Larrikins in Khaki Read online

  Signalman Ken Clift’s ship was Otranto and on board there were reinforcements for the 2/1st and 2/2nd Battalions, many of whom had embarked without even being issued with a uniform. One of these was Frank Sandow, a World War I Digger—a likeable but irascible character who quickly clashed with the officers of his battalion. He was so intransigent he was confined to the ship’s brig during the whole voyage from Perth to Colombo. At this time Ken and some of his mates had been detailed as ship’s lookouts for submarines and part of their duties included acting as guards to check on the welfare of the miscreants in the brig.

  Grog was a very scarce commodity on Otranto. Each afternoon the troops were rationed a beer or two which they could purchase after parade in the ‘wet’ canteen for about an hour. Ken and his comrades were somewhat surprised to find Frank Sandow more than a little intoxicated every time they had occasion to talk with him in the brig, and their envy and curiosity were greatly aroused.

  We found out that Frank, fossicking around in the lockup, had discovered some loose boards which, after lifting, led down into the hold where part of the cargo consisted of quantities of Australian bottled beer packed in straw. Frank had a right royal old time on the voyage, packing his empties back into the crates as he drank them and went so far as to shout abuse at any officer attempting to organise his release. They would go off in high dudgeon, saying, ‘Let the cranky old bastard stay there.’ Frank was very generous to any of us lookouts he felt he could trust and so the whole arrangement was very amicable to all concerned—except the canteen people—when we eventually reached our destination.

  The accommodation on Otranto was in the tourist class, as time had not permitted the removal of bulkheads to convert any of the convoy properly into a troopship. Food was not only poor, but inadequate. So much so there was almost a riot aboard. The cooks were pelted with food scraps from all quarters of the mess one evening and their commanding officer Lieutenant Colonel Ivan Dougherty threatened to charge the whole lot of them with mutiny unless they quietened down.

  The sights and sounds of the first Asian countries ever experienced by young Australian soldiers were exotic—particularly for those who avoided just getting drunk on their leave and explored these new experiences. Gunner Clarry McCulloch on the Isle de France, in company with the liner Mauretania, sighted Colombo, the capital of Ceylon (now Sri Lanka), on 26 April 1941, while the Queen Mary went on to the naval base of Trincomalee in the north of the island. The Queen Elizabeth went on alone, because its speed enabled it to outrun any submarine.

  The Isle de France’s stay in port was extended to ten days in an attempt to repair accidental fire damage. Clarry and his mates didn’t object at all, as it was their first encounter with a foreign culture.

  On their first trip ashore they were all lined up on Galle Face Green, a large grassed area facing the Galle Face Hotel, where they were given a lecture by a British captain on local customs and what was expected of them while on leave. Apparently some of the Sixth Division troops who had passed through Colombo earlier had created quite a bad impression because of their wild behaviour, and the authorities did not want a repeat performance. McCulloch recalled:

  During the course of this lecture we were absolutely fascinated by the accent of our first experience of an upper-class, really pukka Englishman. When he finished off his speech by pointing at the two hotels on site and declaring in ringing tones, ‘I think you will find that the beeah ovah hayah is much better than the beear over thayah,’ we all gave him a big round of applause before moving off.

  Clarry and two of his friends set off into the bazaar. There were rickshaws for hire everywhere, so selecting the three least villainous-looking rickshaw men, they climbed aboard and set off. Starting at a modest pace, it wasn’t long before they were urging on their rickshaw pullers to make a race of it. With loud shouts of encouragement and Blue pretending to belabour his man with his felt hat, they arrived.

  The first thing that they noticed was the filthy condition of the footpaths and roadways, which were covered by thousands of large red blobs that looked like fresh blood. These turned out to be the residue spat out by the betel nut chewers and that meant practically everyone. The locals’ teeth were stained almost black and were not a pretty sight. In a letter home Clarry reported his first impressions: ‘Going through the markets was great fun, with hundreds of bargains being offered to all sides, but the smell was horrific. The thing which amazed me most was the friendly manner of the natives. The ones that could speak English would gather round and start off by abusing Hitler, but I suspect that this may have been done to get our custom.’

