The Watchers
12 March (1942)
The reconnaissance planes come lower each day, skimming treetops, wheeling along the shore.
They know someone is here somewhere, but they've not seen us yet.
They might have heard our brief scratchy radio transmissions in code but couldn't tell from where. We change frequencies every time, way outside normal channels to avoid detection. But nothing’s certain, except they’re now hunting us.
I'm still on Umboi between the Bismarck and Solomon seas, a large island that channels ships along Papua New Guinea’s north coast. I picked this island and so far so good. There’s a small landing party camped on the beach about 20 miles south closer to the mission. They don’t bother us too much, yet.
Charlie is over near Poini so he can watch the northern coast of New Britain when their ships go that way. It’s pretty swampy around the coast so he’s moved up Talawe, the dormant part of the volcano, where he gets a good view and there’s not so many mosquitos. He’s about 1500 feet up so he can see about 50 miles out to sea.
Between us we can see ships coming from the northeast, bringing troops and supplies to Rabaul. They’ve already over run the Dutch half of the New Guinea mainland and some of the northern half the of the German part. Looks like they’re building up for an attack on Moresby by sea and land. If they get it, they’ll launch attacks on Australia from there.
Charlie and I and many others spread amongst these islands do what we can to slow down these attacks. We send random codes that scramble planes in Moresby and on the carriers to take out some of these ships.
We move around often so we're harder to find. That makes our lives harder too, protecting the radio. If that goes we're useless. It takes 4 blokes to carry the gear, so we sit tight for as long as it’s safe.
But no-one will be coming to take us home any time soon. We're behind enemy lines.
My base is now a cave behind a waterfall. Ducked behind the curtain a week ago when I heard a patrol coming and there it was. A near perfect hiding place.
It was damp but that helped. No-one would expect us to stay here for long.
X X X X X
My dad died four months ago. He'd survived the war, been captured once but escaped. Came back to his home town and started farming.
That's all he ever told us, my sister and I, about what he did in those 5 years before he met mum.
So when I found this notebook in a box buried under old blankets and tools beneath a bench in his shed out the back of the house they lived in for forty years, I couldn't believe what it was telling me.
Charlie, Uncle Charlie I guess, had not come home when the war ended.
When we asked what happened Dad just said it was for the best. Charlie wanted it that way.
And that was it. Charlie wanted it what way? Did he stay there? Go somewhere else? Was he killed? Or just left behind?
Dad wouldn't say. Just that was the way Charlie wanted it.
This notebook written in pencil was inside a dirty box wrapped in an oily rag that smells of, what? Jungle, the sea, bombs? I can’t tell, but he worked his hardest to keep it safe so I treat it carefully; even more so when I read the first paragraphs.
X X X X X
February (1942)
If I have a family some time in my future then this is for you. I want you to know, when you grow up, what the world was like in these years. It’s tough, bloody tough. Me and Charlie are doing stuff we never thought about 6 months ago. Risking our lives for the idea of freedom for everybody. I hope we prevail. I hope we survive and we prevail, to see what world comes out of this.
We are just boys really – 22 and 20 – having a bit of a lark running a plantation on New Britain on the coast of Jacquinot Bay while we wait for life to run over us. It’s an unforgettable way to live, like you’ll never believe and never see again. Endless beaches and palm trees, a great waterfall gushing from a cave and dropping warm turquoise water from underground over old coral shelves and pools into the sea. Fish everywhere and plenty of fruit in the jungle behind us. But life doesn’t hang around when it wants you to grow up fast.
Takes a long time for news to get to Galowe, and we liked it like that. Our own bosses working to our own schedule and enjoying life.
But sometime between Christmas and New Year we saw a launch coming up the bay. To keep it short, this bloke in uniform said the Japanese are coming pretty damn fast. You either go now or stay and hide. You know the place so we’d like you to stay and watch and report on ship and plane movements along the coast.
Charlie jumped at it. I was less sure. Something in my gut told me this wouldn’t turn out well. But Charlie was full of boys’ adventures: Of course it’s a war, what could go wrong? he said.
Ten days later a bigger launch arrived with several large boxes and some guns. This Major jumped out, gave us some almost fitting uniforms, and us and six of our trusted Papuan workers were sworn in as members of the Royal Australian Naval Reserve. If you get caught, he said, you’re an enlisted seaman and they should treat you as an official prisoner of war.
He didn’t say what would happen if they didn’t recognise the uniform.
He asked us to split up along the coast of West New Britain, about 300 miles from where we lived. We got trained on the radio and codes on the launch on the way there.
X X X X X
I called my sister to come over. She had to see this now. The dad we never knew, never even suspected, was talking to us through time.
