Chapter 4 Four Bombardments; Geordie; Officiana; Armistice; Borneo Bound;

FOUR BOMBARDMENTS BY H.M.A.S. GOULBURN

IN June 1944, while employed in Army cooperative work and patrol in the Hansa Bay area, Goulburn carried out a reconnaissance of Manam Island. During the course of this operation Baliau village, which was reported to contain Japanese, was shelled and strafed with 4-inch and Oerlikon fire, and several barges in Sogari Bay were also shelled.

Shortly after the bombardment at Baliau, units of the Papuan Infantry Brigade landed without opposition in the ship's boats.

Between the 25th and 29th September, Goulburn carried out operations in the Mapia Islands on behalf of the United States Intelligence section. Goulburn first arrived off the Mapia Islands on the night of the 25th and eight native scouts were landed on Bras Island, with the object of finding out the strength and disposition of the Japanese remaining in the Mapia Island group.

Plans had previously been made to reembark the native scouts two days later, but when Goulburn arrived at the rendezvous off Finaldo Island the scouts were not sighted, and a close inshore search was carried out at Bras and Pegun islands. As there was still no sign of the natives, it was decided to land an armed party on Bras Island and carry out a reconnaissance. Prior to the landing, which was made in the ship's whaler, the area was shelled and strafed with 4-inch and Oerlikon fire from the ship.

The trip across the reef to the beach was rather a hazardous one but without accident, and the landing on the beach was made without opposition. The landing party returned to the ship about an hour later without having contacted any natives or Japanese, although there were signs that the area had recently been occupied by the Japanese. It was assumed the natives had been captured by them. '

On another occasion Goulburn carried out a bombardment of Japanese-held positions at Mios Aoeri. A village and observation post were shelled and strafed, and it was later learnt from N.I.C.A. sources that about eighty Japanese were killed in this engagement.

Prior to the bombardment, an armed party of Goulburn ratings, accompanied by a N.I.C.A. officer, landed on Mios Aoeri Island and contact was made with native scouts. just as the ship's whaler commenced to return to the ship, a party of three Japanese soldiers was sighted endeavouring to make an escape to the mainland in a native canoe. The crew of Goulburn's whaler immediately gave chase and the Japanese were subsequently captured and brought back on board Goulburn.

A few days after the above incident Goulburn carried out a night bombardment of Japanese-held village at Noesaner. During this engagement star shell was fired from time to time to illuminate the target area and, although spotting was rather difficult owing to the darkness, several fires were started in the camp area, and later reconnaissance indicated that the bombardment had been accurate and effective.

The record of these bombardments is depicted on Goulburn's gun-shield.

"J.N.C."

"GEORDIE"

WHEN our "N" class destroyers were first commissioned, the ease with which numbers of R.N. ratings fitted into R.A.N. ways of living, working and thinking was a joy to their overworked Jimmies. Owing to difficulties of manning and transport, it had been necessary to ask the Admiralty to supply several key ratings until such times as Australian reliefs could be provided. "Geordie", bless his young Mancunian heart, produced the only problem-that of the King's English, "as she is spoke". Broader than a battleship's beam and wider than the stem of an elephant, Geordie's accent made his language unintelligible to those of us from the Antipodes, and for all communication purposes we relapsed into the sign language of our prehistoric ancestors.

The story of Geordie's coming good is a delightful one.

N-- was racing through the black of a Libyan night - Tobruk was just astern (thank God!) and the course was set for Alexandria. A, very tired, very dirty and very bad-tempered Jimmy was jostling an amorphous heap of English soldiery who, with a faith in the Navy that almost conquered the first lieutenant's heart, had contentedly imagined there was no danger on earth, sea, land or in the air could stop the King's ships, and had, one and all, lit up with gusto their newly acquired N.A.A.F.I. cigarettes.

