A DARING ESCAPE
The story of Gladys Baker of Langu Plantation, Witu Island -
Published Una Voce June 2002, page 14.
After Japan attacked and when women and children were being
evacuated from New Britain I asked permission of the Administration
to remain. I thought maybe there might be use for my medical
knowledge and I thought that my ‘mud-ticket’, which I gained because
of my knowledge of New Britain waters, might be required.
That last Christmas of 1941 at Langu was the closest I could make it
the same as all others. I arranged the usual sing sing for the
natives but I doubted if we would ever have another Christmas on
Langu for a long time. Almost a week before Christmas the first of
many Jap reconnaissance planes came over. Nearly all of them would
come down low and circle the house at Langu. In case of bombing I
made the natives take shelter in the reinforced concrete culverts I
had helped them build. Some Zeros came too with the Rising Sun
glinting on their wings and I hated the scream as they dived to look
at Langu and at the plantation anchorages.
Just after Christmas I was granted permission to remain in the
Territories. The last ship carrying women and children had gone. As
far as I knew I was the only woman left.
On January 19th the natives told me that Praed Point at Rabaul had
been bombed and gave me details of the bombing which I later found
to be accurate. The news came by drums and smoke signals down the
mainland of New Britain and my boys picked it up. It was a clear day
and they had seen the smoke signals on the mainland 64 miles away.
The following day all radio news from Rabaul ceased and later I
learnt from the natives Rabaul had fallen.
There was a small steamer anchored at Witu - the Lakatoi -and I
tried to persuade the crew to leave for Australia but they thought
the run would be too risky. On January 24th I loaded my pinnace -
Langu the Second - and set out for the mainland to make food dumps
which I was sure we would require later. I was sure if any
Australians escaped from Rabaul they would make down the coast.
Langu the Second had only 9 knots and was 27 feet long. I had with
me a boat’s crew and we established our dumps along the Aria River.
I left a cutter on the mainland with eight boat’s crew - boys from
my own plantation - with instructions to return to Witu immediately
and tell me if they had any news of Australian soldiers.
On my return trip on February 14th a Jap seaplane circled my small
pinnace and looked about to land. I told the boys what to say in
case the Japanese did land and come across to investigate us. I hid
in the bilge under the after-decking. There was a slap as the
seaplane landed and the motors roared as it taxied close. Next I
heard footsteps on the deck accompanied by a flood of fluent Pidgin.
The Japs had boarded us and were questioning the natives. The native
boys told one of the two in answer to his questions that their
master had gone to Sydney a long time ago and that they were going
back to the plantation on Witu to pick up a load of workers to take
them back to their villages on the mainland. I remember that
strangely enough I was not frightened of the Japanese. Perhaps that
was because a rat in the bilge water was running about and brushing
against my bare leg - I was wearing only shorts and shirt. I bit my
lip till blood ran to prevent myself screaming and giving myself
away to the Japanese. The Japs seemed satisfied with my boys’
explanations, gave them a cigarette and a biscuit each, went back
into their plane and took off. And it wasn’t a rat after all. It was
only some cotton waste. When I came up my face was covered in a
black scum of oil, and pitch from the decking had blackened my back.
I saw then that three of the boys had spread a sail over the decking
and pretended to mend it all the time the Japanese were on board.
I got back to Langu and two days later the cutter returned. The boys
told me of 18 Australian soldiers who were at Linga-Linga Plantation
at Talasea. The Australians, the head boy told me with tears in his
eyes, were ‘Sick fella masters too much’. I immediately loaded the
pinnace with food and medical supplies. I overloaded dangerously
because I had 15 tons by measurement on a 5½ ton boat and at
midnight on the Sunday, with three natives and a half-caste girl,
Emma Leahmann, we crossed to Iboki. I found the 18 Australians there
and met the Assistant District Officer, Keith McCarthy. Keith put me
in charge of the Iboki camp and the next morning five of the
Australians who were well enough left for Cape Gloucester. They were
to wait there until the other 13 were well enough to travel and join
them. They meant to try to get to Finschhafen. I cooked for and
nursed the 13 boys who were sick, and meanwhile Keith McCarthy with
Rod Marsland went back to Tol Plantation which was the scene of the
Japanese Massacre. I nursed the boys for about a week, then an order
came back from McCarthy telling me to send them to Gloucester. I
prepared the boys for the trek, and they went by canoe and launch.
Finschhafen had fallen before they left Cape Gloucester, and the 18
boys got to Madang from where they went overland to Moresby and did
not get to Australia until 2½ months after I did.
I remember a funny incident at Iboki. I had taken my denture to
clean it when one of the soldiers suddenly took a bad turn. I went
to him and left the denture in a half bottle in which I was cleaning
it. When I returned, it was gone and I accused the soldiers of
playing a practical joke. I was rapidly becoming annoyed until I
suddenly noticed a native boi who was quite naked except for a pair
of rosary beads he was wearing around his neck. I looked closer and
discovered that he was also wearing, attached to the beads, my
missing denture.
