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.

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'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 page 122hat on back to front, and his under-pants showing? Boy, was it hard to keep a straight face?'

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?'

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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 page 124around somewhere. The batman hadn't got any socks on, so Boulder made him go and get some. He found he hadn't got any, so he wore gaiters instead and sandshoes.

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 page 125 over the beer-garden at Tongatabu airport. 'It was just a shame what went on there!' he said.

'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 page 126instead, and nearly had a row with an MPO. So he slept it off on the beach at Anse Vata.

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.

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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.'

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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.