Chapter 10 Yo-San's Christmas; Foundations of Victory; Golden Voice; Friend Belong Australia

YO-SAN'S CHRISTMAS

THE scene of the battle was an airfield. A strip of land torn from the jungle, fashioned from coral and hardened mud, coated with a tar composition which sweated in sympathy with the yellow coolies who had worked long days and nights in its creation.

It was a good strip, strategically important, worth many lives. The battle pushed its value far beyond par.

Colonel Hito had stood beside the small jetty nearly a year before and watched the last of his detachment arrive. He was a small man even for a Japanese. His ill-fitting uniform was made more grotesque by the cumbersome sword strapped to his side belt. His pock-marked face was arrogant. Major Isha stepped ashore from a small ship's gangplank closely followed by three nurses clad in khaki. The small medical section humbly bowed before the diminutive figure. The Colonel scarcely acknowledged them, turned on his heel and went to his quarters.

Seated at a crude desk the Colonel glanced through some newly arrived official papers. His slant eyes were quick to read the praise contained for his "excellent devotion to the Emperor". He lingered over the eulogy then continued reading. He learned that two squadrons of medium bombers and one squadron of single-engined fighter planes would be arriving almost immediately. He was in full command of their activities and also responsible for the "defence of the airfield". The Colonel found the final portion of his command amusing and his yellow teeth were revealed in what might have passed for a grin. Defence of the airfield! He had not seen a barbarian soldier since landing on the coast, now there were many airfields much closer to the enemy. The paltry whites were falling back. Nothing could stop the relentless drive of the Emperor's men.

The Major and the nurses had been invited to dine with their commanding officer. Colonel Hito accepted his saki from the small glass Nurse Yo-San had proffered. He had taken it from her small delicate hand, then he watched her from the corner of his eye discreetly resume her position in the background with the other nurses. Her low bow, her humility, her condescension thrilled him. Previously he had noted her lovely eyes, the dark hair accentuating a pallid skin. She was new to the tropics.

"Major Isha," said the Colonel, "Nurse YoSan is attractive to me." He raised his brows questioningly, his greedy little eyes watched the doctor intently. The Major bowed. The Colonel saw his unasked question had been well interpreted.

The airfield became a veritable hive of activity. Daily the bombers took off on missions and returned with triumphant garrulous crews; their fervour and devotion to duty gleamed in their excited, eager faces.

Some were very young.

The fighter pilots described to awe-struck listeners the damage they had wrought, how their planes were unopposed, how easy it had been for them to destroy the enemy.

Hito was pleased, content with his command. His men grew indolent and careless of their living conditions. Rice bowls were full. The humble coolies also were content.

Months passed by uneventfully. Nurse YoSan, with simple heart and mind, found her life now fully devoted to the Colonel. By his request she had been removed from hospital duties and the Major had not complained.

The hospital was rough and make-shift, for the Major had little interest in it. His was an unenviable profession in wartime. To lose one's life in service to the Emperor was to gain supreme glory. To save a patient was to deny him entrance to the portals of the Sons of Heaven.

The Major was not an unkindly man and often would assist the patient by hastening his demise; yet, at times, the doctor became so confused with his lot that he sought solace in saki and took an increasing dose of drugs. The odour of the poppy brought fragrance of his beloved cherry blossom.

Nurse Yo-San was with child.

Eagerly she informed the Colonel only to see his face darken in furious anger. The Major was summoned immediately to Hito's room. The little nurse could only listen, her heart pounding wildly as she heard him rave at the unhappy medico. Words seemed blurred to her bewildered ears.- but it was the Doctor's voice that rang with authority in answer to the Colonel's request.

Impossible! It is too late for that. Besides the Emperor has decreed no physician shall..."

The Colonel's voice again...

Send her back the very next boat! Meantime give her hospital duties."

It was the next morning, when the coolies stopped work to kow-tow to the Colonel on his daily inspection, that life changed from the hum-drum of easy existence.

Hito stood in the centre of the runway surveying his forces. He admired his bombers. Sleek fighter aircraft interspersed amongst the larger planes gleamed in the morning sun as they stretched wing tip to wing tip on either side of the strip.

