Chapter 8 Aircraft identification; Take my seat; Moon madness; Survival of the fairest

AIRCRAFT IDENTIFICATION

BROADLY speaking, there are two types of aircraft-ours and theirs. In theory these are again divided into various groups; fighter, fighter-bomber, dive-bomber, torpedo-bomber, light-bomber, attack-bomber, medium-bomber, heavy-bomber, and recce plane.

In practice they are known as hostile aircraft. In fact some of them are very hostile. You can have no idea just how hostile aircraft can be until you come to our area.

I shall deal briefly with the problems of aircraft identification. From experiences during, air-raids the following points are observed. Aircraft which strafe or bomb your positions should be regarded with suspicion, if not deep mistrust. Aircraft which bomb and strafe your positions and wear a red circle should certainly be regarded with deep mistrust. In fact, the deeper the better. A six-foot-deep slit trench is an ideal place from which to mistrust them.

A good idea is to empty a few mags at the intruder. A bellyful of lead often acts as a gentle hint that the fellow is intruding. Unless he is an absolute cad and bounder, no further hint is necessary.

The Zero. Newcomers may find difficulty in distinguishing the Zero from the "Wirra". An easy method is as follows: Zeros fly in formations of twelve upwards. Wirraways fly singly. This to demonstrate our air superiority.

You have only to read articles written by War Correspondents serving in Melbourne, to learn that Tojo's air force is negligible.

These War Correspondents agree that the Nip dive-bomber has a very poor performance. That is so. In order to hit targets in our area, it bombs from three hundred feet.

Official instructions in regard to the Nips are to ignore them. As the Nips do not appear affected by such snubs, some difficulty may be experienced in ignoring them. However, this attitude is to be emulated as far as possible, although it is generally conceded that it is easier to ignore them from a distance than it is here.

High-level bombing. Here is the low-down on high-level bombing. Usually in these circumstances Nip pattern-bombs. This means that he drops bombs all around the target, just to show what he could do if he had air superiority. A good way to identify hostile high-level bombers, is to observe if our Ack-Ack is firing on them. Unless it is a practice shoot, one may reasonably assume that said high-level bombers are hostile.

Bombs. In theory Nips' bombs fall into several classifications-Incendiary, High Explosive, Anti-personnel and odds and sods. Their size varies from small to big.

In practice, all hostile bombs are very big. They fall into two classes, Direct Hits and Near Misses. Direct Hits are to be avoided if possible. If a Direct Hit is avoided, it becomes a Near Miss. It should be remembered that all bombs are hostile.

It is reliably reported that all Nipponese bomb-aimers are cross-eyed, thereby accounting for the large numbers of Near Misses scored. It is expected that, in time, owing to the increasing shortage of cross-eyed Nipponese bomb-aimers, direct hits will be scored. At present, it is not known what steps will be taken by Imperial Nipponese Headquarters to avoid this.

Bomb Damage. Study of bomb damage may, to the inexperienced, seem simple enough. Not so. After raids, it is often impossible to see any damage caused by the raiders. Not until one listens to Tokyo Radio does one learn of the smashing raids, the huge casualties, the terrible damage. And the NIP works very silently. One day when he wrecked the railway line and blew up a troop train, not a single raider was seen or heard.

Not until we heard Tokyo Radio did we learn of this disaster. Newcomers to "Somewhere in Australia" will see no sign of a railway line or troop trains. Presumably Nip has obliterated all trace of them. And the day, months ago, when the bulk of the garrison was smashed seemed singularly quiet. No trace of the unfortunate 30,000 killed was ever seen. It disheartened us considerably.

In conclusion the following points of interest are made on "after the raid". Contact bombs are those which explode on contact, or a fraction of a second later. Besides these, there are delayed action and duds. A "delayed action bomb" is one which lands near you and does explode. A "dud" is one which lands elsewhere and does not go off.

This brings us to the question of bomb disposal. The safest method is to remove yourself as quickly as possible from proximity with the bomb, and summon the bomb disposal squad. This method is practically foolproof as far as you are concerned.

If, however, there is no bomb disposal squad available-and bomb disposal squads have a habit of disappearing-you must deal with the bomb yourself.

In this case, fix the position of the bomb as accurately as possible from a distance of two hundred yards, and then go away for a couple of months. Upon your return, if the bomb is still there, pack a couple of sandbags upon it, plant a red flag, and go on your way rejoicing.

"WX16124"

MY SON!

THERE lies my foe his rifle gripped

In clutch dumbly defiant still

A minute gone-my bay'net nipped

His heart; Christ! it's easy to kill!

0 loathsome blade-all scarlet tipped

These stained hands let you glut your fill

We fought-slaves of Roman leisure

Fat-fates clapped hands-the murmurs ran

Hate? My soul's too great a treasure

To bruise by hating any man!

You killed! (waxen lips accusing)

0 God forgive-what could I do?

Raw tongue of instinct confusing

Christian creed, "Kill! it's him or you."

Question marks of blood drop oozing

The world reels-guess he got me too!

Ghost moon chained in cobwebbed creeper,

Mad witness of the act I play

Probes cold fingers o'er the sleeper

I fall-I hurl my gun away!

