‘Goooooooodmorning everyone. This is day two on the Kokoda
track’. Cameron yelled out at 5:45am - impersonating Robin Williams, Good
morning Vietnam style. A crescendo of moans, grunts and frenzied activities followed to get
everything packed and ready to go.
A mixture of rain and condensation had dripped on me throughout
the night and most of my stuff was damp. I opened the tent and was again disappointed
to see so much overcast hanging over the village, but you just walk on, right?
Today we were told we were going to ascend to Isurava where we would be having a service to commemorate the battle that took place here in August 1942.
Smiddy had told me that the snake was quite angry today and that there was some climbing ahead. The hike there was eerie as we walked through the clouds with ghostly rubber trees appearing out of nowhere and encountered a landscape that was smothered in Choko (climbing plant). The track, wet and slimy with ever increasing foliage, surrounded us like it does in some parts of Queensland, but then on steroids. Flowers were growing in many places, frogs and cricket sounds filled the cotton wool air. It felt kind of spiritual, as if some of the shapes in the thick bush were watching us. Maybe the fact that many soldiers that died here and have never been found, combined with the mist, gave the trail it's mystery.
Today we were told we were going to ascend to Isurava where we would be having a service to commemorate the battle that took place here in August 1942.
Smiddy had told me that the snake was quite angry today and that there was some climbing ahead. The hike there was eerie as we walked through the clouds with ghostly rubber trees appearing out of nowhere and encountered a landscape that was smothered in Choko (climbing plant). The track, wet and slimy with ever increasing foliage, surrounded us like it does in some parts of Queensland, but then on steroids. Flowers were growing in many places, frogs and cricket sounds filled the cotton wool air. It felt kind of spiritual, as if some of the shapes in the thick bush were watching us. Maybe the fact that many soldiers that died here and have never been found, combined with the mist, gave the trail it's mystery.
A rare opening in the jungle reveals us on the track and everything smothered in Choko |
After negotiating the climb we arrived at the Isurava memorial site.
Miraculously the clouds suddenly broke open as if to clear the way for our service. In the midst of these thick bush covered hills, sits a beautiful
green park with four polished imprinted granite slabs, standing solemnly in a half-circle
protruding the clearing sky. The view over the valley in behind was something to behold.
The once bloody battle ground now graced by a stunning memorial |
Each stone engraved with a single word – Mateship – Courage –
Endurance – Sacrifice. Words that made the hairs of my arms stand up to
attention. There was a silent respect in this space adhered to by all - the
tones of our voices lowered - we read the
information on the interpretive signs and the words on the stones quietly - we
wondered what it was like to be here in a fierce battle against an enemy far
stronger in numbers.
Tanya in quiet contemplation |
So who were those 450 soldiers of the 39th
battalion that fought alongside the well trained 2/14th and were laying in
waiting for the Japanese mighty force to arrive? In all the literature I have
read and stories I have been told, these soldiers were the off-cuts of the timber
mill. Some, too old, but with an average age of 18 were inexperienced or just
were not fitting in with any of the more fancied units.
The nickname given to these mainly weekend soldiers was "Choco’s". They would melt in the heat of battle like chocolate. These so called Choco’s took the brunt of the Japanese onslaught at Kokoda village and were suffering in the jungle for many months. Many of the men contracting those diseases us modern day trampers have sought preventative medical treatments for such as dysentery and malaria. From all accounts they were engaged in a hell of a fight but, together with the 2/14th they were out numbered and out flanked by the Japanese. Us Aussies were doing it tough out here.
The nickname given to these mainly weekend soldiers was "Choco’s". They would melt in the heat of battle like chocolate. These so called Choco’s took the brunt of the Japanese onslaught at Kokoda village and were suffering in the jungle for many months. Many of the men contracting those diseases us modern day trampers have sought preventative medical treatments for such as dysentery and malaria. From all accounts they were engaged in a hell of a fight but, together with the 2/14th they were out numbered and out flanked by the Japanese. Us Aussies were doing it tough out here.
The twenty nine
exhausted wounded soldiers of the 39th were ordered back up the
track towards Alola. They had heard about the terrible fighting at Isurava and all bar one returned to
lend a hand in the losing battle. In the end Lieutenant Ralph Honner had no other
option to retreat his troops and live to fight another day.
I feel it is my absolute duty to tell you the story of Private
Bruce Kingsbury VC. The following information was derived from an interpretive
sign at Isurava and I have taken the liberty to copy every word.