Suddenly from over the hills at the north of the airfield streaked three twin-engined aircraft. They approached as silently and as swiftly as death itself. Not until they had almost reached the strip did the sound of their engines roar forth a challenge. Terror came as cannons blasted from their wings. Hito hurled himself to the ground and watched in crazed, helpless anger, while fuel dumps exploded, bombers were shot to pieces. He saw his fighters burning, men and materials disintegrating to mingle in the dust which clouded out the sun.

This was the beginning. "Whispering Death" called again and again from over the hills. The element of surprise confused the Colonel's gun batteries. His fighter planes vanished as quickly as they were ferried from adjoining bases, destroyed both on the ground and in the air. It became a battle of supplies. New bombers landed with new crews, but always replacements lagged behind the rate of destruction. No ships came again to the small inlet. Isolation was grimly apparent.

Nurse Yo-San still worked at the hospital, where a drugged doctor and his assistants fulfilled, as best they could, the unappreciated task of caring for patients with suicidal tendencies. Once Major Isha operated upon a seriously wounded mechanic and saw the man tear off his bandages on gaining consciousness.

The surgeon endeavoured to remonstrate only to have the patient spit in his face. The Major let him die and seldom operated again. Time passed now in a nerve-racking quota of daily raids. The airfield became a shambles. Crazed coolies went mad at their never-ending task of repairing the damaged strip. They were shot and their bodies flung into bomb craters.

Then the Colonel was informed by radio no more planes would land. His orders were brief and ended "Defend the airfield". This time he did not find his responsibility amusing and his task began sooner than he had expected. The white barbarians landed on the coral beach at dawn.

Synchronized with their arrival came an armada of aircraft to pulverize the few remaining buildings. Naval vessels shelled gun positions from miles at sea, turning the jungle into a blazing inferno.
Behind the Colonel and his desperate yellow men were the high hills. Hito left those in the coconut palm foxholes to hold on as best they could and ordered the retreat of his remaining troops to the higher ground. At midday from his prepared position he had made his plans. Major Isha begged for an audience. It was granted.

The Major spoke nervously, his mouth twitching: "We have no medical supplies! The men refused to carry them!" His Colonel smirked. "I gave them orders not to do so. You can clear out. My men will
live or die. We want no bartering with the glory of our destiny!"

Major Isha reddened and his anger was only subdued by the Colonel's hand sliding to the hilt of his ornamental sword. He swallowed and said: "With your permission, sir, I shall take the two nurses and make our way on foot along the coast." "Two nurses? Why not three?"

The Major bowed. "Nurse Yo-San's time is near. It will be today." Hito paced the earth floor of his dug-out, "Very well, then," he said, "she must fend for herself!" He wheeled on the medico who

stood with hands clasped, his mouth still twitching. "You are a man of education. Can you tell me what day this is in the barbarians' calendar?" He snarled as the trembling Major remained silent. "It is the Mass of Christ's eve. Jesus Christ! You have heard of him, haven't you? The barbarians' God! Their worshipful Emperor? Fanatics! Madmen! Worshipping a God who lived in rags and poverty! I tell you we must destroy their evil hearts lest they destroy us. In a few hours we attack and hurl ourselves at these monsters who would oppose our Emperor with the memory of a dead pauper, whom they themselves murdered. That in itself shows their fiendish, treacherous nature!" Livid with hate, the Colonel's face was not pleasant to look at as he dismissed the Major with a wave of his hand.

Hito returned to his plans.

The attack began late in the afternoon.

Hundreds of screaming, frenzied, naked men ran down the sides of the hills towards the airfield with their Colonel in their midst. Only half of them had bothered to carry arms. Some preferred to kill themselves with hand grenades hugged to their chests. A handful reached the strip only to be mowed down by machine guns.

The Colonel fell-his brains spattered by a barbarian's bullet.

Nurse Yo-San heard the attack commence. She listened at first to the screams and demented yells of her fellow men, then placed her hands to her ears in a useless attempt to drown the sound. She still heard it. It was like some sound she had heard before-long, long before.

Screams! The noise of death! The sound came back from her childhood stock of forgotten memories, as a nightmare revisits a series of bad dreams.

