Life In Jungle

[Dave Homewood]

LIFE IN JUNGLE

NEW ZEALAND TROOPS

MEN’S WONDERFUL SPIRIT

“LAUGH AT EVERYTHING”

(N.Z.E.F. Official War Correspondent) Advanced Pacific Base, Sept. 24

Someone has brought a tiny radio to this forest home of ours. We lie in the darkened jungle after dusk with just a shaded candle that throws enough light to guide a pen unevenly on a pad of dank writing paper. We are thinking of the home country and of children being put to bed. We might be babes ourselves so early do we cease all movement and douse all lamps on this island of New Zealand soldiers. We cannot always tell if the wily son of Tojo is not hovering overhead, 30,000 feet up, watching for the gleam of a target underneath.
And as we wipe the successive waves of the day's perspiration from our bodies a voice comes over the air from the far south, the voice of New Zealand’s Prime Minister over 2000 miles away, making a last-minute appeal for the people’s support on election day. The voice is sometimes clear and sometimes harsh, and we wonder whether Mr Fraser is suffering from a relaxed throat or whether the distance and static are too much for this midget receiving set. When the voice speaks of politics, of social security, and of rehabilitation, we who have voted some days ago think of our families round the home radios and of their reaction to the storm of election propaganda.
And now we hear of the Dominion’s war effort and we think somewhat woefully of ourselves blinded by the tall trees of the jungle, moist with humidity, dirty with mud, laying odds on the likelihood of an hour or two in a foxhole this night, while our tin-helmeted gunners down the track belch anti-aircraft fire at the enemy.

Eerie Home in Jungle
The jungle makes an eerie home. A rough jeep track leads in from the beach and we look to see if the chains are fastened on the tyres, else no jeep or vehicle of any sort will ever make the passage. We churn into slime. We think of the author of the phrase, “sea of mud,” and know that none could improve on his description. Immediately above the trees close over us, tall trees of from 100 to 130 feet, broadening into an umbrella at the top of the four-feet thick trunks, and a denser canopy of foliage from the stumpier pandanus and broadleaf palms underneath. The twining vines and matted undergrowth usually associated with tropical jungles is not as thick as we expected. Inland, we understand, it is thinner still, though the absence of tracks, the prevalence of mountain ridges and the inadequate visibility make movement a hazardous business.

There are no coconuts here in the bush.- Their soil is flatter, swampy land at the water’s edge. In a small clearing here there are only a few banana palms. Their big leaves, broadened and lengthened by the abnormal heat, are limp in the sun's direct rays. We slush the unwilling mud on either side, sink to the axle in clinging ruts, and get out and push or winch the truck from a near by Banyan tree that has a trunk strong enough to stand the strain. Our boots and anklets are heavy with mud. Our trousers are smeared with it. Our open shirts are clinging wet to our backs.

A truck unable to negotiate a track has to spill its precious cargo of purified water and lists like a torpedoed ship, blocking the only way in. A tractor hauls it out and the driver turns towards the water point again. We ask him how he fares and he says what they all say.

Typical Generosity
“We pass a camp of bearded Allied soldiers. With typical generosity they ask us in for a cup of coffee or tea—for the American is developing a taste for tea that rivals even our own—and they laugh at our discomfort. Fortunately, we can raise a laugh too. The laughter is our salvation in the jungle. We laugh at everything—at queuing up in the rain for meals, at puddles in the bottom of our foxholes, at shrunken socks, at the weird cackle of the forest wild fowl in the evening, at the bark-like croaking of the frogs and the nagging perseverance of the insect life.

We follow with fascination interest the flight of the multi-coloured butterflies, big bronze, cream and spotted. They are less timid than the butterflies at home and settle sometimes on an outstretched arm. And bats flit erratically in and out of the tents. They are doing it now. The jungle night life is awakening. The noise of its myriad gnomes will go on till daybreak, when fresh armies will chant new tunes for our ears. Teeming fireflies glow among the trees and the peculiar fuzzy bark of some vine sends off a phosphorescent light.

Mr Fraser’s voice grows dim and though the Pacific war time says only seven o’clock the New Zealand soldiers drop to sleep. We may be wakened soon by the blast of an air alert and we will laugh again in drowsiness as we scramble to our warrens while the air raid lasts.

WAIKATO TIMES, 14 OCTOBER 1943

[davidd]

Another very atmospheric piece there Dave H, many thanks.

