Sepik-Ramu Country

Jap-Dodging In New Guinea

The Personal Experiences of "Old-timer" in the Sepik-Ramu Country

WHEN war hit New Guinea in January, 1942, I was on a plantation on the Madang coast. In April, 1943, I got my marching orders from GHQ and was ordered to Australia. This is the story of the intervening 16 months.

On January 21. 1942, I had intended to go to Madang for stores, but there was a heavy sea, and the trip was post poned. At 11.30 that morning Madang was bombed for the first time by the Japs; and, by 8 o’clock next morning, a long line of refugee natives was filing past the plantation, having walked ail night from blitzed Madang.

Varied and weird were the tales they told —most of them proved subsequently to be wide of the truth —and my own boys’ eyes bulged out in horrified inter est as they drank in the gory details. I expected trouble from them on this account, even after I had tried to explain the position to them as well as I could, but they all stood by until dismissed by me later in the month.

My stores position prevented delaying the trip to Madang any longer, so off I set in the pinnace. But, off Mugil mis sion station, I was flagged in by Brother James, master of the Catholic Mission schooner, “Stella Maris.” Brother James, too. had much to say on the chaotic con ditions in Madang. and persuaded me not to go on. I returned to the plantation and stayed by the wireless, honing for some news from the Administration. But not until 4 p.m. on Saturday did any thing come through, and then it was not cheering. “Suggest you make your own arrangements.” said the voice. “District Officer absent.”

But Charles, my neighbour, and I got together, and felt a bit better. We had a good meal and a couple of cold bottles, decided to wait a few days longer and then, if necessary, go bush with all the stores and trade goods. We came to the conclusion that we would do well to stick together.

The following morning more boys came through—ofie from Sek (saying Madang was being evacuated—wrong again, many civilians and members of the NGVR were there for some time), and a party from Lae. The boys from Lae had bolted from the Japs, for whom they had been working, putting up barbed wire and carrying cargo. Some of them had Jap money.

As the days went on we still heard no news from Madang and began to wonder if, except for the missionaries, we were the only ones left in the district.

There were plenty of Jap planes about but no other sign of activity, and the bovs were getting very restive. Finally Charles and I decided to try the Ramu or the Sepik—the bush in the wet season, then in full swing, making travel difficult and carriers hard to obtain. Our adventures of the next few weeks are told in my diary:— WEDNESDAY, Jan. 28: The cooks were up at daylight without being called, and coffee was ready. We ate a hurried breakfast before sunrise and. after a final look around in silent farewell, prenared to depart in the two pinnaces, which were loaded to the gun’ales. But Fate decided otherwise.

My pinnace would not start and, in trying to make it start, the distributor was broken. But no panic! Another was unearthed after three hours’ wait.

We preoare to depart for the second time —and Charles kicks the water inlet pipe

off the engine. So there is nothing to do but unload both boats, reshuffle the cargo, and leave my boat behind with all the “unessentials” •(including some kero sene and fuel) hoping that the mission schooner can pick it up later.

Jan. 29-31; We start again, this time together in one pinnace, and after a great deal of bother arrive at Banara, where we meet Brother James in the “Stella Maris.” He agrees to pick up our jetti soned cargo and take it to Marienberg on the Sepik. On the 31st I woke up with a bad dose of gastric fever, but the sea was calm and we pushed on to Bogia.

Here we meet J., move on to Awar, and hold a parley as to whether it is to be the Ramu or the Sepik was us. J. decides for us. “Your boat is under-powered.” he said. “You have too much cargo and you’ll never make the Ramu. Try the Sepik if you like.”

Feb. 1; Left Awar for the Sepik. I felt a great deal better, but still sore and weak from vomiting. We watched J. fight the tide and current for three-quarters of an hour before he got into the Ramu.

He was right. Our chances of doing like wise would be just nil. We went on and anchored at Kopah. a village just inside the mouth of the Sepik.