Earthquake! . . . Tokyo A little girl

alone, dazed, wandering amidst the dying and the dead. She recalled the carnage, the smoke, the debris, the corpses-and something else:

A Red Cross-yes, a Red Cross! She recalled, too, barbarian white women who had worn the emblem on their shoulde7s-the flag with the same insignia which had flown from the canvas tent where they had taken her. The Red Cross! The little nurse rose to her feet. She was weak with pain, afraid. She stumbled down the hilly path, clutching now and then at a tree trunk. Her eyes were wild. Her long black hair streamed loose over the shoulders of her soiled white uniform. She fell over a bleeding corpse and rose, her hands covered in blood. She wiped them on her uniform and saw the crimson stain. YoSan stooped, tore away her white slip, then, shuddering, she dipped her hands into the congealing blood and traced a cross upon her garment. Her task completed, she staggered down the winding trail.

So it was that a Japanese nurse, scared and trembling, but bearing aloft her precious emblem, was found near the lines by a barbarian soldier. Willing hands speedily carried her, as gently as possible, to the hospital tent, where an incredulous doctor and two dumbfounded orderlies prepared for an emergency seldom encountered on the battlefield.

Nurse Yo-San lay between clean white sheets with her small babe at her breast. They were both at peace. Her eyes roved around the tent, dimly lit by kerosene lamps. She saw barbarian patients being tended by barbarian doctors in clean white uniforms.

She recalled Major Isha telling her before he had left with the other nurses that the white man's Emperor God, Jesus, had been born on this day-a day when Westerners rejoiced and gave gifts to one another. Her heart was strangely happy. She could not conjure hatred or fear for the tall, tired looking white man who now stood above her bed and smiled at her.

FLYING-OFFICER G. FOSTER

Author's note: Lieutenant Thornton, U.S. Liberator pilot of Fifth bomber command, landed at Hollandia a few days after the American landing. When he and his bombardier returned to base, they related the story of a Japanese nurse, in advanced condition of pregnancy, having walked to our lines and surrendered.

FOUNDATIONS OF VICTORY

IN the jungles of Dutch New Guinea, among the palm groves of bomb-scarred coral islands, across the treacherous disease gripped kunai grass plains of the Markham Valley, Australian and American servicemen have sweated side by side in record-breaking efforts to keep Allied aircraft pounding and strafing deeper and deeper into the diminishing Japanese Empire.

Bases for Major-General Ennis C. Whitehead's Fifth Air Force and Australian First Tactical Air Force are being thrust farther and farther towards the Philippines and Japan.

Behind the more spectacular exploits of the brave young men who fly the planes which have virtually cleared the New Guinea air of Japanese aeroplanes is a solid weight of engineering skill, modern construction machinery and co-operative Allied effort.

The hard-bitten, skilled men of two nations, whose work has made the Allied Southwestern Pacific air offensive possible, know the strain of back-breaking toil in a treacherous, enervating, unhealthy climate. They have worked in shifts twenty-four hours a day to reach the skimpy datelines set by the men who want the airfields to do the fighting. They have known the despair of working against time amidst the thud of bombs from a jubilant and ascendant foe. Now they are working equally hard, but with quiet triumph, to bring retribution on an enemy who, thanks in great measure to their efforts, no longer commands the New Guinea skies.

At Nadzab, in the Markham Valley, Australian airfield construction units broke a New Guinea record. Within twenty-seven days, working twenty-four hours a day, they turned a virgin area of kunai plains and sago swamps into a fully operational airfield with two strips, road system and dispersal bays.

At Aitape they had a strip ready in forty-eight hours for Australian Kittyhawk fighters which took off on a mission ten minutes after the last one's wheels had touched down.

At Noemfoor Island, Dutch New Guinea, they had two operational airstrips ready twenty-four days after the American Task Force landed. Australian fighters were using one of them within a few days of D-day.

A Royal Australian Air Force engineer is the American Army's Task Force engineer at Aitape and Noemfoor.

He is Group-Captain W. A. C. Dale, D.S.O., of Coonamble (N.S.W.), a Citizen Air Force pilot, who rose to Assistant Director of Works and Buildings, Royal Australian Air Force Headquarters, before his appointment in the field as commanding officer of all the Australian airfield construction units in New Guinea and, subsequently, as a U.S. Task Force engineer, a position which enabled him to work Australian and American survey, engineering and construction units as a complementary team in the stupendous task of providing airfields, roads and docking facilities for areas previously devoid of all the foundations of mechanical warfare.