The necessity for a total blackout on this most dangerous stretch of the Tobruk run did not mean a thing to them, and one more "b---" bellowing at them in "soom fooney larngwidge" left them quite cold. No. 1 was desperate, and felt more and more helpless when he realized that pure (well, perhaps "slightly tainted" would be more accurate) Australian was having no effect on the Pommies.

Suddenly, and to this day he can't imagine how he could have been capable of a brainwave at that hour of the night, he thought of Geordie. Rousing that reluctant youth from his snug billet by the pom-pom, he hustled him to the after bridge, shoved the "mike" of the loud hailer before the lad's bewildered face, and, in no uncertain terms, instructed him to tell his b- - - countrymen to "out b- - - pipes". The suspense while Geordie sized up the situation was long and tense.

Then the old Manchester blood came to the fore, and a veritable deluge of more than foreign language swept each side of the iron deck. No.1 hasn't the foggiest idea of what was said, but cigarette butts shot over the side by the score, and even in the dark one could feel the surprise on the faces of the pongos".

After that, Geordie's name was struck off the "chook's list"

"WUN"

NAVY OFFICIANA

These impressions of Navy Office, evidently the work of a previous occupant, were discovered at the back of a drawer in my office, where they had obviously been lying for some time. It is thought that they were intended by their author to act as a guide for future inhabitants. They are forwarded in the hope that they may fulfill the purpose for which their author designed them.

THE central portion of Navy Office is situated in Coventry Street, Melbourne and is connected with its ancillary section in the outer suburbs some four miles distant by a motor service run by (W) rans. This arrangement ensures that dignified and leisurely delay without which no government department, with the possible exception of the Taxation Department, can properly exercise its functions. The inmates are divided into sections or classes of whom the following are most noteworthy:

Directors.-These may be recognized by their dignified air and portly bearing and by the fact that they stalk, with a look of contempt, past the memorial to the ingenious Mr. Bundy, before which all others make obeisance.

Tea-carriers.-These are a most important part of the organization whose duty is to convey to the inmates at half-hourly intervals those mixed products of Ceylon and the cow which are of vital importance in sustaining the efficiency and morale of the establishment. They carry out this important work under the able supervision of Mr. Bushell, Head of "T".

Secretaries.-Until recently these were fairly scarce. They are now increasing rapidly. They exist mainly in burrows in the basement.

Communication between the various branches is carried on by a system of files which are initiated in one branch and then pass to others for comment or notation in much the same manner as the well-known game of "Consequences" and frequently with equally surprising final results.

There are several methods of expediting the normally sluggish course of these documents of which the following are the best known:

Insert in red ink in a prominent place the words "UTTERLY HUSH HUSH". This bears to the file the same relation as the word "glamorous" to the chorus girl-it is the Ultimate Thule of Filedom. It has been estimated by a cynic that the handing over of all these files to the Japanese would have shortened the war in favour of the Allies by six months. Some files are so secret that only their original author can read them. In the case of D.N.M.S. and D.N.A. even this is impossible.

Attach a red or blue label marked 44 URGENT". This is occasionally successful, but more often the label becomes detached in its travels and is fixed to another file. It is extremely irritating for the initiator of a file on an important subject, as "Should Gunnery W.R.A.N.S. Wear Gaiters", to find the label transferred to a comparatively unimportant file such as "Submarine Attack on Tokyo". How these labels become changed is not known but it is popularly ascribed to the work of pixies= (leprechauns in the Finance Branch).

"Pass by Safe Hand". -Don't fall for this one. The safe hand may have far more important duties connected with the aforementioned provision of refreshment. This was confirmed on reference to the Head of "T", Mr. Bushell.

On the whole the novice would be well advised to launch his files without any frills attached and hope for the best. If it never returns he will at any rate be in good company.

Visitors.-These vary from directors to detectives and share-pushers and the novice would be well advised to exercise caution and not jump to conclusions. The beautiful blonde who enters may be seeking an exclusive interview for the Chorus Girls' Gazette-on the other hand she may be the office cleaner.

