Kokoda Read online

  Dedicated to Peter Brune, who for 30 years, has promoted the story of Kokoda and worked to keep alive the spirit of the fighting men.

  Lest we forget.

  And to Serena and her boys – Alex and James

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  The Diary of Archibald McLeod Townsville, Kokoda, 1941-1942

  HISTORICAL NOTES

  GLOSSARY

  Copyright

  The Diary of Archibald McLeod

  Townsville, Kokoda, 1941-1942

  Thursday, 9 October 1941

  It’s my birthday but I don’t feel like celebrating. My family is drifting apart. My brother Harold left a year ago, my brother Des leaves tomorrow and Mum and I leave in two weeks’ time. The war has forced each of us to go our separate ways.

  After dinner tonight Des presented me with this diary and made me promise to keep our family’s war years’ history in it.

  ‘I’m hoping for everyone’s sake the war will be over soon,’ he told me, ‘but the way Hitler’s forces are overrunning opposing armies, I’m not holding my breath.’

  He also told me I don’t have to write much each week, just enough so that by war’s end, our family will have a record of each other’s part in the victory.

  ‘We will win, Archie,’ he told me firmly. ‘We must win. Hitler and his Nazi party need to be defeated before they take control of the world.’

  Harold’s in the Middle East fighting the Nazis but Des’s battalion is a militia unit which means they don’t have to fight overseas. They’re being trained to defend Australia. Des wanted to fight alongside Harold but Mum wouldn’t sign his enlistment papers unless he promised to serve as a militiaman.

  ‘Once I report to Camp Darley tomorrow, Archie, you become the man of the house. Mum will be relying on you, matey.’

  ‘I-I’m only f-fourteen,’ I replied.

  I don’t normally stutter so much when speaking to Des but, on this occasion, I was scared. I didn’t want the responsibility of looking after Mum and I didn’t want Des to go away. He’s my best friend. I rely on him to look after me.

  ‘You’re old enough to be a man,’ he said firmly. ‘And as the man one of your duties is to write the diary and save every letter Mum receives from Harold and me. I’ll keep a diary too for when I can’t send news home, and we can put together quite a tale by the end of this war, between the three of us.’

  I promised I’d do as he asked. We have no mementos of Dad’s war years. Mum lost his letters when we shifted house. We’ve shifted several times, always to a cheaper place. Dad died of a chronic lung infection caused by gas poisoning. He was too slow to fit his gas mask during a battle along the Somme River in 1918. He suffered right up until the day he died, just a few months after I was born in 1927.

  ‘D-do you remember, D-d-dad?’ I asked Des.

  ‘Not much. Harold remembers him quite well. He was eight when he died.’

  Harold was born late in 1919, a year after the war ended.

  ‘Did he stutter?’ I asked.

  ‘Not that I know,’ he smiled. ‘Don’t worry Arch, you’ll grow out of it. It’s like hiccups or a headache. It’ll go away one day.’

  ‘What if it d-doesn’t? What if it’s like g-gas poisoning and lasts all my life?’ I usually only stutter when I’m nervous but I get nervous when I think I might be about to stutter which makes me stutter even more. It’d be funny if it weren’t so horrible.

  ‘You worry too much,’ he said. ‘But you don’t have time to stress about trivia now that you’re the man of the family. Don’t let Mum down, Archie. Harold and I are relying on you to hold the show together until we come back.’

  ‘What if you d-don’t?’

  ‘Don’t come back?’ he asked. ‘The Germans gassed dad but he came home. They won’t stop Harold and me from returning either.’ He reached over and lifted my chin. ‘Are you clear on that?’

  ‘Yes,’ I replied without much confidence. I wish Dad had stuttered then I’d know why I do. Mum got a doctor to check out my tongue, jaw and larynx (voice box) but there’s nothing physically wrong with me. He suggested other causes such as the result of a childhood shock or a dominating father who made me afraid to speak.

  ‘My d-dad d-d-died when I was a b-baby,’ I told him angrily.

  He said he was sorry.