Thirty minutes after H-hour on the day of the Noemfoor landing, Group-Captain Dale, Wing-Commander Towers, Squadron-Leader C. R. Cobby and Squadron-Leader L. W. Jamieson were inspecting Kamiri strip and planning its reconstruction. They landed under mortar-fire, and fighting was going on at the other end of the strip while they made their inspection. Since the S.W.P. war has become mobile, airfield construction squadrons have become the shock troops of the R.A.A.F.

Each man is a trained soldier as well as a skilled or semi-skilled workman. The rifles that hang on the machines they work are not ornamental. The men know how to use them, and have used them in the first dangerous days of a new landing. At night, while the machines clatter on under the glare of fierce floodlights, unit guards squat behind light and heavy machine guns, ready to beat off any rash Japanese attempt to interrupt the vital work.

GOLDEN VOICE

IT is May 18, 1942. This morning, on seven-mile, the team seemed stronger. There seemed to be more pilots lounging near the operations tent. I soon learned the reason. They were advanced-party pilots from a squadron that was on its way up. They had come in yesterday. They were Lynch. Adkins, Carey, Wahl and Green. Lynch. Carey and Wahl hadn't wasted any time. They'd gone up into the scrap shortly after their arrival.

I was sitting near the tent and chatting with Falletta shortly after morning chow, when the telephone rang. The ops officer lifted the receiver and answered it. Every pilot had stopped talking. Everyone was listening and waiting. I saw one of them drop his cigarette and stamp on it.

The ops officer made a scribbled note and looked up:

"Scramble, fellers. Thirty-four bombers and fighter escort heading right in."

Captain Meng took over. The pilots knew what to do and there was little waiting. Someone near the tent took up his pistol and fired three shots in rapid succession. While the jeeps and command cars were roaring away with the pilots, I heard other alarms sounding around the hills; sirens, whistles, shots and yells.

It was an urgent scramble. The whole of the flat field, so quiet half a minute before, was pressing with motion and things happening. Two command cars, draped with pilots, were tearing down among the machines, dropping off a man at each. Other airmen were packed into another command car speeding off to the close, rising hills where they had their camp and adequate trenches.

Here, at the top end of the strip, a dozen or more fighters were already revving and taxi-mg, elbowing and crowding each other on to the runway, coughing in snarling bursts and whipping up choking coils of fine dust.

In a matter of seconds, they were taking off.

There were always three on the runway making the run at the same time, crowding behind each other in sharp, banking take-offs. Already they were forming up in loose formation and gaining height over the hills. Behind the last plane, apparently oblivious to the dust, and leaning against the terrific blast from the slipstream, stood a crew-chief. He was watching anxiously as his pilot swiftly tested gun-switches, controls, headset.

In the ships nearest to me, I could see the pilots, calmly waiting for their turn to swing round on to the runway. I could see baby faced "Hoot" Bevlock speaking urgently through his mike, evidently warning the pilot of the crate in front to be careful not to swing his goddamned tailplane into Bevlock's goddamned prop. The ambulance and crash truck were waiting patiently farther along the strip, their engines running. Two petrol wagons were already turning into the road leading away from Moresby.

From what at first seemed a furious panic came a look of well-ordered routine as the planes began to clear from the strip. The remaining crew-chiefs piled into a truck and blasted straight up the empty strip towards the turn-off. The ambulance and crash truck followed in a cloud of dust. The airstrip was clear of planes and vehicles, and all that remained was the dust. Above, there was the roar of a score of climbing fighters.

Visual Control was a cave cut in the side of a steep hill overlooking the strip. Down in the cave, which was stuffy and oppressively hot, and lit by dim, yellow lights, the operators worked, crouching before the sets. An amplifier in the mouth of the cave told the story for the controller, Squadron-Leader Terry King, who sat in a cane chair on the ledge overlooking the strip.

But somewhere across the Owen Stanleys ere was another link, a man with a transmitter - a man with a price on his head -a man who told Moresby what the Japanese were doing at Lae and Salamaua. The Japs tried hard to catch him, but failed. He Pilot-Officer L. G. Vial (Golden-voice Vial), was key to fighter interception over Moresby.

Today, Vial had watched the thirty-four bombers; take off, form up and set course for Moresby. He established contact, passed the message and waited to see how many would return.

