, Private H. R. Broad foot; Swimming, Second-Lieutenant A. L. Fletcher; Athletics, Second-Lieutenant V. P. Boot; Secretary, Staff-Sergeant R. J. Crawford. They were an enthusiastic band, and competitions in all sports were soon organized. Cricket on Albert Park (that almost perfect ground) against the 7th Field Ambulance, the 29th Battalion, Suva police, the Artillery, and other army units, saw some excellent games. In the matches against the local residents (and particularly the natives) our men found the standard of cricket surprisingly high.
Captain Penne father arranged boxing tournaments within the battalion, himself offering one memorable night to take on all comers. With Empire Games runner Second-Lieutenant Pat Boot in the battalion, we had cause for optimism in the brigade athletic
With the coming of the Reserve Battalion, cricket, tennis and swimming gave way to rugby and soccer. Rugby casualties were heavy, owing to the prolonged drought in June, and games were about to be curtailed when the rains came again and softened the grounds. Throughout the season regular inter-unit matches continued. Soccer and hockey enjoyed a lesser popularity, but those who turned out were most enthusiastic. Hockey players found that the level carpet of Albert Park gave them full opportunities for the most intricate and elaborate stick-work, after the Indian fashion (but not, usually, with so much success). Samambula, however, was not well situated for sporting facilities. To take part in any game, men had to travel to Suva by truck—of which there were not many to spare. Some found the nearby Suva golf links a handy place on which to work off surplus feelings; others, more ambitious, arranged yachting trips on Suva Harbour, and beyond. With the coming of 1942, when companies were detached to sectors, organised games became more difficult still. Cricket came into season again, matches being played in Suva and on the ground at Queen Victoria College.
With companies more closely assembled at Nausori, sport within the battalion took fresh lease of life. Rugby was played and followed, with great enthusiasm. The season opened on 7 April 1942, and from then on until the battalion's departure for New Zealand in July, every Wednesday and Saturday saw the field near the sugar company's factory milling to the efforts of our football huskies. On days when the battalion representative team was playing a unit from outside, spectators, soldier and civilian, crowded the side-lines. Amongst the men there was equally as much ardour in support of the company matches, which were contested with much rivalry. Up to the time we left Fiji the battalion team was placed level with the 29th Battalion in the rugby competition. Soccer and hockey both came
Albert Park, Suva remained the mecca for hockey players, and our team did not suffer a single defeat during the season. The rein' forcements who had arrived in December 1941 brought some good new blood into the team. Our track athletes did well too. There was a large-scale brigade athletic tournament in April, in which the native Fijians excelled in almost every event. However, of the New Zealand units we led the way, finishing fourth, with only the native units ahead of us in points. Tennis on the sugar company's courts, and golf on the Nausori links, filled in the recreation afternoons for many others.
Before embarking for Tongatabu the battalion had played a few games of football and hockey when camped at Manurewa and Hilldene. On arrival at this new island home efforts to obtain grounds for all games were very successful, so that, with the co-operation of the Americans, players of all sports were well accommodated. The beautiful sports grounds of Tubou College were used for tennis and inter-company cricket. It was a splendid ground, and company matches became very keen. The Americans were most intrigued with this odd game called cricket, and even put in a team against us to try it out. In turn, they awakened our interest in soft-ball and basketball. At the outposts, Manuka and Kolonga, softball became the most popular pastime, but in Mua, American basketball, introduced by Mr. Hugh Nees, held undisputed sway. There were regular tournaments, and a permanent ladder.
Definite features of our life in Tongatabu were the several sports carnivals held in Mua and Kolonga. Able energetic committees organised horse racing, bicycle races, athletic events, basketball tournaments; alongside the track a total isator operated; a makeshift band blared away happily without too much regard for the niceties of form and counterpoint in its music. Hugh Nees dispensed tea and biscuits to all and sundry; and soft-tongued salesmen persuaded one to buy tickets in the sweepstakes, for which 100 dollars was the usual first prize. Followed often by a dance or a concert these proceedings certainly added a touch of zest and good entertainment to an otherwise dull existence. They became popular all over the island,
A wide programme of sports helped to improve our months of training in New Caledonia. Grounds were not difficult to obtain, and soon after our arrival, a variety of games were in full swing. A battalion sports committee, under the chairmanship of Major Braithwaite, coordinated all sport. It was after the return to Bouloupari from the first tour of duty on sectors that an unprecedented wave of enthusiasm for rugby began to sweep the battalion. It started with the formation of a team called—for no apparent reason—the 'Barbarians', including cooks, clerks, and administrative people not usually associated with the game. The spectacle of rotund stroppers (assistant cooks), pale-faced indoor workers and hard pressed administrative officers taking the field against the might of Lieutenant Wynyard and other huskies of the battalion XV was too good to miss, and good-humoured crowds applauded the 'Barbarians' in all their matches. Before long the RAP, the signals, and the mortars were fielding teams, and the other platoons followed suit. Back on the field went many veterans who had thought their playing days over. Inter-company competitions saw sometimes three teams from each company engaged in combat on Wednesdays and Saturdays, while on most Sundays scratch games kept the ground in constant use.