FEB. 2-3: No news at Kopah, and natives hereabouts very sticky and not at all pleased to see us. They say that a party from Wewak went up the river a few days ago. Five planes have just gone in the same direction; we could hear them but could dhly guess to whom they belong. Push on to Marien berg, where we buy fresh meat from Father de Bruyn; and here we leave our boat’s crew to be returned home on the first boat down river. Charles thus auto matically becomes skipper-engineer, and I fall for the job of cook-steward. We go on up to Angoram.

Feb. 4: Called on the DO this morn ing, who advised us to join the other “refugees” higher up the river. But not for us, thank you! We told him we were making for high ground at the head of the Little Ramu. He wished us luck, but could not give us any information about the country.

So on again for the Little Ramu. We arrived at Bobanaran about 5 p.m. and here our dog got us in Dutch. Bonzo is a bull-terrier who “savvies fight.” As soon as hje landed he took one look at a kanaka hound and chased it to the river, in they both skidded, and it looked for a few minutes that both were to be written off. But they were fished out, and then the ungrateful Bonzo took to the Luluai’s pet pig. Diplomatic rela tions were thus very badly strained, but a sheet of newspaper for smoke paper and a couple of razor blades restored the entente cordiale, and before long Bonzo was being appraised with respect, and fancy prices being offered for him. But Bonzo was not for sale.

Feb. 5-10: We proceeded slowly up the river, the natives everywhere showing the same signs of tension and arrogance.

What is wrong with them? Only a few months ago these folk were very friendly.

Many of the villages are deserted when we arrive, but the garamuts beat all night.

Finally, we arrived here at Banaro. Here the natives are definitely hostile; they say “No got kai-kai”; they won’t trade ahd won’t talk to us if they can avoid it. But they have indicated that thev don’t want us near, and also that we cannot go any further, as the river is blocked by logs higher up. This we don’t believe, but we cannot do anything about it, as we have only one boy and cannot risk leaving the launch to explore the river by canoe, even if the natives would rent us one. The Luluai is away, but is expected back to-morrow.

Feb. 11: The Luluai came to see us to-day. But he is not pleased and has roundly cussed the Tul-tul for our pre sence. He indicates that our welcome has now worn right out. However, we stay the day. Charles and the Tul-tul

go shooting pigeons, but have no luck. I try to bake a damper, but the damper ends in the Sepik, and fried scones are the order of the day again. We decide to make for Korongapa, which is north west of here, on a tributary of the Sepik. rB. 13: We have reached Korongapa, where we were expected and, for once, where our welcome was a little more cordial. When I went ashore I found an ex-cook boy from Madang who knew me—he is the local Luluai’s son.

The weather cleared up about four, after heavy rain since daybreak, and the whole village has been along to look us over.

The high ground is in sight, but we can not reach it as there is not enough water to take the launch.

Night and the nat-nats close down.

Charles and I lie in our bunks and decide to return to the coast and go bush from there, if necessary. “If this is the

Sepik,” says Charles, “the coast will do me.”

From where I lie I can see the moon rising over the palms, and throwing long shadows on the lagoon. It is quite a pretty .sight—and with the soft music from the radio it makes one think of the “Blue Lagoon”—a book I read long, long ago. “Blue Lagoon”—hell!

Feb. 14: The sun shines to-day, To morrow we make for £he coast. And we have learned from the ex-cook boy why the natives have so changed their atti tude. It appears that a week before our arrival a Catechist (native preacher) arrived back from Madang across coun try, said Madang had been bombed, and that the civilians and Administration had cleared out and that if the natives helped us they would be bombed by the Japs.

Fri. 17: We did not intend to stop at Angoram, but, as we approached, men lined the river bank and flagged us in.

We pulled in, asking, “Has Madang been invaded?” But it appeared not. They were Senik-Wewak fellows, all anxious to go with us. Would we consider a charter to Australia?

Feb. 18: A day of meeting and plan ning. J. arrived from Madang and Charles and a party decided to “give it a px>” for Australia. Would I go? No—all r own is here —and here I stay. Charles is a bit sick about it —says it seems as though he is running out on me. But I pointed out that it was otherwise. And so to bed.

