It is of course Anzac day tomorrow. Our Prime Minister is in PNG on the Kokoda Track to commemorate the brave deeds of the Australian troops. (BHP selected as a header since it is most representative company of Australia, for better or worse I can think of)
I thought Strawman members might be interested a first-hand account from an Australian soldier who was on the Kokoda track fighting in 1942.
The author of the following account was Ray Gibson, a volunteer private in the AIF who towards the end of his life took it upon himself to visit schools and tell kids of his experiences during WW2. Ray hated war, but believed the young people need to know and understand the sacrifices he and his comrades had made.
In 2012 he gave a talk at his old school, Kulnura Public school, and fortunately someone recorded what he had to say. Makes fascinating reading as he tells of his first encounter with the advancing Japanese army. He gives a near unbelievable first-hand account of how the Australian troops finally stopped the Japanese advance.
At this point in the story Ray’s unit had been hurried back from the Middle East along with the rest of the AIF and deployed to New Guinea to block the Japanese advance along the Kokoda track.
What follows is Ray’s story in his own words:
The platoon I was assigned to when I joined the 2/33 battalion was 13 platoon. I was assigned back to the same platoon even if I left the battalion on leave or because of sickness. I ended up as a sergeant of the platoon in Borneo. (Later in the war)
We moved as quickly as possible down a very muddy track made worse by the use of mules and horses carrying supplies and ammunition to Uberi Village from Mc Donalds corner.
The compliment of our battalion going into this action was 29 Officers and 550 other ranks. We were assigned 90 Fuzzy Wuzzy angels to forward food and ammunition and to carry out any wounded.
All badges of rank were to be removed and for the first time ever all troops were to be spoken to by their first name. No Sir for an officer or corporal or sergeant. We were soon to learn the Japanese would use and call out a NCO’s rank and expecting an answer. If anyone was forthcoming that person could be shot because he gave his whereabouts to the enemy.
A shock announcement by our CO was that we were not to stop and help a wounded mate. This was foreign to all Australian troops. You always helped you mate if he was in trouble, no matter what.
Many times trying to get one’s mate out of a sniper line of fire meant you yourself could be hit. Still mates helped mates.
Soon, because of the humidity our new green clothes were streaky. The sweat from our bodies soon had the green dye being washed out of our shirts and trousers. After a long walk through the mud and halfway up our legs were arrived at Uberi Village. It was now the staging camp for the wounded and stretcher cases being brought out by the Fuzzy Wuzzies to get medical treatment before going into hospital at Mc Donalds corner or Port Moresby.
The Salvation Army was also stationed there to give troops either a cup of coffee or tea and a biscuit.
This point was the start of the so-called Golden Pathway, a long steep treacherous climb. As darkness befell us we were just starting to move up the so-called pathway. One took one step forward and slipped back two. One groaned and moaned sopping wet through from sweat and heavy rain. You sat down more times then you could stand.
Mostly you were crawling on your hands and knees. Trying to carry a Bren Gun you felt like crying. Not much one could do. Our Brigadier was pushing us knowing full well the situation. More troops were needed in forward position.
The Japanese advance was gaining momentum day-by-day. At about 10pm we were told to move off the track and sleep as you could. There was no way. Soaking wet through. Rifle shots going off all round us, and we not knowing who was firing them.
The jungle lit up like a city, fireflies and phosphorus on the trees shone brightly. For the rest of the night I lay alongside a rotting log. I put my steel helmet on my head thinking: OK if a stray bullet should come my way it may save me. Before day break we were on the move. I wondered how one’s body would ble able to cope and fight back an enemy with superior numbers and with much better armaments then we had.
We were given all sorts of information as our wounded were returning down the track as we moved forward. We eventually arrived at the top of Imita Ridge only to find we had to walk as far down again to the river below. Walking downhill was as stressful as walking up. Trying to get one’s boots out of the mud to take another step nearly broke your back.
We camped here for the night, once again wet through due to sweat and rain pouring down. I know I lay in a pool of water all night. No sleep and up next morning shivering. After what we had already suffered my thoughts turned back to what mum used to say to us children about coming out of the rain or we’d catch a cold or some other complaint. Tonight had been quieter. I think a lot of our chaps were trigger happy the night before.
We had heard so many horror stories about what the Japs could or would do at night. Most of this information was coming from the walking wounded.
Again we were climbing another 4,000 ft up the top of Ioribaiwa Ridge and on to meet the remnants of 21 Brigade as Menari. Each of our companies was soon patrolling in an attempt to find a way to the rear of the Japanese positions.
Our Don company ran into trouble in their situation and were losing men killed or wounded. They fell upon Japanese in a kunai patch where the inhabitants of Menari Village once grew their yams and vegetables. The Japanese had a better view of our chaps and opened fire before our boys could go for cover. After returning from the Middle East we were given a lot of jungle training, now knowing more about the Japanese tactics in jungle warfare.
Our attempts to infiltrate behind the Japanese positions was thwarted by thick jungle and a rocky crag. After trying for most of the day our company commander, who was in contact with our Battalion CO, was told to return to a bivouac area and await further instructions. We lost one officer killed when the Japanese fired a shell from one of its mountain guns and it landed in our area. A piece of shell hit him. At this time Brigadier Eather sought permission form general headquarters in Port Morsbey to withdraw his battalion, the 1/25th, 2/31 and 2/33 back to Imita Ridge where he could deploy the whole brigade along the top of this feature.
Hopefully we could have our companies in such depth to prevent the Japanese infiltrating to our rear. The topography of the ridge gave out troops a better chance of stopping any further advance of the enemy. Headquarters inn Port Moresby gave instruction, or should I say orders, to our Brigadier there should be no further withdrawals, saying: “you must fight until the last man falls”.
That afternoon the CO of the 2/33 battalion was given orders to prepare an ambush and be ready for further attach by the Japanese. This ambush was on the downward side of the ridge. Instructions were given none of our troops was to open fire until our company commander fired the first shot.
Nothing happened that night. We expected them to attack, but they didn’t. Next morning at 6:40am down the track came 60 Japanese let by an officer carrying a sword at the ready. He was shot by our company commander, then all hell broke loose. Not one Japanese escaped the ambush. None of our men was killed or wounded, so successful was the ambush.
The way they walked down the track they must have thought the Australians had withdrawn once again. This ambush was the closest the Japanese ever got to Port Morsby down the Kokoda track.
I will close the story there.
Australians did not know it at the time, but they could breath a sigh of relief. It was a small encounter in the scheme of WW2, but never-the-less a real turning point for Australia. The Japanese had been stopped.
By way of background Ray was, apart from 5 years in the army, all his life a successful orchardist on Mangrove Mountain, north west of Sydney. He was very community minded, serving on many local boards, growers organisations at a State and Federal level and was for many years Chairman of the local citrus growers co-operative. He had two daughters, who survive him and many grandchildren. Ray passed away in 2016 at the age of 94. Most of all he was a very unassuming nice sort of bloke, but with a steel to him that even as a small kid you had a strong sense he was not a fellow to be messed with.
Australians are very lucky to have men like old Mr Gibson, very lucky indeed.