Two rugby grounds were constructed out of Niaouli flats to the south of the camp, one being named the 'Logan Memorial Field' as a tribute to a popular officer and keen sportsman, though the word memorial may give the erroneous impression that he was no longer with the battalion. Coaching and selecting the battalion XV was the medical officer, Captain Fookes, with wide experience of pro
It was in swimming that the dark horses of the battalion came into the limelight. With a brigade tournament scheduled for 9 July 1943, a number of men were put into training at Saramea, and though their efforts on the day did not win for us the first position, they showed that in Private J. Cameron we possessed the brigade's finest swimmer and that we had quite a galaxy of acquatic experts. We finished second to the 36th Battalion. However, in proof of our military superiority, our two teams finished first and second in the assault boat race. Postponed once on account of rain a brigade boxing tournament held on 15 July saw our Private G. W. Hanson take the light-weight title, as well as winning the award for the most scientific boxer. We did not shine in the athletic tournament held on the sports ground at Ouenghi on Anzac Day. The 36th Battalion had a very consistent team, and won the day, though our tug-of-war team took the honours in that event. Later, at a divisional sports meeting, it represented the 8th Brigade, reached the final, but was then out-pulled by a wily Army Service Corps combination. Cricket, basketball, Softball—each had its devotees. It was when companies were out on the sectors that the greatest opportunities existed for playing games, and rarely would an afternoon pass when some men would not be seen out in the clearings in the niaouli, kicking, throwing, or hitting a ball around. At Saramea and Thio many would be in the rivers swimming.
Once the battalion had settled in to its camp on Mono Island, in the Treasuries, sports committees began to function again. With the jungle pressing hard around on all sides and in the extreme heat, football, cricket and hockey were not to be considered. There would be room for basketball, however, and, for acquatic sports, the sea was right at our door. In the jungle, for the taking, were miles of
Water-polo was another favourite, and many a man who had previously contented himself with a leisurely breast-stroke up and down the baths now ducked and kicked with all the venom of an accomplished water-polo player. An inter-company tournament during the Christmas sports carnival saw C company win from headquarters. In February, units from other parts of the island sent teams to Malsi, but our own battalion team won decisively, without a goal being scored against it.
The sports carnival at Christmas was a mixture of swimming, water-polo, canoe-racing, basketball, wood-chops, and cross-country running, extending over four days. Features of the activities were the renowned cross-country race from Soanotalu to Malsi, when an unfortunate Japanese strayed in to the path of the runners; the intercompany swimming relay race, with 25 men a side; and the private swimming contest between Major Brooks and Captain McMillan, where foul and unworthy tactics prolonged the race to such an extent that neither could eventually pass the winning post. Swimming sports at Falamai, in April, saw the Americans to the fore, but our team did well, Private J. Cameron again being the mainstay, with excellent support from the others.
Lovers of the white wings turned their energy to the building of yachts, and ere long a fleet of sailing craft was in the water. During the benefit gala, yacht races were quite a feature of the events, and the battalion's best yachts also took part in brigade yachting races Hornet they valiantly chased the faster five-man canoe coxed by Private R. E. Rawle of headquarters company. But the queer behaviour of Hornet's skipper soon attracted the attention of the spectators on shore. He was not paddling but, with head bent low, was baling out the ship in haste and despair. In the home straight Hornet still lay second, but every moment sank lower and lower in the water. Finally, but 20 yards from the line, with every member of the crew still sitting nobly to his post, Hornet subsided beneath the waters. Apart from wood-chopping, the main sports on shore were basketball and volleyball. Both had staunch supporters. Island tournaments were organised, with both American and New Zealand teams competing, and the battalion teams had several wins before the first manpower draft upset all sports fixtures. Company basketball competitions proved popular, the Malsi championship going to D company after a stirring match with the officers, with the score 21-19.
It was the announced policy, when the brigade returned to New Caledonia, that little military training would be done, but that sport and entertainment would be highly organised, to fill in the weeks before furlough in New Zealand was arranged. Accordingly the battalion had representatives on the brigade sports committees, which allocated grounds and fixed hours of play. The grounds in Tene Valley were thus in use every day, cricket, football, hockey and basketball all jostling for space. On the rugby field, company games were instituted, to test out the form of the players, and these continued throughout June. Then, on 1 July, the battalion XV played the 29th Battalion, and in a great match won 7-5. There were scenes of enthusiasm that afternoon and evening, for many a moon had passed since the 29th had suffered a defeat at our hands. With the departure of the various leave drafts, teams in all sports were obliged to combine. Gradually, as fewer men remained and the work of packing stores increased, opportunities for play grew less.
There was a strong soccer competition, and as far as it went, our side was in the lead, with four wins and one loss. The hockey players
The following were recipients of awards arising out of the battalion's operations on the Treasury Islands:—
American Legion of Merit: (Degree of Officer):
Major Gordon White Logan, commanded a detachment which landed on Soanotalu on the northern coast of Mono Island and was responsible for the defence of the radars established there. His small garrison was very hotly attacked by a considerable Japanese force on the night of 1-2 November, 1943. A very large number of Japanese were killed and the position was held, thereby ensuring the continued functioning of the radar installations and a very valuable warning device which was of benefit to the whole island force was kept in operation.
Military Medal:
Private J. E. Smith. The citation reads: Tor. gallant conduct during a determined enemy attack at Soanotalu at 2 November, 1943. Private Smith was with a party of ten including one officer and one staff-sergeant who defended the small beach at Soanotalu. The defenders were considerably outnumberd. When the officer and staff-sergeant had been mortally wounded and the situation was at its worst, Private Smith took command and, by his resolute actions and calmness, kept the defence intact, finally, after five hours fighting, completely annihilating that portion of the enemy force which had penetrated to the beach.'
Mention in Dispatches:
Major G. W. Logan; Lieutenant (Temporary Captain) L. J. Kirk; Corporal D. J. Flynn; Private C. H. Shersan.
