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Chapter Three
Nausori

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 page 25Fijian, whose generosity knew no bounds, who would leave his own home so that a soldier might have a comfortable sleep under cover, who was happy and ready to spend hours doing nothing but fetch and carry fruit and food for such troops as happened to be near his village. It was rarely necessary to take rations on other than overnight excursions, but we used a system of barter—twist tobacco, or bread, or any other simple item from the cookhouse, would be a fair exchange for food and drink, fruit, and lodgings, garlands of flowers, and warm hospitality. A word of praise, too, for those happy but stern men, the Fijian soldiers, who had left their villages to serve with the local defence forces. To the Fijian Defence Force our battalion detached several officers and non-commissioned officers, whose progress with the Fijians later in the war in the Solomons we always watched with interest and pride. These men have since told us that the glowing reports of the prowess of the native Fijian in combat are not exaggerated.

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 page 26nothing but cigarettes and aspirin throughout. Some will remember, too, the homogeneous force that Major G. W. Logan led over the wild country between Kings Road and Princes Road, through Kolam-bo (with its limestone caves)—the same occasion as when the men of one platoon felt sure they were on the right track, because of the foot-prints in the mud in front of them that led on and on and on; to-wards evening they realised that the footprints were their own, and they had completed exactly three circuits of the same track in the whole afternoon.

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 page 27tried, and every company began a graduate schedule of exercises and marches. Training generally took on a more interesting aspect—there were days down on the Wainimbokasi River, building bamboo rafts, where everyone fell in at some stage of the proceedings. These rafts took a good deal more making than appeared at first sight, and poling them was an art only to be acquired after much practice. River-crossing exercises near Sawani School presented more opportunities for men to be drowned, and some nearly were, the record going to one of the anti-aircraft platoon who, after being sunk in midstream, remained submerged for two minutes, because, so he said, he was looking for his watch. This training had some good practical result, as was demonstrated when disaster occurred to the inward mail arriving from New Zealand. It fell off the dispatch rider's cycle while he was coming in over the Rewa Bridge, and disappeared in the river below. Once the news had spread, willing volunteers embarked on any craft they could find, dragging the river, searching the rushes on the banks, to such good purpose that the precious mail was eventually recovered, wet, but still legible.

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 page 28 page 29 page 30town, with boardwalks and saloons, nevertheless had a character all its own. To walk slowly from the bridge up past the line of shops as far as the sugar company's building was an education in new smells and sounds. The discordant wailings of Hindu singing would come from behind closed doors; an old blind man would sell twist tobacco, sitting cross-legged on the footpath day and night; sudden shouting would burst from the unsavoury interior of a kden; 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 page 31 became senior chaplain to the whole Pacific force we still liked to regard him as a 34th Battalion stalwart, for no one will forget his brilliant piano playing in the 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 page 32the empty swimming pool. The doctors setting his broken arm declared he was a most impatient patient.

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.