“Doc" Vernon, Unsung Hero Of

Battle Of Papua

Written For “Pim” By “Momo Kana”

IT was at Daru where I first met him, amid the mud and mosquitoes. On the end of the long jetty, a tall, thin figure stood and welcomed us ashore. He supplied me with a bath and a meal, and later we talked of many matters—of trading, planting, shipping, and medicine.

“Doc” Vernon then was trading, and doing medical work. He had some kapok growing, too, and was still able to find time to work in his garden; a man of boundless energy, both physical and mental.

“Old Doc,” they called him: but his type never grows old. His parties were well attended and were always just right.

A confirmed bachelor, he was well liked by all, and was always welcome, any where.

He was later heard of on a plantation towards Samarai; still wandering, still as full of energy. Later, a medical job claimed him at Misima Island. By now, he had a young plantation growing, near Kokoda. No one could be sick with out the “Doc” calling. Natives occupied most of his time; but he was on call at any time, day or night.

One man was fairly ill, in rather a remote spot, once, and he was both sur prised and pleased to receive a basket of jellies and cakes, and real soup, one morning, with an apologetic little note from “Doc”: — “Dear , I am sorry I have not been able to get over your way for the last two days, but I am told you are on the mend. You may like the few odds and ends in the basket. Let me know if you would like anything, and how you are, and I will be along in a few days

G.H.V.”

The “odds and ends” were appreciated: and the reason for “Doc’s” not visiting was because he had been sitting up for two nights with another very sick patient. But “Doc” never forgot any one.

THEN came the war. Nations had developed scientific methods of kill ing, and were anxious to try them out on each other. Tank battles raged and dive-bombers screamed in Europe.

Times changed.

“Doc,” a decorated veteran of 1914-18, got very grumpy. His theme song was: “They say I’m too old for active service, and my hearing is not too good. But I must be able to do something.”

The Japs came in. “Doc” managed to get into uniform, with a native infantry battalion. But the scope for him was not there. He joined the Native Medi cal Service in the face of a lot of oppo sition: he was not wanted in a new world of young men. Everyone advised him to go South.

But “Doc” stayed—and stayed to do a job of which any man can be proud.

OUR troops had been in action against the Jap landing force at Buna and, after several clashes, we were lick ing our wounds in the foothills above Kokoda. We had no doctor, as yet, but first-aid men were doing their best.

Our guards were posted all round, just out of sight, in the slight fog. Suddenly, we heard a challenge, and rolled closer to our weapons—just in case.

Down the track came a tall, thin figure, a dark pullover tied by the sleeves, round (Continued on Next Page)

Dr, G. H. Vernon, on the right.

its neck, a white triangular bandage held in each hand, filled with instruments, antiseptics and dressings. It was “Doc.”

“I heard that there was some action here and no doctor so I thought I might be able to help until others come,” he said. “Now, where do we start.”

He had walked the Owen Stanley Range alone. Camping at staging camps, and borrowing food and blankets, without natives to guide or help him, it was a marvellous thing he chd He looked out over Kokoda, and pointed out his young rubber trees, and speculated on the outcome of the next year.

We went back to Kokoda the next day, to battle for it against the oncoming Japs. “Doc” came along, and found a spot to rest. After tea, he went to sleep, and when our first casualties came along, he had to be awakened. Mortars and machine-guns had been firing for hours, but he had slept through it all.

His view of it was: “Well, it’s just as well

to be a bit deaf sometimes. You can hear too much, you know.” A philosophic way of taking an affliction which many would have cursed.

THE RAP was in a building towards the centre of the fortress area. When the Japs came on in force, bullets swished through the grass roof, and thudded into the walls.

To get instruments, the orderlies had to crawl out of the sheltered dressing- • room (at one time the hallway, and pro tected by a room on each side) and trust to luck in not getting hit. As “Doc” operated, pieces of grass, cut by bullets, dropped from the roof; but the “Doc,” who could not hear them, only looked up occasionally, and methodically continued to work.

Splinters flew from the walls at times.

Ricochets screamed. Mortar bombs ex ploded round about, regularly. But “Doc” went on, calling for probes and needles and dressings, until the order came that

we had to get out. Superior numbers had breached our linos. The wounded were got away, and the orderly told “Doc.” ‘‘Oh, all right. I’ll just wash my hands.

I’d like to go to the house and get some of my things.”

There was a machine-gun post there — but it was the enemy’s, and was only 30 yards away.

“Doc” washed his hands and, in spite of urgent and repeated howls from the orderly, proceeded methodically to dry them. He gathered up a few thing% and stalked off up the trail. Bullets were flying through the rubber trees—for tunately, all high.

At the meeting point, a few hundred yards back in the rubber, we looked in vain for the “Doc.” One of the troops said: “I saw him going back to the front.

He said there may be some wounded there to look after.” “Doc” came out later —with the last of the men—still cool, calm and collected.

A LITTLE later, at Deniki village, we looked our casualties over.