At Sandhurst when war broke out in 1914, Colonel Voelcker joined the King's Shropshire Light Infantry at the age of 18. He went to France as a lieutenant, won the Military Cross, and was severely wounded by enemy bayonets and was captured. While posted as 'dead' by the British authorities, he made three unsuccessful attempts to escape, on one occasion reaching the coast of the Baltic. Remaining in the British Army after the war, Colonel Voelcker served in Aden, Ireland and India before retiring to civil life in New Zealand in 1928. In 1940 he was appointed second-in-command of the newly-formed 30th Battalion, B Force, but was transferred to the command of the infantry reinforcements before leaving New Zealand. On arrival in Fiji these were formed into the Training Battalion, later re-named Reserve Battalion, and finally 34th Battalion. Colonel Voelcker relinquished command of the 34th in June 1942. Subsequently he commanded a battalion of the Fiji Military Forces, which saw service in the Solomons. He was decorated with the OBE and Dso in 1944.
Colonel Clachan joined the New Zealand Staff Corps in December 1920 with the rank of lieutenant, after graduating from the Royal Military College at Duntroon. For the next five years he was area officer at Napier and Masterton, until in 1926 he went to India as an officer attached to a battalion of the Wiltshire Regiment. Returning to New Zealand after two years, Colonel Clachan became area officer at Hamilton, with several appointments as adjutant to Territorial regiments. He served on the staff of Duntroon Military College for over two years, until December 1941, when he was withdrawn for special duties at Army Headquarters, Wellington. In June 1942 he took over command of the 34th Battalion for a period of two months. Subsequent appointments were as Instructor at the New Zealand Tactical School, Wanganui, and as GSO for the Central Military District.
Colonel Eyre was seconded to the New Zealand Permanent Staff in the early days of the last war, but proceeded overseas with the Expeditionary Force in 1917, where he saw active service with both infantry and artillery and gained a commission. After the war he rejoined the Royal New Zealand Artillery, relinquishing his Expeditionary Force commission, and served at various stations in New Zealand until 1928. He was then commissioned in the New Zealand Staff Corps and appointed area officer at Nelson, with attached appointments as adjutant to several territorial regiments. After commanding the Southern District School of Instruction, Colonel Eyre was posted to Fiji in 1941 as brigade major of 8th Brigade, during which time he acted as the military representative of the Governor's Civil Defence Council. On return of the division to New Zealand he assumed command of the 34th Battalion in August 1942, retaining that appointment during the battalion's service in Tongatabu, New Caledonia, and the Solomons. He relinquished command in December 1943, and returned to New Zealand where he became Commandant of Burnham Military Camp.
After holding a commission in a territorial regiment prior to the war, Colonel Reidy took a short-service commission in the New Zealand Staff Corps in 1939, with the rank of captain. He held various appointments in New Zealand, including commandant of the Central District School of Instruction, adjutant of Trentham Mobilisation Camp, commandant of Dannevirke Military Camp, A and Q Army Reserve Field Force, and Staff Officer (Movements) at Army Headquarters. On Japan's entry into the war, Colonel Reidy was sent to Fiji as brigade major of 14th Brigade, and later as second-in-command of 37th Battalion. Returning to New Zealand, he became brigade major of the Brigade. In New Caledonia, he commanded the 1st Ruahine Battalion and the 29th Battalion for periods, before ultimately becoming second-in-command of 34th Battalion in May 1943. On 1 December 1943 he assumed command of 34th Battalion, and held that appointment until the final dissolution of the division.
I. 22 July, 1942
'Fiji wasn't half bad, really,' mused Private Hippie, as he sat at the mess table on board the President Coolidge with his friend Private Wims-Turner J. B. Wims-Turner had a smaller brother, K. J. who was on guard at No. 7 hatch this morning, from 10 to 12.
'These places are never so crook when you're leaving them,' replied J. B. 'You forget the dirt they sling at you. Anyway I'm bloody glad to be on my way back to old NZ. The serg. reckons he heard we will get in about 2 o'clock tomorrow.'
Lance Corporal Thynne thought that this being on permanent fatigue in the galley for the whole voyage was a bit thick, even though you got three meals a day. He sat down with the other two. T guess we've just about finished up for this morning,' he said.
Sergeant-Major Boulder, who was in charge of fatigues, passed them and told them to put out the cigarettes, as you couldn't smoke in the mess hall, at least until after the orderly officer had been around. So they told him that he had been around, half an hour ago, at which Sergeant-Major Boulder accepted a cigarette from J. B., sat down carefully, and wondered what it was costing the New Zealand Government to send us back on this luxury ship.
'Well, anyway, they didn't spend much on us when we were there', said Private Hippie darkly.
'I dunno,' said Boulder. 'Do you know what Samambula camp cost?' He looked around, making sure no one would interrupt him. 'B camp, Samambula, cost £25,332,' he announced. He added that he had seen this figure when he had been in the engineers, and it was gospel. Private Wims-Turner thought he must be wrong, because he had been told by a chap who worked in the government that it was over £50,000.
'Ah,' interjected Boulder. 'That was the cost of A camp. To be exact, it was £53,737.'
Lance-Corporal Thynne said that, as the sergeant-major was so good at figures, they ought to have had him in the Thrift Club. 'What's that?' asked Boulder.
'Well,' said Thynne, 'a few of the jokers in the transport used to run it, back in the Reserve. They used to buy soft drinks and stuff in Suva and sell it in the hut. Off the ice, too. Out of the profits they'd shout themselves trips to Navua and Levuka when they couldn't get weekends off.'