Near this site on 29
August 1942, Private Bruce Kingsbury, 2/14the Battalion, performed an act of
valour for which he was awarded the Victoria Cross – the Commonwealth’s highest
decoration for bravery – at the cost of his life.
Japanese troops attacked down the high ridge to the west of
this memorial and up the creek valleys below. They broke into this area, threatening Battalion Headquarters. Kingsbury
joined a party from Headquarters Company and the Signal Platoon that rushed
forward to bolster the defences.
Some of the men of the 2/14 that fought at Isurava |
C Company mounted a desperate counter-attack. Kingsbury
charged, firing his Bren light machine-gun from the hip in the face of intense
enemy fire. He cleared a path through the enemy and continued sweeping their
positions with his fire, inflicting many casualties, until the Japanese were
pushed back over the edge of the creek below.
The view from Kingsbury's rock |
As Kingsbury paused beside this large rock to reload his
Bren gun, he was shot dead by a sniper.
First Australian VC recipient Private Bruce Kingsbury |
Bruce Steel Kingsbury was born in Melbourne, Victoria,
Australia, on 8 January 1918. A real estate agent by profession, and briefly a
farmer and station hand, he enlisted in May 1940. He served in the 2/14th
in Palestine, Egypt and Syria before the unit returned to Australia and
proceeded to Papua New Guinea. He was 24 when killed.
“Whenever men speak of courage, wherever men speak of
sacrifice, he will be remembered, his name ever an inspiration and a challenge.”
W.B. Russell, The History of the
Second Fourteenth Battalion.
And "this" is where Private Bruce Kingsbury was shot in the
head, Cameron bellowed while spearing his hiking stick deep into the soft ground
with great force. It is unlikely that any of us will ever forget this image. Ex Major Cam
used so much power that it took him a while to dig up and reassemble his hiking
stick.
Kingsbury Rock where Cam jammed his stick in to the ground |
Not a Hero
The ANZAC Day march was over – the old Digger had done his
best.
His body ached from marching – it was time to sit and rest.
He made his way to a park bench and sat with lowered head.
A young boy passing saw him – approached and politely said,
“Please sir do you mind if I ask you what the medals you
wear are for?
Did you get them from being a hero, when fighting in a war?”
Startled, the old Digger moved over and beckoned the boy to
sit.
Eagerly the lad accepted – he had not expected this!
“First of all I was not a hero, said the old Digger in
solemn tone,
“But I served with many heroes, the ones that never came
home.
So when you talk of heroes, it’s important to understand,
The greatest of all heroes gave their lives defending this
land.
“The medals are worn in their honour, as a symbol of
respect.
All diggers wear them on ANZAC Day – it shows they don’t
forget.”
The old digger then climbed to his feet and asked the boy to
stand.
Carefully he removed the medals and placed them in his hand.
He told him he could keep them – to treasure throughout his
life,
A legacy of a kind – left behind – paid for in sacrifice.
Overwhelmed the young boy was speechless – he couldn’t find
words to say.
It was there the old Digger left him – going quietly on his
way.
In the distance the young boy glimpsed him – saw him turn
and wave goodbye.
Saddened he sat alone on the bench – tears welled in his
eyes.
He never again saw him ever – but still remembers with
pride.
When the old Digger told him of Heroes and a young boy sat
and cried.
Clyde Hamilton
Kelsey reading the Fuzzy Wuzzy poem at Isurava |
That night, at news time, everyone was talking about how humbling the modest but incredibly emotional service we had that day. Many war time poems were read out by the hikers and national anthems of both Australia and Papua New Guinea were sung. I think we all felt a bit like the little boy in the 'Not a Hero' poem. It has to be said this experience and those tears we shed bonded us together more than ever before.
The boys sang out a heart-felt national anthem to finish the service |
Grey Bits
If you like to read 'to the sunburnt left ear' which is a great poem, please click on the following link https://anzacday.org.au/to-the-sunburnt-ear
Paul M reading "To the Sunburnt Left Ear" |
If you like to read more about the battle of Isurava click on the following link
http://kokoda.commemoration.gov.au/into-the-mountains/stand-at-isurava.php
|
3 comments:
Marbles, you are doing an amazing job of recreating an incredible journey. Can't wait for the next instalment :)
Writing this with tears in my eyes, so moving Marcel, those soldiers could never have forseen what is happening today, with so many making this journey in their footsteps, thank you to those brave young men who dont cause wars and to the Fuzzy Wuzzy Angels, who did so much as well.
Such a moving recital of the emotion experienced by you and your fellow comrades ... brothers and sisters in reflective respect.
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