  Conditions in the meat market section did not impress the Australians. The carcasses were all hanging up in the open air, covered by millions of flies, mauled by dirty children, and every now and then a raven would fly down and pick off a juicy morsel. Clarry did not eat much meat during his time ashore.

  Strolling through the better parts of town later, they would often be stopped by groups of smiling kids begging them to have a game of cricket on the street. They were very enthusiastic and, when batting, would thump their chest and say, ‘Me Don Bradman!’, much to the amusement of the Australians.

  On their third day ashore the three Australians decided to explore the countryside on the outskirts of Colombo and spent a very pleasant few hours strolling through coconut and banana plantations. During their trek back to the main road, they were passing a very neat bungalow when an elderly English lady came out and invited them for afternoon tea.

  Would you believe it? Cucumber sandwiches! She and her daughter lived there on their own most of the time as the old lady’s son was an inspector of police and was rarely at home. They were extremely nice people and loaded us with cigarettes and fruit when we left. They explained a lot about native customs in the island’s industries, but we were amazed at their ignorance of living conditions in Australia. We had a hard job convincing them that our native population was not in the majority and that there were no bullock teams on the streets of Melbourne and Sydney.

  For a ship of 45,000 tons the Isle de France had a very deep draft and at low tide it was not uncommon for the keel to rest in the mud and the ship would list gradually to one side. Clarry found that rather disturbing at first but was reassured by the crew that it was perfectly safe. ‘Still, that’s what they said about the Titanic. We were never completely convinced.’ Also in the harbour were ships of every shape and size, including a large merchant cruiser with a huge hole blown in her bows just on the waterline. Seeing this did not do much to allay their fears about submarines, as they still had a long way to go.

  On 6 May tugs began manoeuvring their ship out of the harbour and they set off, once again bound for Egypt—surprisingly without an escort this time. The Isle de France ploughed on at a steady 21 knots. The Mauretania and Aquitania being faster ships had gone on ahead. By the time they passed Aden on the evening of 10 May and entered the Red Sea, they were on their own. It had been expected that conditions in the Red Sea would be hotter than ever, but it was just more of the same—very uncomfortable. The Australians spent a lot of time under the saltwater showers on deck, which kept them reasonably cool.

  On Otranto Signaller Ken Clift did not have happy memories after leaving Colombo. Training on the ship was almost entirely disrupted by an outbreak of dysentery and vomiting. They had not taken rations on in Colombo but had taken on local fresh water and this was probably to blame. Whether the water was foul or intentionally polluted they could never know, but during the course of the war he received treatment for amoebic dysentery and believed that the Colombo water was the cause of it.

  Gunner Ivan ‘Ivo’ Blazely from Tasmania and his unit embarked on the majestic Cunard Line’s Queen Mary. He shared a cabin on a deck with about a dozen others. The cabin was designed for two in peacetime, but the twelve had their own bath and at least they were above the waterline and had a porthole.

  The morning after they boarded was spent having
a look around the ship, which was still being loaded, and informing newcomers that they ‘would be sorry’. In the afternoon some of the ships were inspected by the governor-general, Lord Gowrie VC. All Blazely can remember of him was an old gentleman wearing a funny-looking hat, ‘like Lord Nelson’s’.

  A little after dawn next morning, someone in the cabin said, ‘She’s moving.’

  After a brief stop in Fremantle, without shore leave, the Queen Mary and the rest of the convoy headed across the Indian Ocean. For Blazely, life on the Queen Mary was like nothing he’d known:

  The Mary was a mighty ship. One could imagine what it would have been like travelling on her in peacetime. She was a veritable floating hotel. On board and undercover between decks she was fitted out with two large swimming pools, a cinema every bit as big as the newsreel theatrettes that used to abound in Melbourne and Sydney. At different deck levels there were little shopping squares, each containing stairways and a lift to make access to other decks easy. The shops had been beauty salons, gift shops and so on, but of course these and the lifts were closed for the duration.