'There ought to have been a camp laundry,' remarked Hippie, apropos of nothing, and turning to Wims-Turner J. B. for support. 'Old Kanje did a good enough job but it ran a joker into money after a while.'
Sergeant-major observed that if Hippie hadn't spent so much money at the wet canteen and on binges in Suva, he could have afforded to have had his laundry done by Kanje. Kanje was a good scout, half the chaps didn't pay him. He was almost as well known as Satan. Private Wims-Turner said that he had never seen Satan at her best, for which he was sorry. Had Hippie ever seen her? Hippie reckoned he hadn't, but Lance-corporal Thynne had, one day, near Tamavua village. She had marched along the road with the whole platoon for about half a mile, till the next ten-minute halt; and then the officer said she would have to clear out as they were near Force Headquarters.
'Now I'll tell you who was a corking girl, one of the best, and a good looker, too,' said the sergeant-major. 'And that was the 4 o'clock girl at Nausori. Wow, what a figure!'
One of them said that his brightest memory of Fiji was of the moon rising over the Rewa river, viewed from old D support, just above the bridge. Only the mossies were a bit crook most times when there was a full moon. Apart from the ruddy mossies, Fiji was a beautiful country.
'Stow it', said Private Hippie, who had had two lots of Cb in the last month. 'What about the old boy who reckoned we ought to go for walks in the bush over the week-end, to get to know the country.' (This last phrase with much sarcasm.)
'That's nothing,' Boulder answered, leaning forward confidentially. 'Did you ever hear of the time he inspected the company with his
Lance-corporal Thynne told the tale of the Yank who had been lost up in the bush, after baling out from a plane. It seemed a bit of a gafu, the way they searched for him. First they sent out one company, then another, then the carriers tried it, and broke two tracks; finally Major Logan met him in the bush at a point where he wasn't expected to be found at all.'
'Why do they reckon you can't call them 'Yanks'?' asked J. B. Wims-Turner, who had cut himself a slice of bread and honey. 'Do you remember that routine order that came out, when we were in Nausori, saying that the Yanks objected to being called Yanks, and that if we did it might cause bad feeling?'
Sergeant-major Boulder remarked that there was a special reason for it, that he'd heard about, and that it had something to do with the Yanks not wanting to take over the island until we had put the defences in order. That's why we had had to work so hard over the last few weeks.
'They reckoned we were nuts, that morning during the Battle of Nandi, when we went tearing past them up near the hospital,' said J. B.
'They were damned right, too', observed the lance-corporal, who had been carrying part of a vickers that morning. 'But we used to have a bit of fun on those alarms, you know. What about the time when we were in that village—I've forgotten its name now—and old Tubby got in a hurt, and when he thought he heard the 2 i/c coming in the door, he tore out straight through the wall, making a hole in it as big as you would expect Tubby to make.'
Boulder looked serious. 'You know,' he said, 'I used to think old Voelcky was pretty right, when he reckoned we might be living the last few weeks of our lives, some of us. We were bloody lucky the Japs didn't come about Christmas time.'
'Wernham was the one to scare hell out of you, though,' said Hippie. 'Cripes, I remember the first day he took over the company, he lined us up, put on a frown and said something about his name being Wernham, and that he was tough, and that when the balloon went up.…'
'You couldn't beat old Pop Toon for making speeches,' interrupted Wims-Turner J. B. 'He used to pour it on thick. What about his "hatchet-faced sun-kissed Anzacs" that he brought out one day?'
They all agreed that it was funny the mannerisms most of the officers had. Who was it used to say: "Is that not so now?"—oh yes, Lieutenant Dawson. Not a bad bunch the officers, though there' were a few greasy ones. The officers were certainly having a pretty good time on the Coolidge, with that lounge, and the nurses. Still; they supposed, they didn't arrange it that way for themselves, and if the sergeant-major and J. B. and a few others of them had had the arranging to do, it wouldn't have been any different. The meal's were good, weren't they, but this two meals a day racket was a bit tough, except for the fatigues.
Thynne said that when he was working on the vickers pits near the cemetery, he used to see the prisoners picking up the food scraps that the gunners had left over from their lunch. Miserable looking crowd. Reminded him of the first M & V that was issued. Old Owen Hannafin was never so popular as the morning he turned on M & V instead of Mother McGoo.
'Talking of popularity,' J. B. Wims-Turner remarked, T bet we aren't too popular over those three cheers at Suva wharf.'
'Well, what the hell did they expect' asked Hippie. 'We didn't know the old boy'.
'Shut up, here's someone coming,' Boulder called suddenly.
The orderly officer came in, along with the ship's executive officer, and they both wanted to know why Lance-corporal Thynne was smoking in the mess hall before inspection. Sergeant-major Boulder explained that he had just asked Thynne the same question himself.'
II. 21 September 1943
The major had just said that it would be a good idea if they stayed near their fox-holes, for he hadn't heard any bombs dropped over towards Henderson Field (though we had) and that the bombers might jettison their loads on their way back, perhaps over our camp. It was about half an hour since the siren went. The sergeant-major put on some more mosquito repellant, and then called out loudly: 'Everyone got their repellant on?' As there was no reply he tried to light a cigarette. Corporal Denvers, of another company, shouted to him to put that light out, so Sergeant-major Boulder decided go and see how company headquarters were doing. They were sitting on the edge of their fox-holes, watching the searclv lights down near the airfield. You could hear the bombers buzzing
Private Wims-Turner J. B. (whose brother K. J. was on a working party down at the ammo, dump) thought that he must be going a bit yellow now, with the atebrin he had taken since they left Cally. He worked it out at about 20 tablets. Hippie, who had been a lance-corporal for a while until he reverted, on the suggestion of the CO, disagreed, and pointed out that it was only when they boarded the President Hayes in Noumea that they started taking atebrin, and then only half a tablet a day. However, Wims-Turner declared he must be twice as yellow as anyone else, for he had thought it was a whole tablet a day, and he had got his supplies straight from the Q.