Dad was 33 when I was born and 35 for Brenda, in the early 1950s. We knew he met mum in 1950 at a woolshed dance near the country town where him and Charlie, and then Brenda and I, had grown up.
I made a cup of tea and Brenda and I settled down to discover the man behind the mask of our father. There’s a lot to get a grip on, and this is just a page or two at a time from the notebook. I’ve added the years to the dates, near as I can make out from the events.
25 May (1942)
Got to go deeper into the cave tomorrow to see if there's a drier place for food and batteries. Can't risk supplies being found or ruined by rain. There’s other caves but this is well hidden. Already running low on fuel for the generator. Tars volunteered to steal some from the camp on the coast, but that was too risky.
They haven't found us yet but there's always a chance. I wonder how long this will go on, and what happens to us when it ends. We’re in a slow and lethal dance with the 50 or so soldiers camped along the southern shore on a dormant volcano that’s about 5000 feet high at the north-western end and about 360 miles square. Not a lot of room between us and them so the longer we stay the chances are good they’ll find us. They’ve got other jobs, reporting on our ship and plane movements, but when it’s quite they come looking. There’s villages scattered along the coast where the soil is better and so far they’ve been helpful giving us chickens, corn and coconuts.
1 June (1942)
Went out and back. A few earth tremors in the past couple of days has meant less patrol activity. They don’t want to be caught too close to Talo when it rumbles even though there’s hot water there and the volcano has been quiet for hundreds of years. We reckon they won’t go into the caldera at all. It’s big with high walls and opens towards the sea on the NW corner. It’s pretty much all basalt rocks in there, so tough walking.
And for us nothing much happening at sea so a good chance to consolidate. Pushed deeper into the cave in case they find the opening. Goes a long way and there’s branching tunnels. We could win a gun fight in here, but we don’t know for sure how many have now landed on the island, or how long we could survive a siege.
There might be another opening further in so need to have a look. Don’t want to get surprised from the back.
2 June (1942)
Reckon I'm at least 100m under the hill. Barely hear the waterfall. A lot drier here and it’s heading up hill. The air is good, there’s a slight draft coming from somewhere further, or overhead. Glad I’m not claustrophobic. Need to get out soon and back to work.
3 June (1942)
A cavern with 2 smoked bodies. Nearly shit myself when they came into the candlelight. Hard to tell if they're locals or intruders as they’re just bones with some skin or cloth fragments hanging off.
Bundle of banana and pandanus leaves on a shelf between them. Looks old and fell apart when I touched it. Inside there’s a scroll, parchment or something. I'll take it when I leave if that ever happens.
21 June (1942)
Couldn’t help myself. New moon night so snuck down to the coast and 4 of us took a dugout 35 miles across the straight around to the mission at Waremo. Charlie’s 21st birthday so I had to surprise him. He had good news. There’s been a big naval battle in the Coral Sea and we might be pushing them back. Told him about the bodies and the scroll in my cave. He asked me to bring it next time.
I’m back on Umboi before dawn 2 days later.
Christmas (1943)
Been more than a year so I make a present out of coconuts, pandanus, and some rations and in the dugout and across to Charlie to wish him a good one. He’s been quiet for a while so I need to see him. Now I know why. Runners had come up from Kimbe. Some bastards turned in Len Siffleet and 2 of his men near Aitape. He was beheaded on the beach. Len was a Gunnedah boy, not far from our hometown. This hurts. It’s a very quiet Christmas.
I’m wishing Charlie and I had scarpered back to Australia when we had the chance. Maybe put on a proper uniform and fought face to face somewhere across the Pacific. This running and hiding has got knobs on it. But we’re stuck here now, surrounded by men who want to kill us, just as we’re trying to get them killed. There’s about 500 on the island now in a large camp, but the yanks have been bombing to keep them occupied.
Worn this uniform without a break for two years and its pretty much falling apart from the heat, humidity and constant movement through the jungle. Charlie agreed we’d be mad to rely on it as an escape. God I hope they don’t get Charlie. Mum will never forgive me if that happens. Can’t go back to the farm then.
I forgot the scroll to show Charlie. Haven’t touched it yet, still on the shelf behind the waterfall.
16 February (1944)
Haven’t heard from Charlie for 2 months, but some radio chatter suggested the Yanks have landed along the north coast and pushing for Rabaul up north. He should be alright then. Might be safe to move across in a month or so.
Hope our plantation and the mission are OK. We need something to go back to, somewhere quiet and calm when this is over. I see grey in my hair now when Tars cuts it, and I’m only 24!