February 1942, when Singapore fell, when e first devastating raid was made on Darwin, Vial, who had been in New Guinea and the Mandated Territory for eight or nine ears as an assistant district officer before the war, set out from Moresby with two native boys.

He had with him provisions for six months and a radio set and took up a station in the hills overlooking Lae and Salamaua where the Japs were entrenched. For the ensuing long, lonely months he spent most of his time in treetops peering down on those enemy strong holds, watching through binoculars to detect the least sign of Jap aerial activity below.

When a flight of bombers took off from, the aerodrome beneath, his voice, concise and clear, gave details of the number of aircraft, the type, height, time and direction of flying. At Port Moresby a man sitting in a hut with earphones clamped over his head immediately picked up and delivered the message to Visual Hill.

Day and night Vial was "on the air". Vial "Golden-voice Vial" as he came to be called -became a byword back in the garrison town as Moresby then was. As the Japs surged across the Owen Stanleys; between him and his base he still carried on. The enemy was mystified by this voice, seemingly from heaven, which ruined their best-laid plans time and again.

Once they flew over and took photographs of his position, but Vial immediately collected his gear and moved to another locality. He did that several times and thwarted the Japs every time.

It was dull work most of the time, but once a week on an average he got a bad scare when he heard strange noises and the voices of natives or our own people. Sometimes a creaking tree was enough to put him in a state of alarm. His gravest risk was that some wandering native might betray him to the enemy. Many of them knew where he was, as he often bought extra food from them. He always paid them highly and as no Japanese discovered him he presumed they were well disposed.

Besides watching for impending bomb raids, Vial also reported shipping and other enemy activity at Lae and Salamaua. He was looking down on Salamaua when the first big Allied bomb raid was made on their invasion fleet.

Never more than four or six miles from Salamaua, Vial provided information which not only helped the Allies defend themselves at Moresby but also enabled them to send out bombers to blast enemy concentrations of men, ships and aircraft.

Each post he took up was in dense jungle so it was not hard to keep himself concealed. He took great care not to beat tracks to his camp or observation post.

As part of his kit, he had taken a few books, that he had read and re-read. He also acquired much valuable entomological knowledge from close study of flies, mosquitoes and leeches. It rains all the time in those mountains and Vial was never really dry from one month's end to another. Now and again he was able to shoot a white cockatoo or a pigeon to vary his menu a little. He had never thought of "cockie" as a palatable dish before, he said, but he found grilled breast quite delectable.

May 18 was just another day, another job done. He watched the Japanese pass over, settled down to wait for their return, to count their numbers and report to fighter control the effectiveness of the interception which he had made possible.

They were coming in. I could hear them.

I could hear that unmistakable singsong, throaty rumble. I knew that off-beat sound of Japanese twin-engined bombers now. One of the Cobra pilots told me that the twin engines of the Mitsubishis were desynchronized to nullify the effectiveness of sound locators. I could hear them long before I could see them.

Suddenly I saw them. There were two formations-one of eighteen bombers, the other of sixteen. The eighteen-plane formation was headed right for the seven-mile strip. They were beautifully in line and coming in-right on target-the Silver Fleet-lined across the sky. The other formation was evidently going for the three-mile.

The fighters were active somewhere. I could hear the distant chatter of machinegun fire. But I couldn't see any near the bomber formations.

The eighteen bombers were coming in were coming steadily in. The ack-ack had cut out now and the steady growl of the motors was deep, vibrant, wholesome, building up and up. I saw their bomb-bays open.

I saw something else. It was a speck in the sky. This morning in the clear sky, I could make it out as a fighter. He looked way above and behind the formation. It seemed to be stuck there for a moment, glinting in the sun. Then it dived into the head of the formation. He was right in the middle of them.

Something terrific happened up there. I couldn't quite grip it for a second. There was a great orange ball hung in the sky.

One of the bombers , the one next to point on the right-had disappeared before my eyes.

The one next to him had fallen right out of the formation and was smoking. All the other machines in the whole formation seemed to have been jolted clean out of position.

The ball of fire disappeared and a great, heavy explosion reached me. It had taken all this time for the sound of it to reach me. There was a wreath of black smoke trailing raggedly where a few seconds ago there had been an aircraft. It hung, falling slowly in the sky. I could see the fighter now - the one that had done the damage, still diving away. And the other Jap bomber that had been crippled was still losing height and smoking badly-and heading back towards its base

Crrrump! Crrrump! Crrrump! Crrrump! Crrrump!

