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Chapter Five
Prelude To Battle

Three ships of the President line with the 8th New Zealand Brigade aboard left Noumea harbour on 4 September. For the 29th, aboard the PA 19, itt was a change, if not an improvement, to spend a few days aboard ship—and a change was always welcome for its own sake. As usual on Pacific transports, the battalion was crammed into stuffy, sweltering holds with rows of bunks four high. Everyone spent as much time as possible on deck, even until well into the night, and went below with reluctance for such necessary evils as the nightly handout of atabrin. This was vile tasting stuff, but its efficiency in suppressing malaria had been proved to the troops, and each night for months to come they swallowed little yellow pills, shuddered and waited for their faces to colour up with the dye. The men realised that they were really going to the tropics this time, but comforted each other with stories of marches in Fiji where the front of the platoon would walk in the dust and the rear files would slide in the mud caused by the collective perspiration. Judged by army standards, the food on the ship was good. Subjected to the grilling of electric stoves and mixers, the old rations appeared in new disguises, while fresh meat and an occasional egg gave some point to standing in a queue. And once again the mysterious appeals across the loudspeaker system dominated all comings and goings.

Although the little convoy was apparently entering dangerous waters and precautions were taken accordingly, there was not even an alarm to indicate that the Japanese submarine fleet was any nearer than the China Sea. Nor ever, on all the voyages of the battalion, did Japanese sea power seem anything more than a joke. The days passed pleasantly, with few fatigue parties, plenty of card playing and page 46reading on decks, a little boat drill and plenty of 'just sitting'. Four nights a week films would be shown below in the mess hall.

After a voyage of two days a convoy sailed into Vila, the chief port of Efate, in the New Hebrides group. This proved to be a beautiful deep-water harbour, with an attractive clean-looking town sloping back from the water's edge. Binoculars were in keen demand and many hoped that there would be some shore leave. Material impressions of the New Hebrides, however, were confined to several beach landings well away from the township. The battalion had stopped halfway up to the Solomons for training in amphibious operations, such as were later to be put to use in 'the real thing'.

So along a fine beach the little landing craft slid and splashed as the New Zealanders learned to quit them as fast as possible and make short work of the stretch of sand between sea and jungle. The American system was easy to master, and before long little New Zealand improvements started to appear. The practices increased in scope up to a penetration of 1000 yards and a night occupation. It was the battalion's first contact with its worst enemy—the malarial mosquito. Malarial control, however, proved to be an outstanding success throughout the campaign—a triumph of medical knowledge and troop discipline. While the battalion was in the actual malarial Sone it had only one case, and none at all when it returned to New Caledonia and discontinued taking atabrin.

With a week's amphibious training behind it, a complete set of wet and dirty clothing and disillusionment of yet another tropic island settling easily into its heritage, the battalion set sail again for the north. Dave Reid and other members of the Tui concert party travelled on the President Adams with the 29th, and one afternoon the troops and the ship's company heard again the old Bolshevik Blood, the Pills Brothers, as well as items by Padre Baragwanath, Bunny Forsyth and Hec Smith and his violin, That violin did a lot for the battalion and B company in particular. It could be heard through the heavy nights of Guadalcanal; it appeared at almost the first meal B company had on its return to the perimeter after chasing Japs on Mono; and occasionally when the moon was rising over the palms the sound of the violin would make the Treasuries seem almost like the tropic islands of fiction. After all, the darkness conceals a lot.

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In brilliant sunshine, after a stormy dawn, 14 September found the convoy steaming along the northern coast of Guadalcanal, an island of steep dark hills, grassy ridges and long bright beaches. The sea was busy with ships. The war still seemed a long way oif. As the PA 19 turned in towards Lunga Beach everyone had a last drink of coca-cola or iced water, packed gear all over his chest and back, and was quickly ferried ashore to join in the beach loading parties for the major unloading that was to follow. Two weeks earlier the 14th New Zealand Brigade had claimed a record by clearing its ships in seven hours. This was now substantially lowered, with the 29th having the fastest time of just over five and a quarter hours. But at what cost!

The day was very hot. Dust rose heavily from the road beside the beach and drifted away through the tall palms. The sun burned down upon the sand and the bright sea which sparkled away to Cape Esperance and the misty shores of Florida. There was no shade except that thrown by the growing piles of rations, and these nooks were invariably filled with perspiring men swigging away at tins of grapefruit juice, which, of course, it was forbidden to touch. The water which had gone into bottles ice cold at 8 am was hot enough to make coffee by noon. Gear came ashore as fast as long chains of men could handle it. At first there was a system, until independent parties enthusiastically destroyed it. Then a few units started to sort out their own gear while supplies were still being rushed ashore. In the end no-one knew what went where.