The batman wondered if 3 Div jokers were still debarred from travelling on the trains in New Zealand. 'It was a fact,' he said. 'It was definitely in orders that we couldn't. The sergeant-major asserted that there must have been a reason for it. Private Hippie darkly pointed out that when they wanted to get us out of the country, they found trains soon enough.
Boulder thought that the less said the better about that train journey to Wellington before going to Tonga. 'I daresay Hilldene will never see a more impressive parade, ha ha'. Hippie, who had reverted as a result of getting drunk that day in Papakura, reckoned that fully 50 per cent of the battalion didn't know whether they were coming or going. 'What about headquarters company?' he asked. 'Old Phil was swaying in the breeze, if anyone was.' The sergeant-major denied this.
With a soft whistle, a piece of flak came out of the sky and dropped a few yards away. The batman clamped his hand over his tin hat and looked up to see if there was any more. Guns were firing a few miles away. 'Be funny if they dropped bombs on their own jokers. They say there are several hundred still back in the bush', observed Thynne. 'Two got into an American camp the other night, and pinched some rations, so I was told.'
'Can't go to sleep on piquet here,' remarked the sergeant-major. 'Not like Tonga. If you knew the stir up they got down at Kolonga and Manuka when the American big-wig found the lads asleep on the posts; there was one hell of a shindy.' The batman considered that the lads were not much asleep when they mounted the guard
'But, you know,' insisted Thynne, 'a Jap could easily get into this camp. There's nothing to stop him, and he could keep a watch out for the piquet. I heard that in Cally two Japs were found one day in a Yank chow-line, queueing up for mess. And what about the one at Thio?'
The batman explained that he had heard the adj. say that another spy had been seen down near Bourake; brigade sent down a few men to round him up, and it turned out to be a chap from one of our artillery batteries. The French were excitable people. 'Wish I'd learnt French,' said Wims-Turner. 'Gerry Melvin and a few of them who took it up after they arrived in Cally were getting on pretty well when we left. A fellow might have had a chance with that sheila up at the mines.'
Boulder reminded J. B. Wims-Turner that he had got into enough difficulties in Tonga, what with hula-hulas and the invitation to the wedding at Fua-amotu. J. B. retorted that, anyway, little Morning Star was about the best dancer he had ever danced with (and so she was, added Thynne) and much the same could be said for Maria, Medium Slink and a few others. Just because a fellow said 'maloelele' to a native girl, he shouldn't be criticised for attempting to be friendly with the local people.
Private Hippie raised an eyebrow and asked: 'Why didn't any of the locals come to the ball in Bouloupari? Answer me that. What I reckon is that some of the officers stopped it; some who were over at Thio, and couldn't be there.' The batman didn't think so, for every officer he heard talking, (and he heard most) was in favour of the ball, but they were leaving it to the committee in Bouloupari to fix up. The lance-corporal suggested that either the officers, or possibly base headquarters, were responsible.
In the dark, you couldn't quite see how the sergeant-major was looking, but it is thought that he looked stern, and deep. He remarked, quietly—'There was more to it than meets the eye'. J. B. Wims-Turner wittily replied that there were certainly no girls there to meet the eye. He had known of at least three girls from Tomo who were supposed to be coming. Private Hippie changed the subject by saying that he once went for a day's leave on the Tomo boat, but as the mechanic couldn't get it to go, he hitch-hiked to Noumea
A long searchlight wavered across the sky straight above the camp. Coconut trees were picturesquely silhouetted against the dark background, which prompted Boulder to remark that there were more than two million coconut trees in Tonga, and more were growing every year. They agreed that Boulder was always good on figures. So Boulder tried again to light a cigarette, at which Corporal Denvers shouted out to that man to put the light out, or he would have him matted. And there looked as if there might be quite a decent row on the subject, when the sirens all over the place let out their wails; everyone heaved himself to his feet and set off back to bed. For no apparent reason, the major was going around the lines calling out, 'All clear', to each platoon.
III 1 July 1944
There was a smaller crowd than usual in the Bourail Club. At their favourite table in the corner sat Seregant-major Boulder and his friend Sergeant Hippie, who had recently been promoted. Boulder remarked that, on looking through his diary, he found that at the Christmas gala up at Malsi, in the Treasuries, the tote had put through over 5,600 dollars, and that investments in the art union had been so high that there was no less than 1,000 dollars in prize money. Hippie said that Boulder ought to have been an accountant, he was so good at figures. At this moment in came Lance-corporal Thynne, along with the batman, and Private Wims-Turner J. B. (whose brother K. J. was on piquet at the Kiwi Club). They brought up an extra chair and settled down to their tea and cakes.
The sergeant-major went on to say that to be good at figures you had to have an orderly mind, and not fritter away your time on rubbishy books, or French wine, like Wims-Turner did. Now he (the sergeant-major) made a point of keeping in orderly fashion all facts which might prove of benefit or interest to himself and to others in the course of conversation. Thynne suggested that it would be better if he kept the fatigue roster a bit better, and didn't worry so much about the interesting facts. Wims-Tumer pointed out that that it was he, not K. J., who had been promised the job of piquet at the Kiwi Club, and that for the sergeant-major to have forgotten that did not indicate that he had an orderly mind.
