Jeff James from Palmwoods RSL reminds us all that Christmas is a difficult time for serving soldiers overseas, being so far from home and family. Jeff sent the Hinterland Times a moving story of soldiers overseas which we present here as edited extracts. The story was written by the Reverend Francis Hartley, who was the chaplain for the 7th Australian Division Cavalry Regiment, stationed for a time on the Hinterland during World War 2. The Reverend Hartley went with his regiment to New Guinea and recalls this particularly harrowing account of soldiers caught up in the ferocious battle for Sanananda Point in New Guinea over Christmas 1942.
Their day dawned when they (Australians) burst out of the roadblock, which was ringed with strong Japanese defences and made their way towards the coast at Sanananda Point. They did not get far. They covered some 500 yards when they were met with murderous Japanese machine gun fire. Some did not not even make that 500 yards but were pinned down in a drain only a few yards from the road block. From here they gradually dug their way back to their starting point.
The chaplain then describes the extreme dangers of circling around the Japanese to carry out their seriously injured soldiers.
It was late afternoon of Christmas Eve. The remaining hours of daylight were used in the preparation of stretchers to carry the wounded men down the track on the morrow.
It was a slow, tedious and nerve wracking trip, but through it all the patients remained calm and cheerful. They knew that all that could be done for their comfort and protection was being done. They knew that if it was humanly possible their cobbers would get them through.
The able soldiers and native bearers get the injured through the Japanese lines to safety. The chaplain then describes the return journey to their comrades at Sanananda Point.
I did so wish to give the boys up further some sort of a Christmas treat. I discovered that gifts from the Comforts Fund had been brought thus far forward by the natives. There were boiled lollies and tobacco. Furthermore there was mail from home. The question was how could these things be taken forward? I put it to the men. To a man they volunteered to carry an extra load, even though many were already loaded beyond their strength. They filed past the dump and crammed lollies and tobacco into their trouser pockets and into their shirts. It was amazing just how much these men were able to tuck away! I made myself responsible for the mail. Thus, like so many packhorses we retraced our steps to the perimeter.
… we were isolated in a region of desolation and death. All around lay rotting corpses, the stench of which filled our nostrils. … To move from our jungle fortress, which comprised but a few hundred yards of space, except, of course, by our one way entrance and exit was to invite almost certain death…
The first thing to be done after we had settled in was to sort the mail. The men crowded to get their first news from home for several weeks. … the letters were a little old but they seemed very fresh to us.
They were a breath of love from across the sea. The letters read, they were carefully folded up in the little piece of waterproof in which the men kept their photos. Here, protected from the ravages of the new Guinea climate they were placed in shirt pockets covered with mud and the grime of battle… having finished for the time being, with their mail, the boys set about preparing their Christmas feast. The letters were to be pulled out again and again. They were read and re-read until they were worn to shreds…
What made the feast was not the food, but the contentment of mind… Our merriment was not of the hilarious kind that is usually associated with Christmas festivities, nor was our food to be compared with the traditional heavily-laden festive boards. Our fare was of bully beef, stew and rice with a bit of energy chocolate and the Comforts Fund lollies for sweets. Our merriment was not expressed with laughter and jokes. It was sober. Even tinged with sadness. But none the less joyful. It was the matured joy that can only come through pain…
Aussie soldier at Sanananda
One fellow came up to my hole after he had finished his meal. What he expressed was the substance of every conversation. “ You know Padre”, he said, “today when I knew that the men who had suffered here in silence for so long had got safely through, I felt it was the best Christmas present I had ever had”.
It was the statement that was felt by all and expressed by many that made that New Guinea Christmas so memorable… I never want to crowd out the memory of that Christmas… the spirit of Christmas was richer there than we had ever known it before. Perhaps it was richer than we will ever know it again.
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