The bombs were falling now. I crouched low as they thudded up the valley. I didn't look through the aperture any more. I was on my haunches holding my ears - and waiting. Each bomb-burst was closer than the last. I could hear that terrific, rustling whisper.

Another great succession of bursts. It seemed that they could get no louder. The next one shook the ground. The next was louder still. The next was violent and seemed to rock the walls of the trench. I felt a terrific blast of air through the trench. A tin dislodged from the shelf above the radio. Its clatter frightened me more than the bombs. The next explosion was weaker.

They had passed over. Other bombs were falling. But they decreased in violence. And then they cut out. I looked up through the air-shaft again.

I saw the bombers straggling in bad formation towards the hills. One of the rear machines was trailing far behind the rest and I thought I could see wisps of smoke coming from one of its wings.

Then I turned and looked up at the spot where the bomber had blown up in the sky. I saw no trace of a fuselage. All I saw was a ragged sky that was dotted with flecks that glistened every now and then like spangles on a rippling curtain. The specks shone and floated slowly toward the earth. They were pieces steel and aluminium and cowling that were falling, floating, zigzagging lazily through the still air.

In less than three minutes, the all-clear sounded. The earth became active again. Jeeps and command cars began to straggle back. A Cobra was already circling the strip and awaiting the signal to come down.

Terry King, Controller at Visual, was calmly saying:

"Golden Voice to Pago Red. You may pancake. You may pancake."

An American voice, very far away, said:

"Pago Red to Golden Voice. Roger. Roger."

Another raid on Moresby was over.

A little later, in the jungles overlooking Salamaua, Len Vial was reporting with satisfaction that two of the Japanese bombers had failed to return.

PILOT-OFFICER G. B. GRAHAM

Editors' note: The late Flight-Lieutenant L. G. Vial was awarded the United States Distinguished Service Cross for outstanding courage. He was killed in an aircraft crash in New Guinea in April 1943.

FRIEND BELONG AUSTRALIA

0N November 3, 1943, a R.A.A.F. Boston was shot down by ack-ack fire at Jacquinot Bay, New Britain. The pilot, Wing Commander W. E. Townsend, of Moree (N.S.W.), and his observer, Flying-Officer D. M. McClymont, Blackall (Q.), were in the jungle for three months before making a dramatic escape on February 5, 1944. The following account of the remarkable adventures which befell them is taken from a report written by Wing-Commander Townsend.

"The aircraft came to rest on the reef with its upper structure above the surface and the mainplanes awash. The water was up to my chin before I left the cockpit. We threw the dinghy into the water and it inflated immediately. We hopped in and paddled to the shore as quickly as possible, though this took at least ten minutes, as a circular dinghy is a difficult craft to move through the water at any speed. On reaching the shore we cut the dinghy up with our jungle knives and hid it as well as we could. From it we took seven 12-ounce blocks of chocolate, five tins of emergency drinking water and a ground sheet.

"We made off into the jungle which was very thick. After travelling for a few minutes we came upon a Jap road which ran parallel to the coast, had a quick look either way, and ducked across. Shortly after crossing the road we heard sounds of pursuit. Later natives told us that we had just crossed as some Japs came around the corner. We headed north-west and endeavoured not to leave any tracks by pushing through the jungle instead of cutting our way."

By nightfall they had crossed the first coastal range. They camped beside a dry stream in a gully and shortly after dark it began to rain heavily, so that they spent an uncomfortable night and were again soaked to the skin. After a breakfast of emergency rations they continued north-west and travelled all day. It began to rain in the afternoon so they prepared themselves a shelter and spent a more comfortable night. For eleven days they wandered about the jungle before they found a native village. They lived on emergency rations. Every night they covered their hands with iodine to prevent the many scratches they received from vines and stones from turning septic. They also bound sticking plaster to their feet as a protection from the hard wear.

"It was a small village of four huts and the population appeared to be about twenty-five. The natives were surprised at seeing two bedraggled white men entering their village. I managed to inform them in pidgin English that we had crashed in an aircraft and were 'soldiers belong English'. Although the tul-tul of the village understood that much it was difficult to convey anything else and difficult for us to understand him. However, after we had asked for kai-kai, which consisted of cooked green bananas and taro roasted in the fire, we spent the night in a native hut with the natives and the sense of comfort in being beside a fire and protected from the weather was overwhelming.