More helpless now than when at birth

A mother kissed this reeking brow,

Death's but a stream, the solving worth

Of where, and why, and who, and how,

Hell and Heaven have their Earth Indeed

Eternity is now! For in the end as when we start

The clues solve not Life's conundrum,

At first the soul must link a heart

Then heart must shape the soul, My son!

You with her own dear eyes of blue

My own lips trembling, shy and sad

As you wonder if all her tales are true!

You can't see me now-God I'm glad

I see you smile (as she says you do)

My poor arms ache, your lisping "Dad"

Quickly move close-a kiss-a kiss.

My prayers for him who takes a gun

And shoots you ere you come to this,

I love you so, My son! My son!

The black tide impotently rolls

As if Earth's first creative strife

Shook that great hand that made our souls

And tied the cord-and forged the knife

To cut the cord-a curfew tolls

A star gleams on our cross-that's life.

Star gleam eh? some catch in lakes, mud

Backyard pools of the poor they shun,

Reflected in this pool of blood

The star looks just the same. My son!

Beaten foe? the knee is bended!

Our victory eh? War but breeds war,

See the past in blood extended;

My son, you'll blaze the track before

Hospitals shall rise more splendid,

Till they are needed never more!

Man pays for war-grim sums increase

What price a Peace when War is won?

Victors must lose-the Prince of Peace

Alone can win a Peace, My Son!

Superior Street medicos

Shall serve one cry, one common health

God's gift, the golden grain that grows

Shall fill one mouth-one common wealth,

Our parliaments comprise of those

Who scorn suave Polish, crafty stealth,

For none may ease their country's need,

Lest they have bled as she has done,

Remember this-seed of my seed,

Look through my eyes-My son! My son!

0 God the flame of War must set;

My country never let it rise

Again-build up-forgive-forget

Old wounds, be clean 'neath blue skies,

I charge you this-this is your debt,

Look straight-gaze in these fading eyes,

I charge Australia-fail me not!

Teach my boy the pace to run

Your destiny? Look to his cot!

Take him! Good-bye! My son! My son!

"VX87177"

SURVIVAL OF THE FAIREST

So I am back in the Big Town, which it is very nice for a spot of leave, after where I have been in, the "Somewhere". So too am I very pleased that I have made no gambles with my substance, which the Padre sez, it is only a mocker.

On the way much games of chance are going on, but because I am remembering the Padre's good words I do not indulge.

Also too because I notice the gent which is running the dice game uses educated bones. Now this it is sinful so to do, and what it should not profit a man-like the Padre sez -and which it burns me with the righteous indignation, so that by the time the rattler hits the big smoke, I have hoisted all the ill-gotten gains which he hath, and which he kept parking for safety on his side next to the big bum, which was me.

I do not take his identity discs, which they were on a chain. So I am feeling very happy to have done my good deed, and all set for leave, when a pleasant time will be had by all, and every one will enjoy themselves very nice.

Well I meet her outside the Soldiers' Canteen, where she has just knocked off after a spell of shootin' 'em off the arm for the boys, and she asks me if I am liking the tucker. After snake steaks and stewed grubs, the answer to that one is easy, but my voice has failed. I have gone off the air, 'cause she lamps me with a pair of outsize headlights, and turns on a smile, which gives a whirl of pearly teeth and cherry lips, all in one knock-out cocktail. So I just gawpes - swept up in the radiance of her countenance, like the Padre sez. 'Struth Me! which was the weakness of all the dames around and around. Me! the master of witty repartee, which could rock even an incendiary blonde-dumb like a beetle. Then-zip! I begins to gab.

It is like a mountain torrent broke loose, and as big a jumble. Speech oozes through my pores. My voice has a squeak. Oh boy! am I sunk!

When I come out of the ether-a bit-we are headed for a dance. Don't ask me how, brother, all I know is, I am a big he-man, with balloons on each foot. When we step off the kerb and a taxi pirate just misses us by the paint on his robber's den, I want to tear the outfit apart. Strong in righteousness like the Padre sez.

Well, dance after dance we floats around at that hop like two angels in a Chink's pipe dream. Leastways that's how I feel. She is all starry-eyed with the excitement and the music. Her adoring look tells me I am a King. Her little funny gurgling laugh flows over me -like the sweet waters of Lebanon, as the Padre sez. Between dances we sit at our table, and I just gawpes at her some more, till the red flames in her checks and she presses my hand. She calls me Jim. Her name's Doreen! Oh boy! am I sunk. And does she know that I know that she knows that I'm sunk?

There is grog in the Joint-on the side-but she won't sight it. Me-I don't need none. Drink to me only with thine eyes I onct hears an asthmatic tenor sing at a camp concert, and I don't get it then. I am also busting to show what a swell guy is me. Fight everybody in the Joint just for her, or something. But I know that wouldn't be so hot with her.