  Blazely thought that with a few thousand Australian troops on board, you could almost call the ship a floating casino. ‘After the evening meal there was always a couple of swy games [two-up] going on the after deck as well as Crown and Anchor, Under and Over and other dice games. After dark the action moved below decks. Heads and Tails dice took over from the pennies and Housie Housie [bingo] also started up.’

  After a fairly pleasant and uneventful voyage across the Indian Ocean, the Queen Mary pulled into Trincomalee, Ceylon. There the convoy refuelled and took on water and supplies. The first night in the harbour, they were anchored about a quarter of a mile offshore. The beckoning lights of the port got too much for five of the likely lads and Ivo and his mates decided they would go and have ‘a bit of a shufti ashore’. After being fortified with a few pots of canteen beer, they threw a life raft overboard, dived after it, clambered on board and made their way to land. Ivo thought they lasted about half an hour before being nobbled by British military police and escorted back to the ship, where they spent the remainder of the voyage in the brig.

  Disembarking at Tewfik, in Egypt, Gunner Blazely and his mates got the ‘first sight and smell of the mystic East’. The staging camp had a good canteen provided, and most headed there after the evening meal. Blazely and his friend George settled for the canteen and beer, but some of his mates went in search of Tewfik’s other pleasures without success. After they banged at the door of a house of ill fame, an old lady appeared at the door and said, ‘No fish … no fish.’ They informed her that they didn’t exactly have fish in mind. Blazely later realised that what she was actually saying was ‘Ma feesh’, Arabic for ‘finish’, meaning the brothel had closed for the night.

  The next morning Ivo and his unit entrained for the journey up through Egypt to Palestine. There were quite a few Australian troops in the area, men who had been wounded or for various other reasons were going back to Australia. Just as the train was pulling out, Blazely remembers, one of them sang out, ‘Don’t worry boys, we’ll take care of your wives and sheilas when we get home.’ Quick as a flash came the reply, ‘That’s all right mate, we’ve been looking after yours.’

  The train line ran past a series of German and Italian prisoners of war camps. The Italians didn’t take much notice, but a lot of the Germans ran to the wire and made obscene gestures and shouted insults, and the Australians responded in kind.

  The railway line to Kantara ran parallel to the Suez Canal for about 80 miles—a monotonous journey broken only by a few stops at sidings where hordes of Arab hawkers descended on them, selling lukewarm ‘ice cold’ lemonade and Scotch whisky in sealed bottles. These contained weak tea—or worse, strong urine. This was done by boring a small hole in the bottom of the bottle, draining the contents and refilling it with whatever was most handy. The locals also sold the ever reliable ‘eggs a bread’, ‘egg a cook’ and filthy pictures as a sideline. ‘At the first stop, I wondered where all the Wogs came from,’ Blazely said, but he soon found out. As the train started moving again, they all clambered up on top of the carriages and hitched a ride to the next station. ‘I suppose you’d call them commercial travellers.’

  The unit detrained at Kantara, went across the canal on pontoons, and after a hearty army meal—hard-boiled eggs being the main course—entrained again and ‘like Moses and his mob’ headed out across the Sinai Desert, bound for the ‘Promised Land’, Palestine.

  At about 4 am the soldiers were jolted awake by the train pulling up. Looking out the carriage window, Blazely saw they were in the middle of a plain, with a couple of lights shining in the distance. The order came to detrain. As they started to get their gear on and scramble down the railway embankment in the dark, ‘the shit hit the fan’.

  The head of our welcoming committee was none other than ‘The Turk’, short for ‘Turkey Arse’—a sergeant-major so-called because on parade he didn’t walk, he strutted. The Turk was shouting like a demented boy scoutmaster, ‘Over here Eight Troop, silence, stop that talking, hurry up!’, not necessarily in that order. Someone behind me said, ‘Geez we’ll have to watch this bloke, the bastard sounds like he’s mad.’

  In the confusion of troop movements, a batman (an officer’s servant) named ‘Wingy’ finished up as a reinforcement to the 2/8th Infantry Battalion. How he got into the army must be one of the greatest mysteries of the war—as he only had one hand; the other was missing at the wrist, hence his nickname. Up till then he’d had at least six months service as an officer’s batman. ‘Anyway, it buggered The Turk as he couldn’t get him to stand to attention with both his thumbs in line with the seams of his trousers. He was sent home on the first draft out.’