"The next morning the tul-tul told me he would take us to another village to see the 'Kapitan'. I viewed this with a certain amount of suspicion but he assured me that the Kapitan 'belong English'. He then took us along a dry river bed. just before dusk that evening we arrived at a much larger village. 'Kapitan' turned out to be a native who had once worked for an Englishman. The Japanese had visited this village at some time as there was a sign in Japanese nailed on to the front of one of the huts. The population appeared to be about thirty-five or forty and most spoke pidgin English. We were given plenty of food, including a most delicious fruit called tabiac, which is something like a custard apple but much sweeter and tasted like fruit salad and cream. The tul-tul told us that he would take
us to Number One, whom he assured me was a 'friend true belong Australia'.

"The next morning, Monday, November 15, we set out with the tul-tul and one of his boys and travelled all morning in a southeasterly direction. Shortly after midday we arrived at another village where we spent most of the day while the coons discussed among themselves the best way to get us to Number One. They considered going by moonlight along the Jap road but this was scrubbed due to the risk and we set off next morning with new guides by an inland route. After walking hard all day we arrived at another village where we were well received by the luluai.

(The luluai of a village is the chief. The tul-tul is more or less next in command. Where a village is not large enough for a luluai the tul-tul is head man.)

"By November 16 we had walked many miles over extremely rugged country and were rather exhausted. I was suffering pain from a muscle in the groin and we both badly needed -some rest. The luluai was sympathetic and asked us to stay with him at his village rather than go on. He considered it safer and promised to look after us very well. We stayed until November 18, sleeping in the village at night and spending the day in a hut about half a mile into the jungle. At midday on November 18 the luluai told us that Number One had sent word that we were to meet him that afternoon at the mouth of a nearby river. The natives took us down to the place and we hid in the undergrowth near the coast. Shortly afterwards we sighted a canoe approaching. The natives became very excited and kept saying: 'Number One e kum, Number One e kum.'

"The canoe came closer. Sitting up in the bow wearing an A.I.F. cap, A.I.F. sweater and a red lap-lap, with a .44 Winchester across his knees, was Number One, paramount chief of the area. He came ashore and shook hands with us and told us that his name was Colpak and that he was a 'friend belong Australia true'. He said he had sent some boys to search for us when he saw the crash but they had en unable to locate our tracks and he thought we had perished in the jungle. He had told the Japs that we had either died in the sea or in the jungle.

Number One took us about a mile into the jungle behind his village and that night we were surprised when he produced some tea. He also brought out taro and sweet potato which we ate from tin plates with knives and forks. He also possessed blankets and pillows. Next day he set his boys to build us a house, close to his own. They built a very fine hut with benches to sit on outside and bush beds inside. Colpak gave us saucepans, plates, knives and forks, a small hurricane lamp, blankets, pillows and a small kettle to make tea, besides a large bottle of Japanese sauce and a tin of pepper. Colpak also had a few books, including The Family Physician, Diseases Commonly met with in Melanesia and several volumes on British Israelite theory.

"We remained with Number One until December 4. During this time the Japanese were becoming very suspicious and came to the village often to cross-question Colpak who managed to fool them and proclaimed his ignorance of any white man in the area. By this time our supply of quinine became exhausted. I told Colpak that we would probably get sick if we could not get more. He said the matter was easily solved and sent a boy to say he was sick and ask for quinine. The Japs gave him about thirty tablets, which he brought to us. These tablets were sugarcoated and about the same size as our own and I presume that each tablet contained five grains of quinine. They also procured from the Japs a supply of aspirin tablets, which they gave to us.

"We lived very well for the few weeks we were here. Colpak had a pig killed once a week for us and there was an abundant supply of bananas, pineapples, sweet potato, taro, grapefruit with red flesh, which the natives call pomalo, also lemons, sweet corn and fish. The Japanese would give the natives dynamite and send them out to get fish for themselves, and the natives would take the majority of the fish to them and bring a couple of dozen to us each time. They have a grand sense of humour and were much amused by this.