One man had to have a bullet removed from his knee. “Doc” gathered his assist ants round him, carefully shaded the man’s face from the sun, patted him on the shoulder, and gave instructions to hold him down. The knife flashed, the bullet popped out, the patient squirmed.

“Doc” bandaged him up, patted him on the shoulder, gave him the bullet as a souvenir. “You’ll be all right, lad. Just take matters easy for awhile.” And he passed on to v the next man.

He thoughtfully asked one of his assistants: “Were those bullets that were knocking the grass down from the roof in Kokoda?”

“Hell!” was the answer. “I’ll say they were —millions of them.”

“Well,” said “Doc,” “at first I thought it was rats. But when big lumps came down I guessed what it was. Of course, there was no danger, as they were all high, but it is an advantage to be deaf sometimes, I might have been alarmed if I had heard them!”

“pwoC” stayed with us for a few days, U and then went back, when other Army doctors began to arrive, with all their equipment and orderlies. But vou could see that he would have liked to have stayed. He said, as he looked over towards Kokoda and sniffed the air, like a warhorse: “If you want me I won’t be far away. Just send word along the line.” , , , ...

“Doc” started a number of hospitals for the Fuzzy Wuzzies who were carrying along the Kokoda line. He was always as close to the front as circumstances permitted, and sometimes his tall, spare figure could be seen on the track, tend ing a wounded soldier.

Nothing was too much trouble for him.

The Australian soldiers spoke of a tall, thin, deaf man who met them on the track at various places, always carrying a small haversack, and who always walked off rapidly after tending to their hurts; who smoked large—very lafge— cigarettes, rolled in any paper available, and made of any tobacco available; who never failed to have a cheery word: and who looked at bandages and dressings, and generally helped at any time, at any place. . . They would describe his talk to ms native orderly: “Now, you stay beside me while I fix this boy up. Don’t be fright ened if you hear the bullets cracking, because they have gone then and wont hurt you. Do you savvy?” The boy stayed, and stood beside the “Doc” whne a wound was cleaned and dressed: and (Continued on Next Page)

he looked proud to be beside the loved “Dokita.”

A native with a bruised shoulder came along. “Doc” put a pad on it, and put the sore shoulder off duty, and the other one was given double duties. The boy looked puzzled but pleased, and went back to work. “Doc” went back, looking for something more to do.

EVENTUALLY, the retreat stopped and we began to forge ahead, back over the Owen Stanleys.

“Doc” went with us. The carrier-line was his job, and he had a big one. Hos pitals sprang up overnight and “Doc” did more work than ever.

Back to Kokoda, to Oivi, to Wairope, and the “Doc” followed along. Then came Sanananda, and Gona, and Buna.

“Doc’s” tall figure strode the tracks, going from one place to another. He slept seldom, he walked miles, with his long, rapid strides. All natives knew him, and most troops, also.

Men will talk for years of “Doc” Ver non—that tall, deaf doctor who operated under fire, who gave them a smoke, who put new dressings on, who gave them a cup of tea and biscuits, and helped them along with a cheery word. They mar velled at his energy and kindness.

Sometimes he wore his captain’s rank.

But if there was no time to put it up, “Doc” just went along without any insignia.

BUNA fell, Gona and Sanananda fol lowed. “Doc” stayed on; but even tually he was ordered to Moresby for a while.

He did a round of his hospitals before leaving, and at one spot, an amazing incident occurred. Several Army doctors were there, and a native was very sick.

He had lost heart, and the will to live.

It was not a Papuan, but a lad from New Guinea whom the Japs had brought down. I knew his type of old, and his place. The Army doctors had done all they could. The rest was up to the patient.

“Doc” Vernon came. He looked at the boy, spoke to him, and patted him. The boy’s arms went round “Doc’s” neck, and he cried:— “Oh, Dokita! Me like you stop close up sick belong me finish. Suppose you go me I die finish.”

The “Doc” stayed beside him, and the boy recovered sufficiently to be out of danger within three days. It was more than medicine. The man’s personality, and the faith the natives had in him, were the explanation. The Army doctors were surprised, and looked it, too. “Doc” took it as a matter of course.

SO here’s to “Doc” Vernon, unsung hero of the Battle of Papua, who asks no more than a new plant, a new life, a life saved, a good book, a pleasant story, a good deed, a nice garden—and a piano to play.

“Doc,” we know your shadow already is attenuated—but may it never grow less! We know how you loathe publicity, and that you will not be pleased at this eulogy: but you have earned a place in the sun.

May New Guinea, after the war, have many men like “Doc” Vernon to carry on—taking the good with the bad. never growling or grumbling when overlooked or snubbed—just carrying on under all circumstances and still doing a good job.

Mr. R. T. G. Patrick, of the Prime Minister’s Department, at Wellington, arrived in the Cook Islands in June. Mr.

Patrick, until recently, was representative of New Zealand in Tahiti.