Boulder reminded him that he and Hippie had just come in for a peaceful cup of tea, and that it wouldn't do to have an argument here in front of the WAACs. So when, a few minutes later, the batman wanted to know who in the 34th killed the first Jap, Boulder smiled condescendingly on him, and stated that it was Corporal Johnston, of D company, and that it happened at Soanotalu on 27 October 1943. 'I have here, also,' he added, 'the total New Zealand casualties for the Treasury operation, which I will now read. We lost 40 killed, and had 140 wounded.' Thynne told them of the Jap who offered to surrender, came forward with his hands in the air, and then dropped a grenade at the feet of his captors. He was promptly shot.
A Waac came to clear the table, wearing boots, whereupon Hippie said that at one time in the Treasuries there were only 80 pairs of boots between 120 men, and some men had to stay in bed all day, and take their turn to wear the boots tomorrow. The batman remarked that he always seemed to have plenty of officers' boots to polish. Boulder tartly replied that he ought to be lucky having so little to do, compared with men on fatigues. J. B. Wims-Turner interpolated to say that it wasn't very hard work on piquet at the Kiwi Club, and that it was he, not K. J. who … yes, if Thynne would get it, he'd have more tea.
'Who was the first to land on the Treasuries?' asked Hippie, who had been silent a while over a rock cake.
'Cowan's patrol, of course,' said Thynne, who knew this one.
The sergeant-major paused. 'Strictly speaking,' he said 'yes—it was Cowan's. But taking the main assaulting force, the first New Zealand troops were the 34th Battalion.'
'What about the 29th and 36th at Falamai?' asked the WAAC who had came back and had obviously been listening to propaganda from other units.
'Pish, tush and nonsense', replied Boulder. T have it recorded (and he fished out again his book of interesting facts) that they landed at Falamai at precisely 6.26 am whereas the 34th hit Purple 2 and 3 beaches at 6.25 am—one minute ahead.'
'Therefore,' added Hippie, 'we were fighting the battle for the Treasuries entirely unsupported, for exactly one minute.'
'Precisely,' replied the sergeant-major. 'Nor did we have any of the naval supporting fire, of which no fewer than 1,000 rounds were authorised to be expended in the official operation orders.'
The Waac, visibly impressed, backed away to confer with the cashier.
'Did you ever hear about that joker at Soanotalu who stood up to catch a bomb that he saw coming towards him?' asked Lance' corporal Thynne. The batman had, and he reckoned the attempt to catch it saved the man's life for it hit his hands, causing it to fall on its side, harmlessly. If it had landed on its nose, it would have exploded.
The story reminded Sergeant Hippie of the morning at Malsi, when the American Cb had a scuffle with a Jap. The other Yanks were awakened by the shouting and, not knowing what was cooking, fired their carbines furiously into the air. This added to the terrifying noise of battle.
Then they talked all together about the Solomon Island natives, and they agreed that they were a very fine people. Men like Wickham, Ilala, Kopane, even old Soreleggie—what a help they had been. Hippie said he met that chap Luoni, of the RNZAF, whom the natives had been looking after for three weeks on the Treasuries before we landed, and who walked into Soanotalu the first day.
'Did you know,' asked Boulder, 'that we gave 51 dollars to the natives out of the profits of our Christmas gala. Captain Bentley the district commissioner, who messed at battalion headquarters, took it on trust on their behalf, to expend for their benefit. I've got that here opposite the duty roster for the OP at Lua Point.'
The batman reckoned he lost 30 dollars at the Christmas race meeting. Hippie, who had had a lot to do with running it, said he had lost more than that in sweat.
So they all went out to watch the second half of the football match against the 29th, and after that Private Wims-Turner J. B. managed to get a ride to the Kiwi Club to see his brother K. J. who was on piquet down there. However, K. J. had gone to Noumea for the day to buy shoes.
The day when…….
…Major H. A. Wernham began a school for officers at Samambula, and later a class in physical training at Mua, for subalterns only.
…Two 'big-bunger' crackers were set off in proximity (very close proximity) to Second-Lieutenant A. G. Steele, who was in a state of partial nudity in a chair at Bilo.
…Second-Lieutenant N. M. Cotching, who had complained that he never got to know the real Fijian, was invited to spend the weekend at a native village. Arriving by boat, he leapt ashore, and to the first Fijian he espied let out a very hearty and boisterous 'BULA!'. The Fijian, taken aback somewhat, replied, in the best accent that he had learnt at Oxford—'How nice of you to come.'
…Second-Lieutenant A. Alison, in a state of exasperation at trying to piece together a Browning gun at the airfield, Nausori, turned to an innocent looking two-pipper by his side and frankly told him that he didn't know a damned thing about the gun, and what he thought about it was worse. Repercussions were swift and sure when the innocent two-pipper turned out to be a lieutenant-colonel responsible for airdrome defence all over Fiji.
…Lieutenant E. Procter first learnt to sound bugle calls on the conch shell he picked up at Niutoua.
…The doc, the adj, and Sergeant Tom Thornburrow acted as undertakers at the death of the Mayor of Bouloupari.
…Captain P. H. Brooks and Captain D. B. Cameron, being distressed over the fact that neither had as yet shot at a Jap, let alone even seen one, set out for a walk one evening in the jungle near Luana, in the Treasuries, saw two Japs, and shot one each.