[Dave Homewood]

Yes I thought so too. I love these pieces where the correspondents really set the scene with a word-picture.

[Dave Homewood]

LIFE ON ISLAND

NEW ZEALAND TROOPS

EXCITING EXPERIENCES

ENEMY PROWLERS BUSY

(N.Z.E.F. Official War Correspondent) TREASURY ISLAND, Nov. 28

The booby traps laid by New Zealanders round their Mono Island perimeter have caught a number of Japanese night prowlers on trip wires that set off grenades fused to instantaneous discharge. It is an old trick but has worked well, and the light of morning has disclosed many pools oi blood from which wounded Japanese have been dragged out by their companions.

The Japanese have indulged in a lot of night work on Mono. It is impossible to stop their infiltration completely, as our perimeter is a wide one and at times a score or more Japanese have prowled among our lines and foxholes, chattering among themselves, singing sometimes, and conducting themselves with a strangely carefree abandon that suggested a queer twist of psychology, or, what might well have been possible, an over-indulgence in their alcoholic saki, of which many bottles were found in abandoned camp sites.

They sat on fallen trees, felt gingerly for men's heads in foxholes, threw coconuts and pieces of coral here and there, and clicked signals to each other with wooden sticks. Four sat for two hours within a yard of a wounded New Zealander. They never saw him. One poked a skinny hand under the log roof of a big foxhole. He was riddled with a Tommy-gun burst.

Snipers Eliminated
There were occasional interchanges of fire, and though one night no enemy were killed four lay dead after the second night. It transpired that they had a purpose, for from trees along the beach came a sniper’s fire on the following day. At least nine snipers were found in one day and eliminated by spraying the tops of trees with bullets.

One battalion has a story about “the corpse that walked,” which has the testimony of the commanding officer to guarantee its veracity. Late one afternoon shots from the treetops of a coconut palm whizzed close to a private’s head. He turned his automatic rifle into the palm and was rewarded by the falling of the sniper’s rifle and the slumping of a barely discernible body amongst the greenery. The Japanese had been tied to the tree and his body stayed where it was. Dusk was falling, so the body was left alone. In the morning it was gone. This was the first time the New Zealanders had encountered the Japanese night prowling tactics. On Vella Lavella the enemy had stayed quiet in his own perimeter and we became rather sceptical of tales about his perambulatory habits. Not so on Mono. To see and to feel was to believe.

Corporal Slept No More
A South Island corporal now knows what it feels like to have his steel helmet lifted slowly back while he slept in a foxhole. He woke to semi-consciousness one night as his hat was being pulled gently upwards. Not realising what was happening he drowsily pulled it back on his head.

The next moment the hand jerked it up again and the truth dawned upon the corporal. Someone was trying to lift his chin up to expose his throat. The corporal did not drowse any more. He lashed out with his fists and a dark form slid off in a hurry. Rumour has it that the corporal slept no more that night nor the night after.

Once awakened to the potential menace of night prowlers the New Zealanders took effective steps to stop them. Booby traps helped a lot and the reinforced sentry posts repulsed at least one determined Japanese attempt to infiltrate. After three nights the Japanese gave it up. 

WAIKATO TIMES, 30 NOVEMBER 1943

[Dave Homewood]

LIFE IN JUNGLE

SOLDIER’S DESCRIPTION

TROOPS AT VELLA LAVELLA

A description of the New Zealanders’ landing at Vella Lavella, in the Solomon Islands, and the life spent there is given in a letter written by Lance-Corporal W. J. A. McDell, formerly of Hamilton. Lance Corporal McDell writes: “Another short trip brought us much closer to the zone of hostilities. In spite of the frequency of air raids on the island, once occupied by the Japanese, we landed without any trouble, though for many nights 'Nip' raiders came over and made attacks on our Allies. Our only inconvenience was the necessity to dive into foxholes and to dig the latter in solid clay and rock.

“The difficulty in clearing out defenders from the area could be well understood, and it seems they had to be blasted out of every hole. In the valleys the holes had to be found in thick undergrowth before the tenants could be eliminated. The chief difficulty in the camp was getting a decent wash, for the only possible places, the sea and a miserable bush stream, were at the bottom of a mighty hillside. The climb back to camp was sufficient to remove all the effects of the wash and leave us in our usual grubby state.”

