Kokoda 8. The Joy of Papua

"Now I don’t know a lot of you by name, but I know you.

We met at Isurava. We fought there together and every step of the way here.

Now we are relieved and we will leave the battle.

And every day the enemy supply line stretches further. He suffers now as you have suffered.

The battle we fought for the track may have just saved your nation. At Imita we will stop him.

Brigadier wants you to know…your gallantry, your courage, your fortitude are an inspiration.

And I want you to know that you are some of the finest soldiers that I have ever seen.

You have seen things in this place that no man should witness.

Some of these things you must forget. But history will remember you,

and in the years to come others will wish that they had your conviction.

And remember…remember the glory is not the exhortation of war, but the exhortation of man.

Mans nobility, made transcendent in the fiery crucible of war.

Faithfulness and fortitude.

Gentleness and compassion.

I am honoured to be your brother.” 

  

Lt Col Ralph Honner DSO M

Lt Col Ralph Honner's speech to his men (39th Militia Battalion) after their stand on the Kokoda track, Menari village 6th Sep. 1942

Wednesday 15 June 2016 - Agulogo to Iriabaiwa


We awoke to misty cool conditions. First up, the biggest river crossing on the Kokoda track. The porters kicked into action, working hard to get us and our luggage across safely. The water, rather fresh for this time of day, streaming past underneath us at a rapid rate. We needed to balance on a couple of slippery, dew covered logs, with ropes strung along side. The logs only reached halfway across the river. In the water it goes!

The adventurous log crossing  

After the successful crossing, we were pleasantly surprised by a two kilometre stage through a muddy swamp-like flat. What no hills?

Holding the rope tight for our crossing

Obviously lured into a false sense of security by the only flat spot on the Kokoda track, we were hit by nine false peaks or ten gruelling tops if you like. I joined the majority of our hikers and became an honourable member of the ‘fall down club'. Twice I pirouetted with my hiking stick dangerously flailing through the air, then I found myself sliding on my back-side - with feet ending up hanging over a substantial drop. Slipping another half a metre further would have made it very interesting.
 


A bed of slippy roots

I wrote in my diary that day ‘today I can safely tell you that this trail is the most difficult I have ever been on. Hands down. Fair Dinkum’!!!

After the huge drop into the valley, we all tumbled into the river celebrating the fact that we got through the rigours of the day. We all loved being in the water. One of the most popular questions to Cameron - our guide in the jungle - was ‘when can we swim?’ Marcus, the bloke part of the honourable kiwi-couple, tramping with us was given the nickname ‘Polar Bear’ as he loved the frosty water and was always the first one to dive in.

Mark - after a hard day of hiking and swimming

We all experienced a very strange sensation bordering on the morbid. Here we were, splashing about in Ofi creek having a great time. The next moment we were all thinking back to 1942 when many Japanese soldiers were killed in a massive ambush right here - at this exact spot! It was said that the water turned red from the blood of the fallen.

The water of Ofi Creek

We had an energy regenerating lunch up in the village but with ten minutes to go I realised I did not have any photos of Ofi creek. Having scored the photography job on this Kokoda track adventure, I felt it was important to return to the site and asked if I could traverse the hundred metres back down to the river. With permission granted, I took in the charm of the gorgeous flowing creek all by myself for some time. The reddish setting of my camera seemed an appropriate match to the distressing history of the arena.




The river turned red

Smiddy told me he heard about my fall and blamed himself, apologised profusely and spent the next two hours hot on my heals telling me to slow down and be careful. Obviously, Smiddy is not to blame for my clumsiness, but it shows you how much he cared. You can clearly see that Smiddy and the other porters have the same kindness running through their veins as the affectionately named Fuzzy Wuzzy Angels of 42’.















Smiddy - the man!

The local Papua New Guineans were employed by the Australians in 1942 to carry heavy supplies up and down the Kokoda track. Many diggers, that would have otherwise died on the spot, were stretchered out of the track by the porters. There are many stories told by our diggers of friendship, loyalty and care that reached far beyond the boundaries of employment.