When the battalion finally marched off to its camp to set up beds under the trees in the dark and chew at K rations (which New Zealand papers later described to the men's fury as a tasty hot meal) everyone was thoroughly tired and tempers were short. Fortunately it did not rain, but a couple of Japanese bombers came over. Being newcomers, all hands were up watching the searchlights and the flash of the ack ack, and trying to fix in their memory the throbbing beat of the desynchronised engines. No bombs dropped anywhere near, however, and as time went on the battalion took very little notice of 'Tojo'. He seemed innocuous and, apart from one night when a fighter got two Japanese planes right in the centre of the search-lights, there was nothing to be gained by sitting out with the malarial mosquitoes waiting for a bomber to crash.

Fresh water had to be carried some distance and it was soon found page 48that one water-bottle a day, supplemented by cups of tea six times a day, was only just sufficient to replace the perspiration which poured out as never before. After the first week the thirst abated, and finished up by being little above normal, but the rate of perspiration slackened not at all. Washing of the body and of clothes still remained a problem. Two small wells between the camp and the beach collected a little seepage water through the coral, but not enough for the battalion. The beach itself was of sharp coral, uninviting to the swimmer, but ioo yards down the road at Kukum Pier the layer of coral ended abruptly and the water sank down into a blue deep. Until it was put out of bounds the pier became the daily rendezvous of most of the battalion. The solution to both problems was reached when the engineers established showers and washing benches at their water-point up towards Mount Austen. Regular parties went up to make the most of the facilities, but though the water was delightfully cool the tropical sun did not allow any feeling of freshness to endure.

Guadalcanal was not a good spot. It was a place of dust and heat, of sudden heavy rains, where all activity was a battle against the sun. Of all places known to the battalion, this island repelled it most. This, added to the basic urge to get on with things, made the battalion's stay at Guadalcanal one of extreme impatience.

The sight of companies marching out along the coast road in the morning sun puzzled the Americans. Probably they thought it was some form of punishment, for as usual an American on foot was a contradiction in terms. For the 29th, however, it was a valuable opportunity for training under conditions which were vastly different from any which had been encountered in New Caledonia.

In spite of a number of annoying working parties which kept the men unloading ships through the nights when sleep seemed an urgent thing, a great deal was done towards preparing the unit for action in the jungle. Actually the country was no more difficult than thick New Zealand bush, but the heat, the extreme steepness of every hill and hazards like the thorny 'wait a minute' made movement over a comparatively short distance a feat of endurance.

The compass and the cane knife became the soldier's best friends. Good eyesight was of little use in the half darkness of the jungle floor, and it was found that planned formations and instinctive drill-like reaction to any situation were vital to even the smallest forma-page 49tion, It was hard work, but a new keenness had crept into training. There was a point to it all. The jungle night is something to be experienced to be believed. Cries, rattles, rustles blend into a sort of farmyard cacophony that must play hell with the nerves of those who go freshly into it against an enemy who moves about under cover of the noises, augments them to his own purpose and tries to make sleep and security impossible. And the jungle night is pitch dark. However, the battalion had several nights out, and if they were not pleasant at least they made other nights to come more easy.

Jungle suits and shapeless hats were issued and proved themselves excellent for camouflage. Web was dyed and returned in big heaps from which one might, or might not, get back a good set. Knives and medical kits, 'city council pattern', gaiters and other gear was given out to fill any room that might bs left in packed haversacks and pouches.

It was not yet known exactly what the battalion's fighting role was to be, but after four weeks on Guadalcanal amphibious training started again. This time it was from APD's—old destroyers converted to troop carrying—from which it was generally known the battalion was to make its combat landing. Loaded with all their fighting gear the men set out early in the morning of 14 October to march to Kokumbona Beach—the most gruelling march the battalion had ever done. Not only was the pace above the normal tropical stagger, but the sun seemed to beat down more intensely than ever before. Once aboard the destroyers, however, things were a lot better. Unexpectedly they were most comfortable, crowded as they were. There was just enough deck space for everyone to enjoy the breeze set up by the smooth speed of the vessel.

The first day's landings took place near Tulagi on Florida and were rendered not so successful by an overdose of the usual manoeuvre rain, crowding on the beach of an amazing number of troops, and a delightful mangrove swamp which provided the first hazard of the penetration inland. However, pictures on board the destroyer that night made up for it.

Few will ever forget the day that followed. The convoy of destroyers and landing craft sailed round the western coast of Florida, through deep channels between little green islands and under a perfect sky. The troops embarked with the smoothness that had come of practice and the landing craft set off for what many believed to have page 50been the most beautiful beach they had ever seen. On the way in there was little time to look around, but after the initial tactics had gone off to satisfaction the men returned to walk along the two-mile stretch of rich cream sand, overhung with tall green trees and palms. Many had a look at a native village to get an idea of the one they knew they had to attack—somewhere—and went back to swim in the warm salty water until the landing craft returned. It was a good day

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