Special Landing Craft
Writing about the landing at the actual scene of hostilities, Lance-Corporal McDell said: “The unloading of the barges was really well done. The heavy equipment was run straight aboard specially-built landing craft of considerable dimensions. The smaller boats made up a considerable convoy. The landing on this island was effected in quite smart time, with the constant threat of an air raid, which fortunately did not occur until several hours after we had cleared the beach.

“To be in the first convoy to clear the beach without any enemy bombers coming over made us think we had all the luck. An alleged road ran close to the beach for its entire length, and we had about three miles to go. In many places the road was knee-deep in mud and it had a risky surface for its entire length. The heavy going, coupled with weighty packs and a hot, humid atmosphere, caused many stragglers on the march.

“With everything in good shape and most amenities set up, we were immediately ordered to the combat area, leaving behind all the field packs and arms. I did three trips along the road in a jeep in complete darkness. Our objective could not be seen. The driver had the eyes of a cat and long experience of Army vehicles on almost impossible terrain, so we managed to keep on the road and covered the distance with only a few bruises to show for it. We camped for the night in an area where the water level was six inches below ground level. It was not good ground for digging foxholes, but these had to be made, and the great majority of us lay in water between watches.

Two Miles Takes Three Hours
“The following day we passed through an area of really tough country. Tree roots, logs, bogs waist deep lay in the path, and three hours were occupied in covering a straight line distance of two miles. We moved to a wet coconut plantation, and most of us had had our fill of coconut milk.

“The Japanese did little toward making defensive positions, but he is an expert at using natural positions and camouflaging them. Several light machine-guns placed in the roots of large trees and surrounded by snipers in the tree branches is a tough proposition in country where visibility is limited to 30 yards at the outside. He prefers the bottom of a gully rather than the top of a ridge for defence and interlacing posts manned as described take no great number of men to defend a long strip. Camouflage by uprooting and carefully transplanting small trees and shrubs, coupled with fire lanes made only by parting a narrow strip of undergrowth, meant that we had to lose men in locating enemy positions

“The snipers were lookouts for the men with the heavier weapons, and they had light semi-automatics. Signalling by bird calls, the snipers directed the light machine-gunners, and it is possible that in many cases the latter hit targets they did not see. The snipers also fired under a cover of the sound of the light machine-guns, and for this reason they were almost impossible to locate.

Accurate Artillery
“Once strong positions were definitely located the artillery went to work and plastered them heavily. The accuracy of the artillery unit supporting us was really amazing. Its observation officers went right into our front lines directing the fire The effect of the artillery fire put the snipers out of the trees, and without them the enemy gun-posts were untenable.  When the enemy found that every strong point would be heavily shelled he decided to evacuate, and to this end he  retreated rapidly to embark in barges in the dead of night. Although our artillery could have shelled the evacuation point, the barges had a bomber escort, and against that the guns could not disclose their positions, so the completion of our task was left to a quite capable navy.

"To be wet night and day for 10 days is no pleasant experience but it did us little harm

“Up to the time of their evacuation the Japanese had a float plane bringing over supplies, and though there was always the prospect of his dropping something else we became quite used to him. Incidentally, one bag of supplies fell near to our surrounding platoons just when they had had no food for several days. After they had gone stray bombers came over several times each night and laid eggs here and there. The nearest they landed to any of us was 150 Yards, and from my experience of one at 150 yards away, I found that that was just a little too close.

Bombing for Ten Nights
"It is surprising how close to the ground one can shrink when a bomber is overhead, and although we were in a village we spent the nights sleeping in foxholes, even though it rained. This bombing continued for ten nights and as the planes carried two bombs everyone was on the jump until the second one was dropped. The pests would climb slowly over the area go into a whining dive and drop one egg. That was not so bad. but for the next two hours the plane would continue to climb and dive without dropping anything until the pilot decided he had been there long enough, when he would do his final dive and drop his second bomb before returning to his base

“We see nothing of the residents of any of the coastal villages, for they appear to have gone to the hills for the duration of the war.

"After three weeks of field rations the change back to ordinary camp fare was a great treat, although a little light in the early period. Previously a few days on field rations seemed quite all right, but after a week of eating the two different  varieties cold it became most unpalatable. After the second week most of the men were quite unable to eat the meat and vegetable hash contained in these rations, and were existing on four small biscuits per meal. Until the action was over everything was cold. Water taken from pools had to be chlorinated. Those who learned this lesson learned the hard way.

WAIKATO TIMES, 14 DECEMBER 1943