Members of the Intelligence Branch are usually fairly easily recognizable. This can be illustrated by the following incident which occurred to me recently. I was sitting in my office composing a polite but sarcastic reply to Finance Branch when my door slowly opened to admit a man with a brown attach6 case and a tense expression. He tip-toed up to my desk and in a husky voice whispered, "Operation Sheelah."

"Really," I replied politely, "I hope it was successful."

He shook his head. "I want eight hundred aspirins in units of fifty, and . . ."

Suddenly I noticed an increase of tenseness in his expression. He glided across the room with incredible swiftness and seizing the handle of the door gave it a sudden tug. The handle promptly came off in his hand and was replaced six months later at a cost of £9.10s.6d. through the good offices of D.N.W.

"Why did you do that," I said.

"Spies," he replied. "We are followed wherever we go."

He left with his aspirin and my door knob. I never saw him again. I don't know whether he got "Sheelah" or the Anopheles got him. Malariaturi te salutant.

Telephones.-The telephone system of Navy Office is simplicity itself. You dial OUBF 123 on the keyboard and listen hopefully. The results are surprisingly varied as the instrument appears to cater impartially for those -,,-ho like classical music and those who prefer :he efforts of Mr. Sinatra. You might get a sound suggestive of the more resonant choruses of the Geitterdinmerung, or on the other hand you may get one reminiscent of the more zoological notes of Mr. B. Crosby and the Misses Andrews. Furthermore with exactly similar strokes, except that on one occasion I duffed my approach to the short fifth. I have contacted (a) the Morgue, (b) Seabrook, and (c) the Lost Dogs' Home.

On the whole, if you really wish to discuss matters of importance with a fellow director it will pay you to walk round to his office. All directors with a proper sense of the dignity of their position never answer their own telephones, but retain bright-eyed brunettes with liquid voices for this purpose. Some of them have private lines, the number of which is known only to a few privileged persons, such as the family bookmaker. I don't know why it should, but this annoys me and I experience a malicious satisfaction when I conjure up the picture of Mr. "D" meekly trotting to the telephone when Mrs. "D" says, "Answer that call, Joe," whilst little liquid voice sits in the stalls with her boy friend at the Collingwood Colosseum enjoying that thrilling film, "The Director's Dilemma".

Lingua Navalis Vel Officiana.-The novice will at first find this very strange, but he will soon become acquainted with the words in more common use. He must, however, be careful not to use them outside the precincts. I nearly got into very serious trouble at the Richmond football ground the other day when in response to a husky "The Tigers are a dead cert to-day" from a large gentleman with a fierce expression and an extensive bruise in the club colours over his left eye. I absentmindedly replied, "Concur." As a matter of fact had not the referee plucked up courage at this minute to give a free kick against the Tigers I should not now be writing these notes.

On another occasion at Flemington when I approached that well-known punter's friend, Mr. Ike Macpherson, and murmured, "Submitted a pound each way on Silver Fish," Mr. Macpherson evidently misinterpreted my innocent remark as being anti-Semitic in character, with the result that I barely escaped with the loss of two pounds and my personal dignity. Nor did my opening gambit of "Be pleased to inform their lordships of the Taxation Department" bring forth any better result than a reiterated demand for the payment of last year's income tax in full and at once, together with a request to refrain from wisecracks of this description in future dealings with the department.

"CYCLOPS"

HOW WE FELT ABOUT THE ARMISTICE

ON the morning of Wednesday, the 5th August, 1945, Japan's offer of unconditional surrender was accepted by the Allies and World War II was over.

I was serving in H.M.A.S. Bungaree, and at 6 a.m. that morning we were steaming southward along the coast of New Guinea between Goodenough Island and the mainland, bound for Milne Bay.

The dawn broke watery pink, through a haze of pelting rain. A dull, choppy sea with white wave-caps contrasted sharply against the black sky ahead.