  When they reached Nusarat, they stumbled across about a mile of rough going; Turkey Arse had thoughtfully provided himself with a torch and led the way at something between a fast walk and a dog trot. They were allotted tents and got their heads down and ‘after what seemed like ten minutes’ shuteye’, it was, ‘Fall out Eight Troop at the double.’

  At roll call we were told what the routine and timetable would be after breakfast when we would present ourselves, shaved, boots shining, slouch hats at the ready and all the other army spit and polish. The cookhouse itself was that far away you just about needed a cut lunch to get back to base. One of the lads queried the timetable saying, ‘It doesn’t give us much time, Sarge.’

  ‘No,’ said The Turk, ‘and if you’ve only got time for a shit or a shave, you’ll have the shave.’

  Bob Holt also started his experience of the mysterious East in Suez, still suffering from his slow-to-heal poisoned arm. He was given leave ashore in Port Said, and as a fresh-faced young man in hospital blue, he was fair game for the first tout to come along. He’d hardly stepped off the gangway when he’d acquired a guide in tow. He showed Holt the town, where he was shocked to find two middle-aged French women of easy virtue selling their charms for the princely sum of 1 shilling. ‘I eventually paid off my guide and he left, taking my wallet and fountain pen with him. The stench of the Arab Quarter nearly knocked me down. I don’t really know whether the place was so stinking or whether my nose became acclimatised. But then, it seemed no city in the world smelt so foul and fearful as did Port Said in 1940.’

  Holt travelled by train from Egypt and finished up in the 2/2nd Australian General Hospital outside Gaza in Palestine. Gaza had been the scene of several ferocious battles of the Great War in which the Australian Light Horse was involved. Nothing could be seen from Gaza itself but from several miles away the imprint of the old entrenchments could be made out quite clearly.

  I went to have a look at Gaza town and was immediately surrounded by hordes of Arab children yelling and screaming for me to give them ‘Bucksheesh’. I was on my own, up an alley, and when they became nasty and dived their grubby little hands into my pockets, I coo-eed and whistled, kicked arses and thumped heads until I got out
of the alley. It would have been a blot on the Diggers’ escutcheon to be rolled by a team of ten to twelve-year-olds but, by gee, it was a close thing.

  After a few days Holt hitch-hiked to Julis camp and sought out Colonel Viv England, the commanding officer of the 2/3rd Australian Battalion, who told him he would be pleased to accept Holt if the hospital unit would release him. On his return to the unit Holt applied for a transfer back to the battalion but this was refused. He had an altercation with a sergeant and was fined. He ‘gave himself leave in Tel Aviv’ and pottered around the city in the flesh pots of Jaffa until his money ran out. When he returned to the hospital unit, he was awarded fourteen days detention.

  I’ll never forget Jerusalem Gaol, for it was my first association with strict discipline under the Military Police and I can truthfully say that I did not enjoy the experience.

  I was met at the gate by a Pommy staff-sergeant who in no time at all was frothing at the mouth and screaming obscenities. He doubled [ran] me to the Commandant’s office who laid the law down in no uncertain terms and then had me doubled to a cell. Any place I went in the following 14 days was done at the gallop. The whole of the prison staff made a practice of ranting, raving and bellowing all the time, and I sincerely hope this gave them throat trouble for the rest of their miserable lives.

  Equipment had to be stacked just so, at the head of the bed boards, and woe betide any prisoner whose gear was not laid out perfectly. Spare boots had to ‘shine like a shilling on a black gin’s wither’, the soles had to be polished and the eyelets had to be brassoed. Work consisted of sitting in the sun and, at attention, banging two rocks together to make powder of them. Inmates had to look straight ahead and no talking was allowed. After being locked in the cell each evening, prisoners had a task to perform—usually rubbing a malodorous black 4-gallon food container with brick dust until it sparkled like a new billy can. The food was light on, and Holt was perpetually hungry. Cigarettes and tobacco were practically non-existent.