With the Australians gone from Iboki, I got the pinnace out and
sailed up the coast towards Rabaul to see if I could find more
troops. A little way up I saw a boat stranded on a reef and thought
it might have been an enemy boat. I left the pinnace to go on up the
coast in charge of the boys, while I returned to Iboki in a canoe.
However that night the boat on the reef got off and came into Iboki.
To my relief it was a Mission boat and they were surprised to find a
woman to welcome them. They had on board 35 boys of the 2/22nd
Battalion in charge of Captain E.S. Apel who is now
Lieutenant-Colonel. Some of them were very sick and others were
wounded. A few days later the pinnace came back with 15 Diggers, a
Guinea Airways boat brought more. Escapees continued to trickle in
until we numbered 191 in all. Some of the boys had lost all their
clothes and were wearing lava-lavas, and all of them were bearded.
I remember being struck by the number of ginger beards. I worked
night and day caring for them and feeding them. In sixteen days I
could only snatch 13 hours sleep. Two of the boys were badly wounded
and one of them whose name I think is Bill Collins of Cronulla had
been shot up by the Japs in the Tol Plantation Massacre.
After he was captured he broke away with his hands still tied
together. The Japs fired at him and hit him in the shoulder, another
shot went through his wrists and miraculously severed the cord which
bound him. They had already taken his boots and he wandered in the
bush for four days. Brambles and thorns cut his legs badly. He went
back to the massacre scene and helped two soldiers who had been
bayoneted and left for dead, up a steep incline to a native house.
The Japanese came, set fire to the house and Collins alone was able
to escape.
Many of the sick had severe tropical ulcers, and malaria and
dysentery had struck many others. The fever cases were more severe
than usual because of the poor diet the men had been subjected to.
Their systems were craving for salt and sugar. However, whilst in
camp, we were able to kill a bullock or some goats every day and
this with a small helping of rice, tea and jam, helped pick the boys
up. Water was a difficulty and the natives brought us water by canoe
from a distance of 12 miles sealed in long lengths of bamboo. On
March 15th we had a round-table conference attended by all Army
officers and by the Captains of the boats of the small mosquito
fleet which by now was assembled at Iboki. It was finally decided to
go with the fleet back to my plantation to see if the steamer which
had been there when I left was still sheltering. Early next morning
we arrived at Witu and fortunately the steamer, the Lakatoi, was
still there. We put the sick soldiers into an improvised hospital
while the others, with natives, set to work cutting leaves and small
trees to camouflage our tiny fleet. We camouflaged the steamer - a
ship, by the way, of 170 tons - by mixing camouflage colours from a
combination of red, white, black, grey, blue and yellow paint which
we found on the island. With other soldiers I went to my plantation
and we killed as much livestock as the ship’s refrigerator would
hold. I had no time to collect many personal belongings or papers.
On the night of March 19th we were all on board the Lakatoi. I
played poker with some of the men while we were waiting to sail and
lost £11. I was holding fours all the time. Next afternoon we sailed
and we prayed for luck. I piloted from Witu through the Dampier
Straits and dropped anchor at Umboi Island in the Straits on the
21st. Some of the boys went ashore for a wash at the creek, and on
the after deck we built a place to cook for the troops. Next day we
sailed again, passed Finschhafen in broad daylight and followed the
main Japanese water route past Gasmata. This is rather a feat
considering we had no charts of any description with us and the
Dampier Straits through which we passed is thickly studded with
outcrops of reef, and is known for its tricky tides.
With the help of a Papuan native boat crew we managed to get to the
Trobriand Islands, and once there the Papuan bois could pilot us on
to the D’Entrecasteaux Group where we were to meet the Laurabada -
the Papuan Government Yacht - having previously contacted by tele-radio
Army and Navy authorities at Port Moresby.
After giving us some more medical supplies they piloted us through
the China Straits, and we trusted in luck and providence that we’d
meet up with Australia sometime, somehow - still having no charts.
We arrived in Cairns on Saturday, 29th March. [China Straits to
Cairns - approx. 850 km.] The civilians and officers were billeted
in hotels and the troops were taken to a camp for the night where
doctors and nurses took charge of them. The next morning (Sunday) a
special train was made up and although I was offered help for the
train trip I preferred to carry on alone. On the journey I made it a
practice of devoting each hour to a particular carriage to continue
the medical treatment which I had been giving the troops from the
start of the evacuation.
The Red Cross and the Queensland people were marvellous - bringing
supplies of food and clothing to the train for the boys. On the
following Wednesday I handed over to an Army Medical Officer at
Exhibition Camp, Brisbane.
When we started our evacuation I weighed 11st. 5lbs.; when we handed
the troops over at Brisbane - although I didn’t know it then - I
weighed 7st. 1 lb.
-ooOoo-
In recognition of her work in helping the troops in their escape,
Gladys Baker was later awarded an OBE. She was among the first
civilians to return to Rabaul after the war and after only a short
time back on Langu Plantation she was stricken by malaria (?) and
died. She was buried in front of her beloved plantation home.
(Our thanks to Peter Coote for sending us this story.)
-ooOoo-