  Luckily I don’t stutter when I write or maintaining this diary would be a nightmare.

  Sunday, 12 October

  Des caught the train early on Friday morning. By now he’d be at Darley Camp. He may even be standing on parade in his new Australian army uniform. He’s enlisted in the 2/39th Battalion. All the members are Victorian, mostly from Melbourne. Dad’s battalion, the 5th Battalion 1AIF, was also from Victoria, as is Harold’s, the 2/14th. Melbourne’s been home to the McLeod’s for a long time but Mum’s decided that next weekend she and I will shift to Queensland. She’s got an older sister living up there.

  ‘If we live with Dorothy’s family, we can share the rent,’ she explained. ‘Your brothers are giving us most of their pay packets but we’re still only just making ends meet. Legacy has done a wonderful job of helping to maintain the house and yard but Dorothy’s husband, Jim, is a very handy man. He’ll take care of all the odd jobs up there — and you’ll have your cousins to talk to. Won’t that be fun?’

  I didn’t know whether it would be or not but I did know I’d prefer to stay here. I don’t make friends easily because of my stutter. Boys tease me, even those whom I’ve known all through school. I hate to think how much more I’ll be teased in a town where nobody knows me. I can’t tell Mum my worries because she’s already upset about Des’s departure.

  Sunday, 19 October

  Keeping this diary won’t be easy because I can’t imagine there’s much to write about. I’ll write once a week on a Sunday and see how long I can keep it up. Mum and I catch the train north on Wednesday. The good news is that by the time we arrive in Townsville and unpack, I’ll only have to attend six weeks of school before year’s end.

  I took Friday off school to help mum pack. We’ll take our clothes and one or two precious items with us in suitcases. Mum will sell our few bits of furniture. I feel scared moving to a new place but won’t write about that because this is a family diary not my private one: it’s supposed to be about the war rather than my personal feelings. I don’t like talking about feelings anyway.

  Sunday, 26 October

  I’m on the train which is why my writing is so wobbly. We arrive in Townsville tomorrow. Mum’s excited: I’m nervous. Auntie Dorothy will meet us at the railway station. The weather has grown warmer and warmer since we left Melbourne. When we disembark in Townsville we’ll have travelled northwards 1,800 miles.

  Mum bought or borrowed a newspaper most days throughout our journey but said she didn’t read any positive war news. The Germans continue to advance into Russia and across North Africa. She searched for news about Harold’s division. They’re somewhere in the Middle East. She wants him to have a quiet war so he can survive and come home in one piece.

  For the past few months she’s had her wish. The 2/14th fought a series of successful battles earlier in the year. Now they’re reinforcing defensive positions throughout Palestine and Lebanon. Mum’s happy with that. I’m not sure Harold will be. He’s different from Des and me. He loves a fight. Mum loves him but says he’s a larrikin. He got into a lot of trouble with the local coppers before he joined the army.

  Sunday, 2 November

  We arrived in Townsville two hours late last Monday. Auntie Dorothy didn’t seem too fussed.

  ‘Some trains arrive a week or two late in the Wet season when floods undermine the tracks or wash away a bridge or two.’

&
nbsp; It’s rained heavily every day since we arrived. I didn’t realise the weather would be so different up here.

  ‘There are only two seasons up here,’ Auntie Dorothy explained. ‘Wet and Dry. This is the Wet when we get monsoonal rain and, occasionally, the tail-end of cyclonic storms. So far Townsville’s been lucky.’ She touched wood. ‘We haven’t suffered the full brunt of a cyclone. Good thing too. They do shocking damage when they strike civilised areas.’

  Townsville is a small country town compared to Melbourne. Aunt Dorothy’s house is close to the town centre as well as the beach and it has a big hill, named Castle Hill, right behind it. There’s no castle on it. Her house is different from anything I’ve ever lived in. It’s built on stilts and has lots of louvre windows to let in cool sea breezes at night.

  Uncle Jim works for the council. He told me he’ll give me a guided tour of the town in a council truck.

  ‘We’ll make Castle Hill first stop if you like’, he told me with a smile. He’s round and jolly and has a big belly but he’s very strong.