Feb. 25: The party for Australia left on the 20th, and I decided to return home to Nubia. After some scrounging, I persuaded the DO to let me have 16 gal lons of petrol and, with this, the skip per of the “Exel” guarantees to trans port Dan Power, W. F. Scannell and myself to Nubia.

SO in early March I was back where I started, this time with two com panions. We settled ourselves in and were later visited by ADO Black (now Captain Black). I lost one of my companions to him —Dan. who joined up with ANGAU, then in its infancy. I. too, offered to join, but was told that I was more use where I was. I therefore became “papa” to a few thousand coastal and bush natives.

April, 1942, was on the wane when some natives brought news of the Sepik tragedy and the death of ADO Ellis. And it was May before Father Lutmer came bv and told me the sequel to this—when Ellis’ renegade police-boys murdered Patrol-Officer Studwick and the . miners Beckett. Mitchell and Eichorn. (See “PIM.” May, 1944). I went bush about this time to recruit bovs, but was caught up bv a boy with a letter from J. S. Rei<i to sav that Ellis’ police-bovs were still on the war-path, and to return. I returned forthwith, and in June the second member of my party left me; Scan went off with J. for evacuation. My radio broke down and I had no news whatever at this period, except from J.

He was continually up and down the coast, and never failed to look in.

In 'August. 1942. Bill McGregor and Stan Bell who. at one period, were thought murdered by the PB’s, turned up. Bill staved a week with me. It was wonderful.

In September, the first of thousands of natives from Wau and Bulolo began to come along the road on their wav home.

Their tales, regarding the position in general, were fantastic.

During October and November, 1942, two Chinamen and I made a new pin nace out of the old one. and my spirits rose when, about the middle of Novem ber, our Fortresses and Liberators started to roar overhead. On November 18. I went to Ulamba for the week-end. Our heavies were overhead all day. and a bov arrived with a letter to say that Jap ships had been off the coast the previous day. This was disturbing, and we waited bv the radio for the 11.30 news—but none came. My diary from this date reads: NOV. 20, 1942: AV “Edith” arrived at 3 a.m., but the boys knew nothing, having left Sek Friday night. All the village headmen have been called here from miles around to hear a talk by the base OC. J. Reid.

D. Power arrived, too, to say that J. had left Sek for here on Friday. What could have happened to him? Captured or run down at night? He would not pass without calling in. This was rot ten news, and a gloomy atmosphere pre vailed. But at 8.30 a native sentry yelled to sav that a pinnace was approaching— and there was J He had been at Kar Kar Island and had had a box seat at the bombing of the Jap convoy. Every

one then felt a lot better—but there was still Madang. At 9 p.m. VLR told us: “It is thought that the enemy has landed a garrison at Madang.”

So that was that —just 90 miles away.

NOV. 21-23: It was decided that it was time we evacuated to the bush—J. to be in charge of the boats and I second in command. I therefore returned to Nubia, got my pinnace into the water and loaded all my goods and chattels.

We left. Nubia for Awar to meet J. Our fleet now consisted of four boats and two big dinghies and we left again at 2.30 a.m. in order to be off the Ramu mouth at dawn —we are now fine game for friend or foe.

At dawn on the 23rd we were near the mouth—J. with his launch towing his dinghy, “Bluebell” next, and I with the “Edith,” towing my pinnace.

I waited at the entrance for J. to pilot me in. It took half an hour to start the cranky “Edith,” and I had just cleared Awar Point when the biggest thing in Liberators tore down the fairway. Did it give me the elevation of the breeze?

Or did it! I kept on with J. just in sight, but then lost sight of him and, knowing the danger of waiting around outside decided to give the entrance a try. Then out came J., frothing at the mouth, and. when he got near enough, he shouted that the Liberator had shot him up—but, thank God, they were crook shots!

We went on un to ramp at Bolivar.

Jan. 1, 1943: We held a full council meeting to-day and decided to move up river to a place J. had already picked out.