…With the Japs pressing hard around Soanotalu, Lieutenant I. McG. Logan dcided to take a stroll in the evening air, and returned later to tell his sergeant that he was sure there were Japs about, for several had run away from him, and that he would have had a shot at them, if he hadn't forgotten to take his pistol with him.
…Two hundred and seventeen officers of the division, accustomed to travelling in the comparative comfort of cabins, returned to New Zealand on the Torrens jam-packed into the for'ard hold, and still said they liked it.
Whether it was the climate, or the people, or the work we did, or just south sea island magic, we cannot tell; but it is a fact that in Fiji song-writers gave full vent to their romantic yearnings and committed to paper and to history a number of compositions which enjoyed unending popularity with men who served in the 'Cannibal Islands'. Taken by and large, however, none surpassed in popularity the famous song Isa Lei, orginally written in Fiji for the Fijian people to sing.
Other songs, not peculiar to Fiji, which had their supporters were The Ball of Baltimore, Bless 'em All, Salome, Maori Battalion and You are ray Sunshine. But we remember more particularly those compositions which were written in Fiji by soldiers; with a definite local flavour about most of them; for instance that famous ditty dealing with Suva's bad girls—Standing Alone. It could be sung with enormous pathos and sentiment. Here is it's chorus:—
Then there was The Momi Bay Hotel and For the duration in lovely Fiji, both very pathetic ballads; and, of course, the magnificent troop-ship song, Side, side Monowai's side. The bawdiest of all—despite keen rivalry from The Bali of Baltimore and Salome, was In the street of a thousand … It was unprintable.
Here is Defending the CSR sung to the tune of A wee doch and doris. The sentiments expressed were those of the composer, and not necessarily everyone else, for the CSR (Colonial Sugar Refining Company Ltd) did a great deal for the troops in Fiji toward their comfort and welfare.
So while this war is raging
Finally, what might be called a tabloid history of Fiji is told in The Army in Fiji—the best known song of them all, swung to the hill-billy tune of The Martins and McCoys. Here it is:—
As told to a special reporter of Spam on 25 December 1943
After the fall of Singapore and consequent Japanese encroachment to the east, it was evident that soon Fiji would be attacked. As weeks went by what was a possibility or a probability became a certainty, so that when news was finally received that Nandi was being bombed, it was received calmly and there were few visible signs of panic, it being night time. Before chronicling the splendid defence of the island, and the subsequent annihilation of the enemy, let us review the history of the battalion and see the reasons for our magnificent fight. First the battalion had had intensive training in jungle warfare, particularly route-marching, rifle drill, and digging and filling holes. Their commanders were men of experience and could erect double apron fences excellently. The troop's rations were chosen for the climate and the fighting fitness of these sunkissed, hatchet-faced Anzacs were everywhere apparent.
When the enemy attacked during the night of March 1942 a deadly fight was waged. Landings were made from Nauva to Mbau and the Japanese held the initial advantage of having a knowledge of what they were doing. At one spot they advanced through Lami to Chinaman's ridge, where of course they were perfectly at home and were dislodged from this stronghold only by an intrepid band who worked themselves into a frenzy with the juice of the malua vine and ousted them with a bayonet charge of several miles. At Suvavou a grand show was put up. One of the posts there actually had a field of fire and scores of the enemy were put out of action. Enemy grenades finally annihilated this post, it having no cover. Still, one can't have everything. One platoon in the early stages made a splendid job of defending the tomb of Isaac Roderigo Fernandez in the cemetery. This covered the approaches to the lunatic asylum, where battalion headquarters were set up. As with this platoon, the battle became split up into isolated fights between small groups and-those able to lose touch with their companies fought brilliantly.
Passchendale was re-enacted in the swamps of Vatawangga. There the enemy in his headlong rushes was forever tripping over sunken gunpits, barbed wire, and sandbags hidden carefully under the mud. In the Bilo area little resistance was put up by the Japs when they saw our soldiers jumping six to twelve feet in the air and those that did put up a fight were soon as dead as dodos. The main
An example of our deceptive tactics was the use of 25-pounder artillery as road blocks, some say anti-tank rifles, but the crews had disappeared, quashing that theory. At this time also the infantry was spread in tight bunches immediately behind the guns and hidden among them were the three-inch mortars. Directly behind the infantry were the machine-guns cutting a beaten zone through them, though the sacrifice of men was worth the results.
Div sigs had boldy advanced among the battalion lines in a body and were recruited as stretcher bearers in one instance. Battalion headquarters as they stood on the road watching the traffic put up a splendid fight. The second-in-command did fine work keeping up morale by going from one post to another—in a pig truck. So all day long the battle rolled among the mountains by the tropic sea. Finally the Japs were ousted by our tactics and fled back to their waiting transports, which were being engaged by the battle cruisers Veni, Vidi and Viti.
And so it ended. 'Twas a glorious victory.
Menu of A Company, 34th Battalion, on Christmas Day 1942—Tongatabu
Verily my brethren I say unto ye, that whosoever hungereth so shall he seek his dinner at the water's edge. And so it came to pass that the stores of the 34th Battalion were sore depleted, and there was much wailing and gnashing of teeth, for the bellies of the men were woefully empty. And they didst call down the wrath of seven 'devils on their company quartermaster when their appetites were not satisfied, and Owen son of Hannafin was sore distressed. Verily, verily, was there much muttering and the speaking of harsh words in the evening, when the men went forth to do battle with the mosquitoes which had been visited upon their weapon pits. Yea, they cried forth in a loud voice saying: 'Forwhosoever dost stand guard by the sea in the darkness, so shall he be deprived of his sleep in the day, and his belly shall be empty at all times, and his person tormented by the bites of fleas."