'Fuzzy Wuzzy Angels'

Many a mother in Australia
when the busy day is done
Sends a prayer to the Almighty
for the keeping of her son
Asking that an angel guide him
and bring him safely back
Now we see those prayers are answered
on the Owen Stanley Track

For they haven't any halos
only holes slashed in their ears
And their faces worked by tattoos
with scratch pins in their hair
Bringing back the badly wounded
just as steady as a horse
Using leaves to keep the rain off
and as gentle as a nurse

Shell getting into it with the porters helping out

  

Slow and careful in the bad places
on the awful mountain track
The look upon their faces
would make you think Christ was black
Not a move to hurt the wounded
as they treat him like a saint
It's a picture worth recording
that an artist's yet to paint
 

The Fuzzy Wuzzy's in action on the Kokoda track.
Photo courtesy of Activist news

Many a lad will see his mother
and husbands see their wives
Just because the fuzzy wuzzy
carried them to save their lives
From mortar bombs and machine gun fire
or chance surprise attacks
To the safety and the care of doctors
at the bottom of the track

May the mothers of Australia
when they offer up a prayer
Mention those impromptu angels
with their fuzzy wuzzy hair.

Sapper Bert Beros

NX6925, 7th Australian Division, Royal Australian Engineers

I shared my fruit 'n' nut mix and muesli bars with Smiddy and bought him a fizzy drink and fruit here and there. I shook his hand every afternoon thanking him for his cheerful companionship and extraordinary efforts to keep me safe. I appreciated his spirited ‘chii chiieee’ calls to his mates or just to express his happiness. A chant I tried copying but never was able to do it any justice.



Smiddy taking my pack across the river

Every day we were blessed with the infectious joy of the porters - their laughter spontaneous and straight from the soul - their folk songs soothing and joyful. ‘Chii Chiieee’.

The songs they sang at Isurava and Brigade Hill will be edged in my memory forever. This is their national anthem.

O arise all you sons of this land
  Let us sing of our joy to be free, 
   Praising God and rejoicing to be
Papua New Guinea

      Shout our name from the mountains to the seas
Papua New Guinea;
Let us raise our voices and proclaim
Papua New Guinea

One of the porters who lived in Ioribaiwa being reunited
with his kids

Now give thanks to the good Lord above
For his kindness, His Wisdom love
For this land of our fathers so free
Papua New Guinea

Singing the Papuan National Anthem at Brigade Hill

      Shout again for the whole world to hear
Papua New Guinea
We're independent and we're free,
Papua New Guinea

We were promised an excellent spot to watch the sunset and Ioribaiwa did not disappoint. After cold showers and a change of clothes we all hung out on the benches that were made for such an occasion.

 

A stunner at Iorabaiwa

Meanwhile in September of 1942 the thump and scamper strategy was still full swing. Another significant battle ensued around the village of Ioribaiwa without Brigadier Arnold Potts who was unjustly sacked by General Blamey for the defeat at Brigade Hill. Cameron explained to us that Brigade Hill is a tactically inept place for a defensive stand and it would have been suicide to hold those positions.



Brigadier Arnold Potts immortalised
in bronze at Kojonup,WA

Again the Aussie's retreated.....

 Grey Bits

Brigadier Potts originates from Kojonup, West Australia. I found the following link interesting
http://monumentaustralia.org.au/themes/people/military/display/60702-brigadier-arnold-potts-

A well written biography of the Brigadier can be found at http://adb.anu.edu.au/biography/potts-arnold-william-11448

If you would like to read more about the Battle of Ioribaiwa click on the following link
http://www.army.gov.au/Our-history/History-in-Focus/Battle-of-Ioribaiwa



No battle here at Ioribaiwa that evening as Nataly
and Daniel shared a romantic moment

The following link contains more information about Ralph Honner.http://kokodahistorical.com.au/diggers-stories/ralph-honner-dso-mc



Our nightly ritual of reading, information and fun

Kokoda 7. Torn apart




'What is your favourite moment on the Kokoda track?'  I sense you want to ask me. I have to tell you it occurred on that Tuesday morning. I had packed my backpack badly having not been able to open my eyes yet. I was tired and still suffered from self-effacing flatspotites. That morning we walked out of the village of Afogi with the sun still behind the surrounding hills. While I was taking photos of the village, a dog and a local chicken, a young man walked past me with a guitar slung over his shoulder. It was one of the porters that entertained his colleagues and us every night by playing glorious Papuan folk-songs. I asked him if I could have a play, and to my surprise, he passed me the un-tunenable guitar that had seen better days. Slowly I walked with Tanya, Smiddy and back-end Frank - guitar strap over my shoulder - everyone else had gone - only one song in mind.....

 

Walking out of Efogi early in the morning

We could live
For a thousand years
But if I hurt you
I'd make wine from your tears

I told you
That we could fly
'Cause we all have wings
But some of us don't know why

I was standing

You were there

Two worlds collided

And they could never ever tear us apart

Written by Andrew Farriss and Michael Hutchence (Inxs), 1987

The energy from this song lasting way longer than any can of cola.