  ‘I used to be able to hold Shirley and Stanley above my head in my younger days — one in each hand.’ He laughed. ‘I think I’ve lost strength because I can’t lift them any more, not even one at a time.’

  Shirley and Stanley are my cousins. I’m not surprised he can’t lift them because Shirley is 21 and Stanley’s 23. Stanley doesn’t have to join the army because he’s in a Reserved Occupation — he’s the Townsville stationmaster. Shirley’s a secretary at Garbutt, the RAAF (Royal Australian Air Force) base. They’ve both been friendly to me even though I’m much younger.

  Mum took me to the local school on Friday and enrolled me. I start tomorrow. I’m not looking forward to being teased.

  ‘C-c-couldn’t I start sch-school at the beginning of next year?’ I asked.

  ‘No. If you start now you’ll have the chance to make new friends who you can spend time with during the Christmas holidays,’ she replied.

  Mum’s looking for a job and has an interview on Wednesday. Auntie Dorothy works as a nurse at the local hospital and knew of a vacancy.

  ‘But I don’t know the first thing about nursing,’ Mum told her.

  ‘You don’t need to, Thelma. You just need to do whatever the supervising nurse tells you to do — especially if I’m your supervisor,’ she added laughing. ‘You’ve brought up three boys virtually by yourself and are not afraid to get your hands dirty. You’ll be a natural working with patients.’

  Mum put her arms around my shoulders and hugged me to her. ‘Archie’s the only baby I’ve got left,’ she said with a sigh. I wish she wouldn’t say things like that.

  We received a letter from Des on Friday. I was as excited as Mum was to receive it.

  Saturday, 25 October 1941

  Dear Mum and Archie,

  I hope your journey north went smoothly. My first week of training was demanding. As well as hundreds of militia men here in camp, there are hundreds of regular AIF reinforcements. They look fitter and more professional than us but I guess we’ll improve with further training and once we’ve been issued with our uniforms.

  Accommodation is quite good: most men (I’m one of the lucky ones) are housed in corrugated iron huts. A few have been allocated tents. The food is nothing to complain about and the men with whom I’m housed are great company. One fellow named Bert reminds me of Harold. I feel comfortable teaming with him because, like Harold, he’ll be a good man to have alongside me when a fight starts.

  Your militia man, Des

  Sunday, 9 November

  Mum got the job. She’s now a nurse’s assistant. She can’t handle patients by herself for a couple of weeks until she’s had more training. She worked alongside Auntie Dorothy one afternoon and was impressed that she knew everybody, staff and patients.

  ‘When you’ve lived here twenty years, you’ll know everyone too,’ Dorothy told her.

  I hope we don’t live here for twenty years. I’ve had enough already. School was the disaster I predicted it to be.

  ‘Tell us your name again,’ they teased.

  ‘Archib-bald M-Mc-Mc-Leod,’ I said and they howled with delight.

  Back in Melbourne when taunting turned to bullying I used to tell Des and he’d walk with me to school. I’d point out the bullies, he’d have a word with them and then they’d leave me alone. But I don’t have Des up here. I’m on my own and worse, I’m supposed to be looking after Mum. At times like this I wish I was a larrikin like Harold. Mum says he could look after himself at a very young age.

  ‘After Errol died Harold behaved as if he was the father figure. He went from one fight to another, especially during his teenage years. I tried to tell him fighting didn’t make him a man and that it’s inner strength that’s more important in life but he wouldn’t listen. Hopefully, what he’s experienced in the Middle East will help him to see I’m right.’

  Mum often tells me I’ve got inner strength. I’ve needed it all my life because of my stupid stutter.

  Sunday, 16 November

  The teasing wasn’t as bad this week because I ignored it. When I was younger, I used to react and, as Mum explained, that only encouraged the bullies. She’s rostered on three days a week at the hospital and has been told that she’ll have to do night work as soon as she’s fully trained.