Been staying in the cave since its been quiet. The bodies don’t spook me but that scroll does. Scared to touch it and get cursed. Been here too long. Going troppo, as Charlie would say.
Tars and the others moved into a branching cave. They’re not from here and don’t have a story about this cave, but they don’t like it.
18 November (1944)
Message in the supply drop that they’ve mostly been driven out but there’s a lot of stragglers, many who don’t know how bad its going for them. Plus the retreat has been as quick as the advance and camps that are hard to get to they’re just leaving behind – like those on Umboi.
No-one’s coming to pick us up either, it’ still too risky.
Tars has been to our lookout and says he can see lots of movement along the beaches. They seem to know they’ve been left and are trying to work out how to get away. They’ve got only a couple of small boats so lots of dugouts have disappeared or been taken, but getting to the main island won’t help now. At least they’re leaving us alone.
My birthday soon – 25. Wish Charlie was here.
Miss my family and the farm so much. Swimming in the river and the dams, on the horses out after the cattle, the battered motorbikes we used to ride to school across the paddocks and dry creek beds so the town cop couldn’t catch us on the roads.
What do we do if that’s all gone when we get out of here, if we get out of here? Three years now and just a few signs that things are going our way. What if that’s wrong, that we’re not being told the truth, so we don’t panic and leave or get caught?
It gets to you, isolation and hiding in the jungle. It’s not a life of any sort for anyone.
Future family: keep an eye out for narcissistic autocrats, don’t believe or follow anyone who claims to be a superman. That leads to war and death for you, not for them. Fight against them, not against each other.
26 November (1944)
That bastard Charlie snuck into the cave and scared the shit out of me, on my birthday!
Tars had watched the canoe cross the straight and land inside the reef a long way down from their old camp, and went down to check.
Charlie had a bottle of rum and we enjoyed several with a little water from the waterfall for a few hours. He’s had a ball, he said. The months went quickly, and he thrived on the cat and mouse game. He’s a different man to me. Thrives on action. I’m more of a worrier, like Mum.
We have to go back, he said, when this is over. Back to the plantation.
Charlie’s plan tonight is to get down to the coast after dark when two other dugouts will arrive to take us all over. There’s a lot of stragglers on this island, he said.
My unit, the 4 of us, are in as good a shape as we could expect after nearly three years on the run. I’m pretty happy with that.
Charlie hadn’t been so lucky, losing two of his men in an ambush but had got away to survive for another year.
25 December (1944)
I’m at the Waremo mission, and it’s still mostly intact, as are the priests and nuns.
Been a hell of a month, even with the end so near for us.
They tell me I’m wearing my grief like a big grey cloud, or a volcano about to erupt.
Charlie was spellbound by the smoked bodies on my birthday and reckoned they were Portuguese or Chinese. He couldn’t tell in this light and they’d been stripped so no clothes or ornaments. He reckoned the scroll or parchment would tell us. He wrapped it very carefully in a piece of old blanket and put it in a biscuit tin and into my pack.
We knew the tracks blind by now and skirted carefully along the littoral looking for the best place to cross to the canoes about 100 yards away.
My team went first and we were in a dugout and through the surf break when we heard the machine gun open up.
I turned and saw Charlie fall in the second canoe, then get up. He waved to me to keep going, then was hit again and fell.
Bullets went over our head and to the left as the gunner tried to find our range. The waves saved us. Fifty metres out the swell picked up and hid us from the shore. I didn’t cry till we beached on the main island, and haven’t stopped for a month.
I want to go back and find Charlie, give him a proper burial. But there’s stragglers coming across every day and we’re now fighting a hand to hand war against those that don’t know or don’t want to know that they’re beaten, so I can’t leave the mission.
December (1945)
Those American atomic bombs wiped out cities and started a new and very different type of war. I’m never going in to that one.
Been here a year now helping out best I could. Went back to Umboi three months ago but couldn’t find anything of Charlie. There were still angry snipers on the island so I didn’t chance it. Charlie said go and I had. He stayed behind, as he wanted.
Don’t know if I ever can go home to see mum and dad. There’s too much grief there and I let my little brother down.
Going back to the plantation first to see what’s left and what needs doing, and to say a proper goodbye to Charlie there. He would want that.
Listen future family, I haven’t touched that scroll. It’s still in the biscuit tin and I’m putting that and this notebook in an old ammo box. You may find it one day if I get back to Australia.
X X X X X
Sure enough it was an old ammo box, and in it was a biscuit tin I hadn’t seen in my excitement with the notebook.
Brenda took the tin out and opened it. There was that smell again. She tipped the blanket into her hand and carefully rolled it out on the bench. There was the dark brown scroll or parchment and in this light you could clearly see markings – writing? – on it.