Tuesday 14 June 2016 - Afogi to Agulogo
 

Cameron called us to a halt about two hundred metres before Brigade Hill.

Brigade Hill is an impressive mountain ridge roughly halfway along the Kokoda Trail. Mission Ridge extends from its north face like a nose. The eastern face is very steep whilst the western face is only slightly less so as it drops down to the Fagume River. It was here that Brigadier Arnold Potts, Commander of Maroubra Force, was ordered to stand and fight the advancing Japanese.

At his disposal were the wearied men of 2/14th and 2/16th Infantry Battalions. Although depleted in number, some hope of success was generated as the Brigade was strengthened with their final fresh battalion, the 2/27th. Potts, concerned that the 2/14th and 2/16th could not withstand another frontal assault after their experiences at Isurava, placed the 2/27th at the forefront of his defenses on Mission Ridge. He then strung his other units, including his headquarters in a line back along the trail.



The soldiers at  Brigade Hill 

Heavy fire from Japanese artillery signaled the commencement of the battle as the 2/27th was assaulted head-on up Mission Ridge by the Japanese 3/144th Battalion (I.e. 3rd Battalion, 144th Regiment).

While this occurred, the Japanese 2/144th Battalion, led by a Papuan guide, moved along the Fagume River before scaling the precipitous western slope of Brigade Hill throughout the night. As they reached the summit in the first moments of dawn, they lodged themselves in between two Australian positions, taking them by surprise. The Australians in the forward elements were cut off.

Realising the danger of the situation, Brigadier Potts ordered desperate counter-attacks to expel the Japanese. Despite the heroic efforts of the Australians to drive the Japanese out, their charges were futile and many Australians were killed.

I found this description of the battle of Brigade Hill at http://kokoda.commemoration.gov.au/into-the-mountains/efogi-disaster.php


Cameron stated 'Captain Claude Nye received his orders from Brigadier Potts in this area'. He was ordered to push back to Brigade Hill and breach the gap created by the Japanese.

The base of the tree where Nye received his last orders

Captain Lefty Langridge received the same desperate orders at Brigade Hill. Push towards Captain Nye's men and stop the Japanese from splitting their Battalions apart. Several of the Australian soldiers handed their dog-tags to their mates before attempting to breach the gap. It was obvious that most of them were not going to make it, but still they went….


Of Captain Nye's 25 soldiers, only eight got through. Lefty's platoon of 21 were completely wiped out. Both Captains were killed.

The last stretch we walked alone and experienced the approach to this important Australian landmark in quiet and without distraction. We all left minutes apart.



Paul B during his walk of contemplation

The 2/27^th torn from the main Australian bunch were forced to retreat into the jungle. Without a brass razoo to eat - for three weeks they made their way through the thick foliage - lost as a fighting power.

Kerri in deep thought on the hill

When it was my turn I walked in deep reflection. The many days on this hike had stripped me bare of all my protective layers - I could almost feel  the forest breathe - my imagination leaped back seventy four years - violent images ran through my mind in this silent jungle. I walked on, out of the jungle and into the sunny,  grass covered clearing blue sky overhead. With a sudden jolt, I realized what the neatly placed rows of wooden stakes represented that were stuck into the ground.

The Brigade Hill Memorial site

I briefly managed to hide behind my camera and took many shots using the brown and white (sepia tone) setting - the picture in the view finder aligning itself with my mood. I knelt down to take a close up but that was it. I had no choice other than to let my emotions run free - sadness engulfing me without restraint - this grown man was blubbering his heart out like a baby.

The moment where I lost it

It took me a while to compose myself, but after some refreshments and slaps on my back from my mates, we walked back to the open plateau, centre of the battlefield.  “Mars you can be our photographer if you like? Take as many shots as you want” said Cam. A new, serious but unexpected responsibility fell my way. Having been given the permission to snap away I went to work during the amazingly moving but profound service.

The Porters paying their respect

We stood around the memorial plaque in a half circle - the porters, as always, standing  behind us  - poetry was read out –  hymns were sang - the story of Brigade Hill relived – respect was paid - many tears were shed – we supported each other – Australian sons were mourned – pride inflating our chests  –  The Last Post tearing right through us.

Standing to attention

I was given the honour to read out the poem “Sir” and except for the invisible hand squeezing my throat, I managed to hold it together even though it all sounded rather squeaky in my ears.