"About December 1 the Japanese decided to have a big talk to all the luluais in the area and sent for Colpak to attend also, as he was the paramount luluai. Colpak did not go, making the excuse that he was not feeling well. This annoyed the Japs very much and they sent some of their native police boys to interview Colpak and told him to return and live in his village instead of living in the bush behind it. He was told to alter his attitude or they would take sterner measures. At this time the Japanese were constantly in the village questioning the natives about hiding two white men in the bush. It was obvious that somebody had spilled the beans and the enemy knew we were in that area.

"On Saturday, December 4, just before dawn, the Japs walked into the village and locked up the entire population. A small piccaninny escaped and came running to us saying, 'Japan e kum, Japan e kum.' Colpak was with us that morning and showed amazing strategy. He said the Japs would think we had gone into the jungle so the best thing we could do was to go down on to the beach. We grabbed our kits and he led us across the Jap road on to the top of a small peninsula.

This was a coral-studded, mangrove swamp area and Colpak insisted that we walk barefoot so as not to leave tracks. This was very hard on our feet and we suffered many cuts and bruises. We spent the night in this position and before dawn moved back across the Jap road and, still barefooted, climbed a range about iooo feet where Number One established a camp with the help of some coons from a nearby village. We remained there until Wednesday, December 8. During this time the Japs were freeing the natives in the day-time and sending them into the jungle to search for Colpak and us. In the meantime they were threatening to kill the piccaninnies unless they took them to our position. Several boys came up and tried to talk Colpak into giving himself up, but he would not.

"About 0530 hours on the Wednesday morning we were awakened by shots being fired into our huts. It appeared that under pressure some coons: had led the Japs to our hiding place. We bolted out of the hut, grabbing most of our gear but leaving behind a flying suit, our water tins and a few odds and ends. We went straight down the mountain side and the coons with us scattered in all directions. It was fortunate that the Japs began to fire when they entered the camp. This, of course, woke us and galvanized us into action. If they had come in quietly and surrounded the place they could have taken us easily. McClymont and I were separated in the dash. As we came out of the hut I saw Colpak flash by and I stuck to him all the way down the mountain. By this time it was daylight. We scouted around looking for McClymont and were fortunate enough to find him quite soon.

"It rained all that day and again Colpak insisted that we remove our boots. Our party now consisted of Colpak, a little girl of his, aged about ten, McClymont and myself. Colpak still carried his -44 Winchester. We hid most of the day in the bed of a stream and then, late in the afternoon, he took us to a small cave in the side of a hill. We lived here for nine days, hardly daring to move outside it. Late each afternoon Colpak crept down into the village garden and gathered a few taro and tobacco leaves. He would then send the piccaninny back with the food and would himself make a recco of the village. Each day he came back to report that the Japs were still there.

"At this time our feet were in a bad condition, as most of the cuts had become infected. We treated them by sterilizing a razor blade in the fire and cutting open the infections, applying sulphanilamide powder and covering the lot with sticking plaster. Quite a few of these infections healed. During this period I tried to talk Colpak into moving farther inland but, naturally, he did not want to get too far from his village. The Japs, during their occupation, destroyed most of his possessions, ransacked the gardens and killed most of his pigs. This naturally annoyed him greatly but never at any time did he consider handing us over to the enemy. I learnt from Colpak that the Japanese knew me by name. How this had occurred I do not know, except that all the natives in the area also knew it.

"On Friday, December 17, Colpak decided to take us farther inland to a new village. Here they killed a pig for us and that night Number One sent some boys down the track to watch in case we had been trailed. At about midnight we were awakened and told that the boys had seen flashlights coming up the trail. The entire village moved out into the jungle about a mile to another series of huts built for some such emergency. Next morning Colpak arranged guides to take us over the mountains and told us that he did not want us to leave him, but considered it safest for us to go. We shook hands with the entire assembly and received many expressions of sympathy. I assured Colpak that I would never

forget what he had done for us and would repay him in some manner whenever I could. Travelling over mountains that rose to 5,000 feet Wing-Commander Townsend and Flying Officer McClymont two days later linked up with an A.I.F. party, with which they stayed until evacuation could be arranged. There was no known route to the point of evacuation but they decided to make the attempt, despite difficult country and dangerous rivers. It was not until February 5 that they at last got safely away.

FLYING-OFFICER W. TIMM