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I
Embryo

With the entry of the Japanese into active participation in World War II, New Zealand began to fear for her peace and plenty. Came general mobilisation of all territorial forces and the departure of the 8th Field Ambulance for Memorial Park, Masterton. Months of training followed, days of scaling hillsides, endless hours of infantry, company and stretcher drill under the pitiless summer sun and the equally pitiless winter winds. In December, 1942, came orders to move to Waiouru Military Camp. The days tumbled by—days of soul-destroying infantry training, stretcher drill, and Thomas splinting, during which our acquaintance with army routine became most intimate. 'On 12 April, 1943, the 24th NZ Field Ambulance was created out of the ashes of the 8th. Reinforcements began to arrive— some 40 men from the 2nd Field Ambulance and a further reinforcement from the deep south. The changeover was affected with little pomp or ceremony. We were marched in solemn concourse to the camp records office, accosted by a clerk, and marched back to our area. By which thrilling ceremony the 24th NZ Field Ambulance was given birth.

Came July and mountain fever was in the air. We had thought that the appetite of those who craved lofty places would have been satisfied by a previous Tongariro expedition. But such was not the case, and we were scheduled to storm Ruapehu—'field exercises' the official papers read. We set off complete page 133with six blankets, a small issue of morale, and 'Shorty' Nicoll. The commanding officer (Lieutenant-Colonel W. R. Fea, NZMC) set a slow but progressive pace. Halts were frequent. There was some trouble with crowders, and the colonel's remark, (Remember you're an army, not a bloody French revolution,' was as classic as it was ineffective. And so to our Shangri-La—the summit, the Crater Lake as unexpected as it was iovely; a hot lake of beautiful hue set in an icewalled basin, beset by summit peaks. Little need be said about the descent, save that it was fast and exhilarating, with an anxious moment or two on the ice slopes.

Remember the fights at Ohakune! The US Marine Corps turned out a team of sluggers, complete with professional seconds, smelling salts, embrocation and a fine will to win. It was soon obvious what our boys were up against when a nuggety marine, billed at a modest 10 stone, bounded into the ring, beat his hairy chest, and proceeded to lay about a lighter 'Snow' Dyer, who became so mussed up with blood that the referee stopped the bout. And so the murderous night wore on. The last bout saw Lieutenant Dick Skelley sitting patiently in his corner, mouth full with a tremendous guard, awaiting the much-publicised 'Golden Gloves Kid.' From the comments around it was obvious the audience thought Dick was another lamb for the slaughter. But he came in immediately with his left and had the 'Kid' backing away. Followed three rounds of really good boxing, with Skelley rocking lefts into his man and seemingly little affected by return blows. A draw was given, and we are sure that was at least deserved—some thought more and let it be vociferously known.

Then there was football. With a paucity of good teams around Waiouru in 1943 it is possible that we gained a false impression of the quality of our team. But after three comfortable victories against Mangaweka, Armoured Fighting Vehicle School, and Wanganui, it was a painful process to watch the débacle against Taranaki at Pukekura Park, when the lads in maroon went down to Taranaki to the tune of 32 points to three.

We suspected that we were not going to like Trentham, and when we arrived there on 30 July, 1943, we were certain of it. Everyone slunk round, seemingly terrorised. 'A concentration camp, only on our side,' as one sage said. Furthermore, it appeared that long weekend leave was unheard of, and the best we could get, outside 'jumping the fence,' was a 36-hour weekend once a month. Trentham was a riot of rumour. A company was page 134ordered to pack early in August, and rumours entwined themselves around this known fact. 'A company is a ship's baggage party,' said one-who-knows; 'They're an advanced party to take over from the 22nd Field Ambulance, who are coming home on furlough/ whispered another; 'The 24th is definitely breaking up, and this is the first sign of the split,' whined a doom-voiced prophet; 'We are eventually all going to Burma,' confided a fourth. But from all the rumours we gained little information that could be regarded as a certainty.

A company, with sea-kits bulging and laden like pack horses, marched away in embarkation order on 3 August. But it was a spurious start, and some 10 days later they arrived back from Papakura, from New Caledonia, and, by the way they talked, from Japan itself. All day they had to face the insults of the rest of the unit, and were dubbed 'Harper's Hasbeens—The Boomerang Brigade.' The rest of the month passed with members of the unit as the mainstay of the Wellington waterfront and assuming a stevedore attitude to life. Those of us not fortunate enough to go on fatigue duty at the wharves were subjected to an intensive session of 'bullring'—maybe the most fruitful, but not the most popular army diversion.