  We both share bedrooms: she’s in with Shirley and I’m in with Cousin Stanley. As the Townsville stationmaster he has to do shift work. Trains come and go at all hours. On many of the nights he’s not working, he attends militia training. Cousin Stanley knows everything about the war. He reads the newspaper every day and remembers all the facts and figures. Uncle Jim told me that he doesn’t know where Stanley got his brains from.

  ‘From our side of the family, obviously,’ Auntie Dorothy replied. ‘Isn’t that right, Thelma?’

  Mum smiled. It was good to see her smile. In Melbourne she always looked tired and worried.

  Cousin Stanley’s a lot more serious than Uncle Jim which is strange because they’re father and son. You’d think they’d be similar. I wonder if I’m like my dad or different.

  ‘The Nazis are a long way away from here,’ he told me, ‘but that could change at any moment. Their troops are closing in on Leningrad and Moscow. If Russia falls, they will have all of Europe in their power. They sank Britain’s best aircraft carrier a couple of days ago. The Ark Royal was the pride of the Royal Navy.’

  Mum looked shocked until he added, ‘It is all right, auntie. They got everyone off safely before she went down.’ But then he said something that immediately upset her again. ‘Thousands of merchant seamen have not been so lucky. They have gone down with their ships. German submarines are terrorizing the Mediterranean and Atlantic oceans. If they gain control of those waters, they will move into the Indian and Pacific oceans and that means trouble for us.’

  Cousin Stanley has an unusual way of saying things. He sounds very correct and uses big words. Auntie Dorothy said he has a photographic memory when he’s interested in a topic. He’s obviously interested in the war.

  Uncle Jim had to do some repair work with his mate Bluey yesterday so he took me along. I was pleased. I didn’t want to spend all day Saturday hanging around home and I certainly didn’t want to go down the street and risk running into one of the boys from school. Being teased five days a week is more than enough without copping an extra dose on the weekend.

  Bluey only helps out on the weekends if Uncle Jim’s called out to do an urgent job. We had to fill in a big hole on the side of the road. Heavy rain had eroded a deep gully along the edge of the bitumen. The men barrowed gravel from the truck into the hole then tamped it down with crowbars. Bluey is old but he can work really hard. He handed me the crowbar.

  ‘Have a go, son. See how strong you are.’

  ‘I’m not strong,’ I said but took the crowbar. I nearly fell over it was so heavy. There was no way I could lift it and thump it down. Bluey laughed.

  ‘Jim, you need to f
eed the lad a few cuts of Queensland steak so he builds up some muscle,’ he joked.

  Uncle Jim laughed and said he’d see what he could do. On the way home we drove most of the way up Castle Hill then walked to the lookout on the summit. The view from the top was amazing.

  ‘C-Can you walk to the t-top from the b-behind our house?’ I asked.

  ‘No way.’

  ‘B-But, isn’t that a track?’ I asked pointing.

  ‘Yes, but I can’t walk up it,’ he said emphasising ‘I’. ‘I’m not fit enough,’ he said laughing and patting his stomach. ‘You could though — if those bird-legs will support you.’

  My legs are thin. I don’t have many muscles. When people tease and bully me I can’t defend myself. And because of my stutter I can’t even tell them to stop or call for help or swear at them. That’s another reason why Des always fought my battles. I miss him badly.

  When we got home I told Mum that Uncle Jim drove me passed the hospital so I could see where she worked. She told me she enjoys working there.

  ‘For the first time in years we’re getting ahead financially, Archie. Having to pay less rent as well as earning a wage each week gives me such a good feeling.’

  Sunday, 23 November

  Cousin Stanley was wrong. The Germans aren’t a long way from here. An Australian light battle cruiser, HMAS Sydney, has been sunk with the loss of all hands (about 650 men) just off the Western Australian coast. The government tried to hush it up but the news is out now. People are upset and angry.

  ‘How could a lightly armed German raider, even if she was disguised, sink a powerful Australian warship?’ Cousin Stanley asked. When no one answered he continued. ‘I suspect foul play,’ he said confidently. ‘I also suspect a lot of the Sydney’s crew got into her life boats before she sank.’