Verily didst a feeling of unrest settle upon the land and woe was manifested to all men. Then came a wise man among them saying: 'Forasmuch as ye do stand guard by the water's edge, so shall ye find food to sustain ye at all times.'
Thus was there discussion of much magnitude amongst the men, for their bellies and backbones were in close collaboration; so it did come to pass that Sneddon, who was of the mortars, and Oswald, who was a captain of high standing, didst go forth into the wilderness in search of food. There was much acclamation, and joy was manifest to all men, for were these not good men and true, and verily didst the hopes of all men rise as does the moon rise in the heavens. For so it came to pass that these men went forth into a strange land, and didst wander at the water's edge. For many hours didst they wander, and a great weariness was visited upon them, but they failed not, neither didst they falter.
Then didst they perceive a great shoal of fishes close into the shore, and they were greatly cheered, for had not the wise man said that thus would their food be delivered unto them. Then didst Sneddon say unto Oswald: 'Verily, my friend, we have found a multitude of fish. So shall we catch them in great numbers, and transport them to the encampment, where Owen son of Hannafin will be much rejoiced.'
And so didst Oswald stand forth saying in a loud voice: 'Take forth from out the box one sticky bomb, and grasping it firmly in thy strong right hand, cast it forth upon the waters.' And Sneddon did this and they didst shelter suddenly behind a large rock, whilst a large explosion didst shake the earth. Thus did a large column of water ascend into the air and all men were sore afraid lest it should not recede. And when the waters had receded so did they perceive a multitude of fishes upon the waters, to the number of several hundreds.
Then didst come upon the scene Logan, who was a man whom all men saluted, and he didst bring with him one Johansen, who was a Swede, and they didst load upon the carriage all the fishes, whereupon it was taken to the house of Johansen, and a host of soldiers descended upon it was large knives and staves. Then was a foul smell visited upon the atmosphere, and the soldiers didst wrinkle their noses for they were sore beseiged. So it came to pass that all the fish lay in the cookhouse where Owen son of Hannafin was of a joyful mind, and there was no doing of blocks throughout the day.
And in the morning, the men spoke praise to the name of William son of Moroney, who had expended much energy in the preparation of the meal, of which they had all partaken.
So it did come to pass that all men rejoiced and spoke the names of Sneddon and Oswald with great praise. And so I say unto ye that whensoever do ye hunger, go ye forth and linger at the water's edge, beseeching thee to take one ST Grenade Mark 2,, and a multitude of fishes will be delivered unto ye.
The tactical story of the Battle of Waterloo was explained to officers and non-commissioned officers of the battalion at a lecture given one night in Tongatabu by the commanding officer Colonel Eyre. Private C. J. Doran, of the mortars, has told the story somewhat differently, in verse, of which here is a sample:—
These are a few extracts from a Japanese diary captured on the Treasury Islands.
The diary also contains sketches of the defences at Soanotalu, and the plan for the Japanese attack on the garrison there, which occurred on the night of 1 November.
To the tune of The Mountains of Mourne
'Winner of the battalion's 150 dollar first prize in the art union is Private V. S. Thorburn. A man of simple tastes, Private Tor-burn, is employed on the Boyce estate. Interviewed by Spam's special reporter, he said he would continue in his present employ ment, and after the war intended to make a cruise of the Pacific islands.'
And there was of course the bloke who moved to the city because he heard the country was at war.
From the original in Spam of 25 January 1944
Despite the sceptical remarks of alleged big game hunters and others of the battalion it seems pretty conclusive that crocodiles do exist on this island. If you ask Captain Cotching or 'Jungle' Holmes or one or two others who recently spent some carefree days right in the croc country you will receive emphatic information on the point. 'Jungle' himself went to a lot of trouble to get one, reputed to be anything from six to 20 feet long, and it is on record that shots were pumped at one ugly specimen with the result that the bullets just glanced off its armour plate. It is also reported that a few grenades were tried, but without result, and then it was proposed to try out the anti-tank rifle (not a fair go). It appears however, that the croc knows as much about jungle tactics as anyone else, and he didn't present a target. It is further reported (sorry to be so indefinite about all this but you know how it is with big game hunters and anglers and such people) that there were two crocs. It
'What is known for certain is that one croc came down the river the other day and scared the devil out of certain gents engaged on their lawful occupations. Some shots were fired at him and he wisely took to the deep blue sea. There he was chased by the good ship Enterprise (Captain Hank) and a spirited sea battle ensued, with shots flying everywhere. As usual the Yanks went about it in a big way and permitted the use of machine guns, but it still isn't known if the croc got away or not. He listed it as "probably sunk". Not so long after Spam went to press with the above angling notes, who should walk in (or rather come in by boat) but Lieutenant C. E. A. ('Tony' or 'Barney') Buller, towing an innocent looking specimen of crocodile behind him. He sportingly acknowledged that several Americans and himself shot at the reptile simultaneously, while it was taking the afternoon air near Lake Akea.
Listed below are the names of all men who ever served in the battalion (either Training Battalion, Reserve, or 34th). The last rank held by the soldier while in the battalion is shown. No account is taken of ranks or decoration held subsequently, or service with any other unit.
The complete set of unofficial histories of the Third Division, 2nd NZEF IP, is as under:—