Sir

Sir – would it help if I shed a tear

I swear it’s the first time since this time last year

My spine is a tingle – my throat is all dry

As I stand to attention for all those who died

Daniel at Brigade Hill

I watch the flag dancing half way down the pole

That damn bugle player sends chills to my soul

I feel the pride and the sorrow – there’s nothing the same

As standing to attention on ANZAC Day



Helen

So Sir – on behalf of the young and the free

Will you take a message when you finally do leave

To your mates that are lying from Tobruk to the Somme

The legend of your bravery will always live on



Paul B

I’ve welcomed Olympians back to our shore

I’ve cheered baggy green caps and watched Wallabies score

But when I watch you marching (Sir) in that parade

I know these are the memories that never will fade

So Sir – on behalf of the young and the free

Will you take a message when you finally do leave

It’s the least we can do (Sir) to repay the debt

We’ll always remember you – Lest We Forget

Damian (Dib) Morgan 1998

The raw and honesty of emotions felt today absolutely tore me apart. Something inside of me changed up at Brigade Hill. It was just too early to tell what it was exactly.


 Grey Bits


Before reaching Agulogo there is a very nasty unforgiving downward slope dubbed 'the wall'.  A great photo-op.



'The Wall' with Dee looking on



A great, well deserved, cooling afternoon swim we had in a river where butterflies were plentiful and landed on us. Probably drinking either the water or our hard-earned sweat.

Graeme's encounter with a thirsty butterfly

The late afternoon was spent sitting around on the grass playing some tunes with the guitar. Smiddy’s voice ringing out soulfully throughout the campsite. 

Kokoda 6. Saucepans for helmets

I have nearly ran out of superlatives for the word steep, but today we climbed up a killer gradient to  Kokoda Gap. On arrival to a small, flat bit in the track we were welcomed by the cutting sound of an automatic rifle. Cameron noted that there was a rifle bird up in the tree – an appropriate ‘rata-ta’ sound in these parts which may have confused the 39^th some time ago.

 Monday 13 June 2016 - Templeton 1 – Afogi 



Courtship of the Rifle Birds. Photo courtesy of www.flicker.com

Orders from above were that the engineers were to blow up the Kokoda Gap with explosives. The Kokoda Gap is an 11km wide valley. Blowing it up is a seriously bizarre proposal and any enemy force would easily be able to climb around it. It bares testimony to the lack of knowledge the upper echelons of the Australian army had about the situation on the Kokoda track. I am glad that no explosives were used to disfigure this undisturbed valley.

The gap that remained

Further more, the soldiers on the track and the man in charge, Brigadier Arnold Potts, were under immense pressure to stop the Japanese advance. After several weeks of this conflict, General Blamey and General MacArther - the famous but American leader - who were in charge of these men still didn't understand the disparity in numbers of soldiers between the Australians and Japanese. The two leaders, outraged by the loss of territory, scorned the 39th battalion unjustly in my opinion.

The long, above ground roots of the Pandan trees
 relinquished to the advancing Japanese

We had lunch at a village called 1900 named after the year it was founded. It is nestled at Eora creek which you have to cross to get to this beautiful place. 

The Pandan forest leading to this village is very rare – 1 out of 4 left in the world. That same day we caught our first stunning glimpse of Brigade Hill – the second significant battle site of the Kokoda campaign. 

We hiked past the Myola turnoff, which is a small side track into the jungle leading to a flat area. Myola was used to resupply the troops in 1942 by dumping large crates out of aeroplanes - a technique called biscuit bombing. Many crates exploded on impact with gear spreading out all over the landing sight. Many supplies ended up in the jungle never to be found. Not an exact science this biscuit bombing.

Craig - an inspirational figure of our group 

My knee swelled up worse than I have ever seen, possibly due to the relentless downhills. The ballooning skin bulging out of the sides of the knee-brace I was wearing. A lovely nasty rash in the hollow of my knee giving the whole thing a little extra colour. Bring in one of the most inspiring hikers of our group, Craig who totally belies his age of just a mere seventy-three. During a chat with the quiet and unassuming man who was carrying his own pack, we spoke about the story of a digger that was shot in the head. The severely wounded soldier was asked how he was feeling – he replied ‘I’ve got a bit of a headache’. From that moment on I decided to avoid making my knee an issue as the suffering of the young men in 1942 was far greater than mine.

A soldier with a head wound helped by a Fuzzy Wuzzy

I wasn't the only one carrying some sort of injury. There were blisters, exhaustion and some had to tape all sorts of body parts to help them get through. Some of the hikers had survived way more serious ailments during their lives and it was an absolute pleasure to have walked with them.

Helen crossing another wonky bridge

On the Kokoda track you make do with what you've got. You walk using one dirty, wet, but hopefully daily washed shirt only, if your hiking pole breaks you look for a stick and if you can't get down a steep slope you go backwards or slide down on your backside. You improvise!