Our cargo was men-jungle-toughened veterans of the three Services on their way back to Australia, some for leave, some for discharge. After long periods of isolation in tropical outposts in New Guinea, Bougainville, New Britain and Borneo, these men found it hard to believe that the end was so very near. They had filed up the gangway of Bungaree, in Madang, two days before weary, sweating, dust-begrimed men in jungle green, bending beneath their heavy packs. They were still filled with the suffering, the hatred and the fear of war, but gradually the cool, clean air of the open sea blew freshness into their minds, and a strange, tingling excitement into their veins, as they waited restlessly for the news of surrender.

The aggravating delay caused by negotiations between Japan and the Allies had raised us all to a pitch of tense expectancy. Each night we waited up till midnight for the news to come over the radio, but each time we were disappointed. We felt sure it was only a matter of time, yet the uncertainty was galling.

We were steaming into Milne Bay itself when the momentous news came. It was about 9 a.m. Most of us were at work, and not many heard the actual announcement, but the news flashed through the ship like wildfire. We looked at each other. So this was the end the war was over at last. No one laughed; no one yelled hysterically; no one cheered. We felt it was too big a thing for that. We were filled with subdued excitement, but it was difficult to realize that the war was over.

Outwardly nothing had changed. The ship steamed on and we went back to our jobs. We found the wartime slogan-"Business as usual"-peculiarly applicable to us in those first days of peace.

went up on deck for a breath of fresh air. Milne Bay hadn't changed either. The rain had stopped, and a fresh, cool breeze came in from the south-east. Thick, misty clouds cloaked the jungle-clad mountains that rise sheer out of the sea along both shores of that long U-shaped bay. Milne Bay is about fifteen miles across at the open end and narrows gradually as it extends inland thirty miles. All the war-time establishments-supply depots, vast stores, ammunition and petrol dumps, hospitals, military camps and wharves-are restricted to a narrow coastal strip, in places less than a mile wide.

Many of them occupy the peace-time coconut plantations, through which roads have been built between avenues of the tall, graceful palms.

We dropped anchor at 11a.m.

In our mess, at dinner that day, everyone talked excitedly about the things that were uppermost in their minds-their weekly beer issue; their discharge; the jobs they had to go back to or the jobs they didn't; the clothes they'd buy; the homes they'd build; the girls they'd marry; the good food they'd eat; and the "fair go" the government had promised them.

We were given a "pipe down" on VJ-1 and VJ-2 days, but there was nothing to do. Some pooled their beer issue and tried to get drunk, but others didn't feel like celebrating until they got back home.

Some read; some wrote letters; some just leaned against the ship's side and looked out across the bleak bay, thinking and wondering how long it would be before they got home for good. The most optimistic prophets put the time at six months for most of us.

Radio reports of the real celebrations were coming in now-the tumultuous cheering of the crowds; the blare of bands; and the excited voice of the commentator speaking above the din, and switching to each city in turn, Sydney, Melbourne, Adelaide, Brisbane, Perth, Hobart. This was the Armistice-the day the world had been waiting for. And now it had come, and here we were in Milne Bay. We wanted to celebrate; we wanted to cheer in the streets, too.

An Armistice is one of those momentous happenings that come only once in a life-time. We felt that we were missing something we should not have missed, and we knew that the vast majority of servicemen in the advanced areas felt that way, too. We couldn't celebrate so we sat and listened to the broadcast of the cheering crowds, and tried to absorb the atmosphere of frenzied excitement.

We imagined, in our mind's eye, how Martin Place, or Bourke Street, Queen Street or King William Street would be decked out. How we wished we were there; yet how fervently we hoped that we would never live to see another Armistice.

At dawn on the following Saturday morning we steamed out through the narrow, treacherous China Straits, and began the long 700mile journey across the stormy, wind-lashed Coral Sea towards the shelter of the Great Barrier Reef near Cairns. From there we headed south towards Sydney-and civilization.