There is two guys and two dames at the next table, and they is flashing wads of coin, and invite us to join them, and come on to a nice party with dancing, and a little gamble on the side. Doreen don't like it. She don't trust them; me I woke up early they was "takes", and I am so set on showing her I can still trim 'em-be the big masterful guy, see that I urges her. She puts her arms around my neck on the way out, and pleads again we should not go, but me I am so full of being a big shot in her eyes, I sez "Come just for a little while Baby and watch me do my stuff."

In the street it is so dark as the inside of a cow. A taxi sneaks up and I hand Doreen in. I turn for the other dames which is nagging on the footpath and when I turn back again, the other door is swinging gently in the breeze. Doreen is gone. So likewise is my roll.

Well! Well! So I am the sucker. Ha! Ha!! Maybe next I will buy me the sundial from the Gardens. Big shot--! I should come on leave handcuffed to a Jack. And to fall for a dame! She gimme the works all right, all right. Still it was just her line. I should squawk. I can take it. I ain't any cockeyed mug that reckons he can't be beat. So too am I a real sport which can smile, even when it is me who goes for the ride. "Keep your light a-shining a little ahead of the next" like the Padre sez, and did she-I'll say she did. I been broke before-I'll get it back-l-oh it ain't the dough-Doreen! Doreen!!

I eat a healthy breakfast, like the condemned man which is going to the scaffold, and examine the financial position which it is, I am due to be pinched for no means of support. So I head for the money spiders which is the D.F.O., and where maybe I can make a touch.

It is easy like cutting your own hair, or walking upside down on a tight-rope. I am paraded to an officer which has a hard face, and a row of ribbons which you only get for killing people. He is also a Scotch gentleman. I tell him I am on leave and lose my roll and pay-book which it must have dropped through a hole in my pocket. This affects the officer very much. There is a tear in his eye when he sez "Now lad, tell me the true story for that one is so bad, it makes me very, very sad indeed." So I spills him the dinkum.

"Sergeant," sez the officer, "get me this soldier's file, he is making an application for an advance of pay." By and by the Sarge gets back with a funny look in his eye, like he has blocked a straight left with his chin.

"Sir," he sez, "the file and pay-book was with the remittance section, the soldier, so we were informed, having just sent said pay-book in, along with a large amount, to be entered to his credit-only an hour ago-and now he wants an advance." There is a deep, deep silence. The officer is studying the pay-in slip. Me! well-aw, what's the use, I'm the man on the flying trapeze.

"The lady's name was," sez the officer soft like. "Her name's Doreen," I burbles. He smiles and scribbles for me an address from the slip. "Why don't you marry the girl?" he sez. "You need looking after, and--" but I don't hear no more. I'm on my way.

"NX65850"

MESS ETIQUETTE FOR A.A.M.W.S.

THE following notes (inspired by "Notes for Etiquette in Officers' Messes") are designed to indicate the correct procedure in a well brought up A.A.M.W.S. Mess.

GREETINGS: In the morning, when entering the Mess for the first time, all members must say "Good morning Sarg" to any sergeant who happens to be on time for breakfast, and "Good morning, kids" in a general way to the other ladies present. Greetings such as "You'll do me, you big bronzed Anzac" are not encouraged, and remarks as to why So-and-so was late for parade owing to someone else having pinched her bath, and similar personalities, are also not in the best of taste.

PUNCTUALITY: No one should ever be late for Mess. This is very unlikely to happen, but in any event it is bad for the mess-girls' tempers and retribution in the way of small helpings will probably follow.

CIRCULATION OF THE PORT: As all personnel of hospital units are strictly forbidden to have alcohol on the premises, we need not bother much about this Very Important Rule, except to say that decanters (if any) in all the best messes are passed to the left down to the other end of the table and, if anything is left in them, later passed back again. It is the rule that each officer (and, of course, each A.A.M.W.S.) should pour out only his (her) (),%vn port, presumably owing to the fact that the neighbours. of the pourer would probably only get a very small drink.

DRESS: No member may enter the Mess unless properly dressed. Dressing gowns and pyjamas are strictly forbidden, no matter how classy they look. (Bobby-pins are also out.)

SAM BROWNE BELTS: In the Notes for Officers' Mess Etiquette, it is stated that these may be worn for breakfast or lunch, but not for dinner, "owing to the discomfort". Apparently more is eaten for dinner. It is to be presumed that in an A.A.M.W.S. Mess, the place of the Sam Browne would be taken by a foundation garment, so the same rule as to the wearing of these would, doubtless, apply. In case you don't know, the belts are hung over the back of the wearer's chair, and it is important to get the right belt back after the meal, particularly in cases of O.S. sizes.

SUBJECTS OF CONVERSATION: In Officers' Messes (believe it or not) "subjects such as 'shop', women, politics and religion" must not be discussed. This doesn't leave much except the weather for us to discuss, but a lot can be done with a little social chat about "What an appalling angle that new girl wears her hat at! " and so on.

Ladies and children are not permitted to enter Officers' Messes except on Special Occasions. This is very depressing, but we can't be worried.

DOUBTFUL STORIES: These are not encouraged, we are told, In an Officers' Mess, as they tend to lower the tone of the Mess; we must, therefore, regretfully cut these out, except, perhaps, on Special Occasions?

"NFX168618"