A common sight on the trail

You adapt to the circumstances you find yourself in. Some of the hikers of our group would leave camp 15 or maybe 30 minutes before Jimmy's "rock and roll" call so as not to fall too far behind. Incredibly, after several days, they found themselves still out the front of the group and had to wait for the main bunch to arrive. I have to say that every single person of our party improved during our battles with the hills. It was quite remarkable that 23 hikers could stay together as much as our group did. No stragglers here.




Jo P - the first to leave

In his book 'Kokoda' Peter Fitzsimons describes the following

In such conditions the only way to get dry wood was to do what the natives did: get a huge log and with a machete hack away the pulpy wet outside of the log and get to the tinderbox dry wood inside. Then, while your mate held the groundsheet above you, you got a precious dry match to the tinder and, hey…presto…fire. Once the fire was going all the other wood could dry and you were away. A cooking pot? Why not your helmet, or ‘panic hat’ as the soldiers called them? First one bloke had tried it, then another, then the whole battalion had taken to using their helmets for saucepans, or perhaps they’d been using their saucepans for helmets - it didn't really matter. Admittedly, their first few meals tasted remarkably like burnt paint, as the insides of their helmets seared, but you could get used to that too.

A handy commodity

Soldiers that suffered from the dreaded dysentery on the track were known to cut out the backside of their pants for the purpose of ....... I'll leave that one to your imagination.

An amazing looking seed pod on the trail

It was 25 years since I had cracked a can of that well known Cola for myself. This is by no means an advertisement of the black, bubbly stuff, but feeling a bit low - missing Julie - I did what was recommended and gulped down a can of the super, sugarised, fizzy brew. The move was an instant success with energy flowing back through my veins. A flat spot, I suspect, everyone would be going through sooner or later.

The serene but energy sapping jungle

In the afternoon the first of the two biggest hills on the track were conquered. I found myself getting stuck into the challenge and charging up this heartbreaker. What is it about the competitiveness of human kind? There was a stretch in this climb where our hands were needed to pull ourselves up the roots and rocks that were right there in our faces. Sweat was pouring down into my face, down my back, through the valley of my lower back, down my legs and into my boots. Everything I wore was drenched in sweat. Even my feet were squelching in my boots. On top I could have shaken myself like a dog after a swim. Up there we all high-fived each other and took a short break. After a discussion with Cam, a fair few of us went down to help the other hikers, either by carrying their packs or by offering moral support - another one of those memorable occasions recalled during news time.

Adam helping Nataly up the hill

Dinner was an awesome spaghetti with lentil and tomato sauce for us vegetarians. It was totally unbelievable how much food I ate on the track. All the food we ate had the sole purpose of regenerating the body and fuel it up for a hard day's toil.

Providing enough food for this hungry mob must have been a logistical challenge

Grey Bits

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The porters cater for special diets as much as they can and carry most of the food with them. Imagine how heavy their packs must have been when we first set off from the Kokoda airfield. All food and hot drinks were cooked on wood fires. Kokoda spirit buy the wood for these fires from the locals. Our rubbish was burned in the morning after breakfast.

When available fresh fruit and vegetables were bought from the locals and added to the meals or cut up for us at lunch. The bananas on the track were sweet and tasted unbelievable. You could buy them  locally as there were several pop-up shops on the way. The most popular was the "Kokoda happy meal". A can of the dark, bubbly fluid with a packet of Twisties. This was worth ten Kina in most stores. Many of the mobile market stall owners did not believe in giving change and I waited for my 1 Kina in change for a couple of minutes on one occasion just to see what happened. Except for all involved being embarrassed, nothing much happened. Fifty cents lost - oh well!

I was relieved to find the boys scrubbing the pots and crockery with a lot of soap after every meal. An awesome job.

Smiddy new the best rivers and water sources on the trail and I have to say that the water was always crystal clear and tasted like water should. Soft, untreated and a pleasure to drink. I did drop an iodine tablet in each bottle just to make sure but none of us had any problems .





You only need one pair of hiking clothes on the trail. Every evening in the village the opportunity arose to wash our clothes under a tap or in a glorious, crystal-clear stream. White is not a good colour to wear on the track. My hiking shirt was looking a brownie, smudged grey after two days playing around in these muddy hills. Do bring some warm clothes for the evenings.

You do adapt to washing yourself in a stream or under a bamboo pipe with water continuously running through it. If you are looking to have hot water, a soap holder or privacy during your shower maybe the Kokoda track is not the place for you.

Myola is named after one of the wives of a Lieutenant that served in Kokoda.

Spectacular views towards Brigade Hill