We were due to arrive about a week after Armistice Day, and people would be already starting to think of peace-time things. But we were only now planning our victory celebrations. We felt we had earned them. A lot of us decided to get rollicking drunk and have a hilariously good time. We hoped the public would remember that it was our turn to celebrate now, and not eye us sailors contemptuously if we wandered along the street, five or six of us arm-in-arm, singing happily. We hoped, too, that although their war ended with the Armistice, they wouldn't forget that we still had a long time to serve yet.

But though we hoped these things, we knew what would really happen. Bungaree would enter Sydney Heads very early one winter morning, just as smoke was beginning to curl from suburban homes. She would steam quietly up the harbour and come to rest against the wharf the way she always did unheralded and unsung.

"K. J. K."

TROPICAL SHOWERS

As a civilian there used to be dreams of the tropics - blazing suns over sparkling blue seas, soft breezes on enchanting moonlit nights. Ah, those schoolboy illusions! How sadly five years' service on H.M.A. ships has shattered them.

A typical tropical evening sees one, blankets under arm, scanning the tiny bank of cumuli welling up over yonder. "Rain? Don't be silly. Rain on a night like this!" (this much to one's self). Then down goes the bedding ,a look at the stars, a blissful sigh, and fast asleep.

In all probability that pleasant stage of dreamland has just been reached wherein the grog and the girl left behind (tch! tch! the things sailors dream about) are intermingling in just the right quantities. That smile on reposing features is growing smugger and smugger when, in a trice the practice born of many like experiences, blankets absolutely sodden are bundled together. The nearest hatch is jammed with bodies scantily clad, a few quite unclad. They bustle and shove and curse, curse, curse, while the near solid stream falling on the steamy iron deck spits back.

Below at last! On the sweaty, stuffy mess deck a dripping figure still clutching bedding falls over a recumbent form on the deck. More strife. There is not a square foot of room on the mess table, stools, locker tops or deck to lay a weary head.

Morosely one looks out on deck again-the moonlit night, serene once more, glistens on the wet deck. A shrill pipe sounds down the passageway, coming closer. Time for the middle. An inert figure on top of the lockers cuts off access to dry shorts. "Ah, what the hell! What a b-- life." A still-wet mumbling wreck slouches up the ladder to relieve.

"J.S.C."

BORNEO BOUND

CLIMAXING weeks and weeks of long and tedious work entailing the most up-to-date experience gained by our chiefs of staff, the successful Allied landing at Tarakan just off the Borneo coast provides even more evidence of the results reaped by the Allies' policy of taking nothing for granted, but planning everything down to the meticulous and minute details so that everything runs with a clock-like precision.

Perhaps little is known of the events which led up to that eventful hour when the troops disembarked and landed on the beaches-of the days at sea in convoy, and the exciting little incidents that cropped up. For, in spite of all the painstaking planning of detail, there is always that element of doubt existing in regard to the unexpected.

Even on the days when the troops had been placed aboard the big transports which were gathering at the departure point, exercises were still held by the smaller landing craft who practised manoeuvres continuously until there could be no mistakes made. Day by day the tension grew, and many things pointed towards the departure day being soon. Seemingly unnoticed, warships and landing craft slipped into the bay and lay at anchorage, all waiting for zero hour.

When that hour did come there was an even greater air of tension in the atmosphere as the slim, sleek destroyers moved out of harbour in single line ahead. Outside they carried out a gunnery shoot at a drogue target towed by aircraft, before finally taking up their appointed screening stations and waiting for the convoy of transports, cargo vessels, assault ships, specially constructed landing vessels, tankers, tugs and docks that comprised the invasion fleet.

During the days that followed many strange incidents happened, and the unexpected was rife. For instance, there was the rating who took ill on board an Australian warship. Not carrying a doctor herself, she made arrangements for the operation to be performed by a doctor aboard another R.A.N. ship. The rating was transferred from one ship to the other by means of a breeches buoy, and later that same night the doctor removed a troublesome appendix, on completion of which he flashed the thankful message: "Operation successful-patient well."

