Memories Of The Black Days Of 1942

How the First Japs Came to N. Guinea WRITTEN FOR “PIM” BY A. H. FREUND

IT was on that fateful day, January 21, 1942. Though the atmosphere was tense, possibly very few expected the blows that would fall that day.

Our wives and children had been eva cuated towards the end of the old year.

A few Japanese flying-boats had been prowling around. According to the radio activity at VJZ (Rabaul) it was evident that things were happening there. But most of us tried to carry on normally.

Those of us who had our radio con nections with VTV (Madang) were stand ing by for our noon call. (The writer was on the Awelkon Mission Station on Rooke Island.) While waiting for the call from Mr.

Urquhart, the VIV operator, I suddenly heard Lloyd Pursehouse, officer-in-charge at Pinschafen, come in on the emergency frequency, calling Rabaul and reporting: “There’s a large fleet of aircraft, 50 or 60, passing here.”

Like a flash, Rabaul was back, “Which way are they going?”

“In the direction of Lae and Sala maua,” replied Pursehouse.

Rabaul imediately began warning Lae and Salamaua, but received no acknow ledgement.

After calling intermittently for about 40 minutes, Rabaul gave up with the remark, “They must be almost on you now. I’m closing down. Cheerio!”

It was agony sitting there, helplessly, imagining the doom approaching Lae and Salamaua.

Later, we discovered that Lae had heard Pursehouse reporting the raiders,

and, without waiting for Rabaul’s re action, had begun calling Wau and Bulolo, to warn them.

But Salamaua got it, without warning.

Even so, .casualties were comparatively light.

WE heard some interesting stories about the Lae raid.

Charlie Brush was out on the drome, servicing a plane. The Japs had timed their attack about noon. Charlie mis took the air raid siren for the noon knock-off signal. He decided to finish the job before going to the mess.

Suddenly he heard a roar, looked up, and saw a Jap plane diving at him with machine guns blazing. Charlie claims to have broken evens to the nearest slit trench, 200 yards away.

Nearly a month later, he showed us the scars on his arms and legs where the gravel thrown up by the bullets had bitten into him.

Besides thoroughly demolishing the hangar and workshop, the Japs paid particular attention to the hotel and mess, evidently figuring that most of the men would be in either of the two. With a few exceptions they were, fortunately, all in slit trenches.

But the barman, we were told, decided to stick to his post. However, when a stream of bullets came in from the front of the hotel, causing heavy casualties among his best “spirited” bottles, he beat a strategic retreat, out the back door.

Alf. Lane told us how he was about to duck into a slit trench when he thought

of some friends of his, who were run ning a machine shop. They had not heard the siren amid the whirring machi

nery, when they saw him come in, they offered him the customary hospitality.

“No time for a drink now,” said Alf., “there’s an air raid on.”

In a wink he was alone—and didn’t even know where the trenches were into which his friends had vanished. A machine shop can be an exceptionally unhealthy place if a bomb burst in it, and throws tools and other metal about.

Alf. raced out towards the terrace overlooking that part of Lae, ducked behind the bole of a big tree, and there weathered the storm of bombs and bullets Up on the terrace, the Administrator, Sir Walter McNicoll, was sick in his residence. Against his will, he had to be taken to the safety of a slit trench. We later saw the holes which bullets had torn through the walls and roof of his residence.

TkUT let us return to our radio. Soon after Rabaul ceased trying to warn , Lae , anc * , Salamaua, Urquhart (Madang) began to call.

There were only routine calls that day.

Dal Chambers was the last one on the list. while Chambers was acknowledging his call, I suddenly heard Urquhart corn ing in with great speed on the key on the emergency wavelength, and he did not acknowledge Chambers’s reply. It ® as n °t hard to guess what was happen ln|- Madang was also being attacked, . Al ?d, during the whole attack, whi e bombs were bursting around the radio shack, while the big, new customs Shed was shattered, and Carpenter’s copra shed, with thousands of tons of copra became a mammoth bonfire, Urquhart stuck to his post, /\VER on Ragetta Island, Rev. P. Flieh ler, superintendent of the American

Lutheran Mission, was alone with his two house boys, having his lunch.

“Time no good he come up,” yelled the boys, and fled.

Rev. Fliehler also decided that it would probably be safer elsewhere. So he took shelter behind a big mango tree. Soon the red ants were attacking him furi ously.

“It’s all right, brothers,” he apostro phised the ants, “but I’m staying with you.” rR a few days, there was no sign of VIV (Madang). So Pursehouse, Chambers and I formed a little group, and kept up contact.

But within a few days VIV suddenly came on again, though on a slightly dif ferent wavelength. Urquhart had put th'3 main set out of action, and had put up his emergency set at Wagol Planta tion, across the harbour.

With panic and flight,all around him, Urquhart deserves high praise for his coolness and faithfulness to those who might need his services.

Evidently, the Japs also took note of the fact that VTV was again on the air, and decided that Madang had not yet had enough. So they came and bombed the deserted, battered town again. Some of the bombs fell into the harbour, kill ing many fish. After the raid the local natives collected numbers of the fish and had a good feed, even bringing some to Rev. Fliehler.

On January 27, we established contact with VIG (Port Moresby) and our faith ful friend Urquhart was withdrawn. Two and a half years later, on the Sydney- Brisbane express, I met him again. Need less to say, we re-lived many of the in cidents of those stirring days in early 1942.