Jan. 30: The trip finished. Hell on floats. Mv pinnace caused most of the trouble. The rest of the month was occupied in building the camp. To-day Father Kloortubar arrived to tell us that the Japs wrre on the coast, having arrived at Booria Mission on the 24th. and had left for the Ramu. He had heard also that Mr. V. Johnson, of Bom Plantation, had been taken prisoner.

The Father was followed by a native with the news that Japs were on the Ramu right enough—at Bosman— roughly a day from here by road. So we decided to move again to a camp on a lagoon, up-river from here.

ON February 1, therefore, J. started to move the first load of cargo for the new camp site, and he had gone only an hour when natives arrived with the news that natives were leading the Japs up to us. The boys beat it for the bush and I was left. So I decided to leg it out with them, too.

What a day that was—through virgin jungle, and the boys refusing to keep to cut tracks. After eight hours’ walk we came again to the river—for me to dis cover that we were precisely one and a half hours’ pinnace travel from where I was that morning. At dawn only five boys were with me—the rest had bolted in the night.

I could not leave the river, because J. was expected back; so, about 11, I camped on the bank, and at three he arrived.

It was decided to run down for a look see. I didn’t feel too happy about it— but there seemed nothing else to do. We arrived at 6.30 —covering in two and a half hours the distance I had walked in 14. There was no one about except the natives, who had arrived the day before —which relieved me considerably, but at the same time made me ashamed of my bolt. We worked throughout that night, loading cargo, and were off at dawn.

Throughout February our new camp took shape. J. ran the gauntlet down the river to pick up our stuff and, by March, the whole of the cargo had been brought up. I had the gardens going by then, too, and we seemed settled, No Jap could

get near us. Only one native, except the locals, knew where we were and how to get to us via a small creek into the lagoon. J. had told that one boy in case any Allied airmen—whom we could hear flying over daily—got into trouble.

Then one day in March, 1943, the quiet of the afternoon was broken —two big canoes were sighted. J. was away and I thought half a dozen things at once: “Who are they?” “How did they find this place?” “What do they want?” —but mostly “What do I do now?”

I had no glasses; but a telescopic sight off a rifle helped some. There appeared to be two men sitting, one each to a canoe, besides five native paddlers.

Then the person in the leading canoe opened a big umbrella. “’Strewth!”

thought I, “At least Nips don’t have brollies.” It was the CO of a forward base, seeking a loan of benzine. He brought, also, an offer of evacuation— which I refused.

In April, everything was going well.

The potatoes and corn were almost ready and the fowls were laying. Then right into the middle of our peace, shattering it to bits, came my evacuation orders.

I protested, but vainly. This was the final word of GHQ, and I was for it. By May 1, all was ready for my return to a life I had left 20 years before, and on May 6—my birthday—we started on the big hike.

BUT here Fate took another hand, and held up the works again for another two weeks. Just after leaving the

dinner camp I staked my foot. J. was ahead, and I hobbled on quickly to catch up with him and ask him to cut it out for me; but he said to carry on to the base camp. So I carried on— hours through mud and slush.

Once there, the CO wanted to operate —but I’d had enough for one day, and declined with thanks. In the morning my leg was too swollen for anything except hot foments. This interesting process was carried out forthwith —and thereafter at intervals for nine days and nights of pain and misery.

But on May 15, the stake broke through where it had entered. The CO brought his forceps to bear on it, while four of

the boys sat on my chest and I hollered.

The stake—two inches long and a quar ter of an inch thick—was finally extracted and, as a result of it, plus nine sleep less night, plus a large nip of whisky, I fell immediately into a round-the-clock sleep.

By May 19. my foot had made such good progress that it was considered that my “evacuation” could be proceeded with.

We started off—l sitting in state in the CO’s chair attached to poles and man handled by a team of natives. But, when the track became too narrow, the chair was returned to base and I continued on foot, a journey that ended some weeks later—in the comparative civilisation of wartime Sydney.