Then there was the man who fell overboard from one of the landing ships. As the vessels were steaming in single line ahead, the man was in dire peril of being run down by a ship astern, but with the aid of a sea as calm as the proverbial sheet of glass, plus swiftness on the part of a destroyer which raced in and picked him up, he was saved unhurt.

Daily, planes came over and dropped photographs by parachute-photos of the invasion fleet's objective which had been taken only a few minutes earlier and developed in the plane and dropped to the convoy, where they were handed by destroyer to the flagship, thus supplying the officer in tactical command of the force with the latest possible information. This was necessary because of the "changes in the landscape" that were being wrought b y the cruiser squadron which went in and softened up the target area with the aid of the air forces. Ballistic air data was also obtained regularly while at sea, and the ships' ack-ack batteries were kept constantly informed on conditions above.

As the days went by and the objective became closer, the invasion force practised changing from cruising formation to approach formation, the latter being the formation in which they would attack the target. This was exercised until there was no possibility of doubt or mistake. As it turned out there was no room for doubt, for, shortly after the convoy had assumed approach formation, blinding torrential rain set in, together with thunder and lightning as can only be seen in the tropics. Expert navigation and skill were required to keep the convoy intact, but not a ship slipped out of station, which was a credit to their commanding officers and the skilful handling of their craft under the worst of conditions.

Approaching the target the fleet steamed in with a covering screen of destroyers in the van and cruisers hovering in the vicinity.

Warily they approached and passed a narrow headland on which 6-inch batteries were known to have once existed. But thanks to the attention they had received beforehand not a shot was fired. Fires lit up the target itself-fires that had been lit by the cruisers and planes. Buoys had also been placed in position by Allied minesweepers and survey vessels, which had gone right into the target her with torpedo boats.

Promptly at dawn, as the invasion fleet came to anchor off Tarakan itself, the destroyers opened fire on the beaches. Their withering hall of steel exploded the bio, oil storages and thick black smoke was soon rising to a height of many hundreds of feet. Shore installations were pounded and set on fire, the piers were partly destroyed, buildings and huts were blown skywards as 5-inch shells hurtled into them. More and more oil storages were set on fire until the smoke completely engulfed the target area. Then the giant Liberator bombers came in and dropped their heavy bombs on other targets-a munitions dump went up with a terrific blast and sheet of flame.

It was fascinating to watch the big bombers straddling the targets with the meticulous precision bombing. Targets in and around the airstrip were blown to pieces, while closely following the bombers came fighter planes which thundered in at low altitude and strafed enemy strong-points. Meanwhile the destroyers kept pounding at the beaches, laying everything flat, aided by Australian artillery units who had been landed a day previously on Sadau Island, and who now used their field guns to best advantage as they shelled other enemy positions.

The harbour that had been completely devoid of shipping when the invasion force entered was now a seething mass of landing ships, with invasion barges flitting around in dozens, all headed for the beach and all heavily laden. The destroyers' shelling, and the bombing and strafing were backed up now by rockets, which hurtled from the infantry landing ships, the rockets leaving the craft with a swish of white smoke and sparks, to go crashing into the now burning targets ashore. Everything on the beaches and overlooking hills had been pummeled by the gunfire and bombings. The whole scene had reached its climax. The thunderous roar of the guns coupled with the explosions as the shells and bombs burst ashore shattered the serenity of the surroundings, while overhead the fighters and bombers circled like eagles waiting for Japanese prey to come their way.

And so, under the clouds of black smoke and flames from the many fires, the landing craft edged into the shore and the disembarkation took place. The rapidity with which the Australian troops were placed ashore had to be seen to be believed. Of the events that followed much has been written-the troops had been placed ashore without a casualty. just as a final show of supremacy the destroyers, which were going back out on patrol, fired a few shells into the headland the ships had avoided on the way in-exploding another ammunition dump which added to the thick black pall of smoke that hung over the beachhead.

"FLAGWAVER"