EXTRACT FROM UNA VOCE, MARCH 2002

THE 2001 CHRISTMAS LUNCHEON COMMEMORATING THE
 60^th ANNIVERSARY REUNION OF PNG EVACUEES
and the
LAUNCHING OF "TALES OF PAPUA NEW GUINEA"

click for PHOTOS

(Our thanks to Pat Johnson, Rosemary Brown and Margaret Carrick, for the tremendous amount of work they did to ensure that the reunion of PNG evacuees was a success and that details of those turbulent days were recorded and displayed.)

INCLUDING RECOLLECTIONS BY - Diana Martell, Wally Bock, Rosemary Brown, Jill Lewis, Hilda Johnson (deceased). Kathleen Brown, Beatrice Knight, Mabel Holland, Lillian Evenson, Erice Pizer, Patricia Murray, Nancy Reason, Rosemary Turner, Patrica Jackson and Clare Taylor, Peter Foldi, and Bert Rowe.

(A selection of photos of some of the guests attending the luncheon are shown in the Photo Gallery.)

Early in 2001 it was realised that the coming December marked the 60th anniversary of the main evacuation of women and children from what was the Territory of Papua and the Mandated Territory of New Guinea (now, of course, Papua New Guinea) just prior to the Japanese invasion. The suggestion was made that the Christmas luncheon for 2001 should have as its theme a reunion of evacuees who were still with us and a general commemoration of these events.

With the decision made, announcements in Una Voce and word-of-mouth networking began. Calls were received from all over Australia and New Zealand. Evacuees unable to attend the luncheon were requested to write down their stories. A number of these were received, both short and long, and are reprinted here.

A poster display was assembled depicting the various ships and aircraft involved in the evacuations. Graphic photographs of the sinking of the Macdhui as well as a transcript of the report of the ship's master to Burns Philp were also displayed. In addition, some personal reminiscences and anecdotes of persons directly involved in the evacuations were on show. A table of memorabilia and photographs evoked much interest with the identification of previously unknown persons in those photographs. Evacuees were asked to sign an Evacuee Register, giving brief details and leaving a contact number.

President Harry West, in welcoming attendees, made special mention of those who had travelled from far afield, notably Queensland, South Australia and Victoria, specially for the luncheon. He also commented that the number of members and friends present represented the highest attendance ever at any of the Association's functions.
Next, Treasurer Ross Johnson (the MC for the day) called on each evacuee (table by table) to stand, give their name and if appropriate, their maiden name, and brief details of their evacuation. There was a large Macdhui contingent, however the Neptuna, Katoomba and various aircraft contingents were also well represented.

Then Diana Martell (nee Coote), representing the New Guinea Islands, spoke of her evacuation experiences from Rabaul (item 1 below); Wally Bock, representing the Papuan mainland, reminisced about his evacuation from Port Moresby (item 2 below); Rosemary Brown (nee Grant), representing the Papuan Islands, recounted some of her evacuation experiences from Samarai (item 3). Unfortunately Jill Lewis (nee Blackman), who was to represent the NG mainland, was at the last minute unable to attend, however reminiscences of her evacuation from Bulolo are included (item 4).

Lunch was a delicious Chinese banquet. Towards the end, Doug Parrish introduced the other big event of the day, the launch of the Association's first book Tales of Papua New Guinea - Insights, Experiences, Reminiscences. Doug spoke briefly of how the book came to be published, the wealth of material available (almost all from past editions of Una Voce), the difficulty in culling the material and the process involved leading to its publication. Special mention was made of the dedication of the editor, Stuart Inder, and graphic designer, Moyna Smeaton. Doug then called on the Association's patrons, Roma Bates and Fred Kaad, to formally launch the book.

Roma said -

 "I have been given the honour and pleasure of launching our book. I say OUR book because it is written by US about OUR lives in Papua New Guinea, AND the lives of our friends and families in the land we all came to love.
For some of us it is where grandparents settled in the early days of the last century and started the Ring of Life under most adverse conditions. You will know everyone in the book either personally or by repute. Many of you are mentioned therein. It is a historical record of the years you gave to that beautiful country and its people. And it tells the story of our lives in Papua New Guinea interwoven with that of its indigenous people.
This book, contributed to by so many of you, is compulsive reading. So, in the words of a popular TV programme, I say-

MEMBERS OF THIS ASSOCIATION, THIS IS YOUR LIFE, ENJOY"

Freddie Kaad then spoke again of the work involved and urged all to buy, if for no other reason but to allow Joe Nitsche to get his garage back as his new car needed room to park!

Following the launch, a cheque for $1,000 was presented by Pat Hopper to Muttu Gware, OBE, from the Fred Archer Trust for the ANGAU Memorial Hospital in Lae.

A lucky door prize and several raffles were drawn during the afternoon and the Association sincerely thanks those members who donated prizes. While all this was going on, several Committee members were heavily involved in selling "The Book".

To sum up, a happy day with many old friends and contacts renewed, new friends made and much story telling.

RECOLLECTIONS

Diana Martell - Macdhui from Rabaul (Item 1)

I was born in Rabaul, and in December 1941 had just turned eleven. My parents and I were living at Cape Tavui, about eight miles out of Rabaul. One bright sunny afternoon, when the tide was so low that the reef in front of the house was exposed, I couldn't resist wandering on it looking for cowrie shells. On returning to the house I was surprised to see my mother saying good-bye to an army officer. Then she turned to me and said in an almost apologetic way, "We have to leave here tomorrow because the Japanese might be coming. We can only take one small suitcase of clothes each".

We began to pack immediately. Our cats kept getting into our suitcases. Hanna, who had been my nursemaid in my infancy, announced that she didn't care if she was supposed to take only her clothes, and firmly packed some sheets and cutlery as well. I was more concerned about leaving my dogs, who had been my constant companions and guardians in my rambles along the beach and in the jungle adjacent to the house.

At dawn the next day I went down to the beach with lead in my heart for a long last look at the place I loved so well. The coconut palms were black against a grey sky. 1 picked up some shells to take with me to Australia so that I would never forget. My dogs, unsuspecting, played happily. In the afternoon Johnny Buka, our driver, drove us to the Macdhui which had been painted grey all over. There was a hushed atmosphere as the mothers and children gathered. Most of our fathers were still at work. When at last they came aboard, our parents were all talking earnestly, and there was the feeling that something really serious was happening. It was dark when I was called into our cabin to say goodbye to my father. I was not really distressed as I could hardly imagine that I would never see him again.

It was nearly Christmas time and Burns Philp had donated all the toys from their store for the children's Christmas party on the ship. I don't recall much about the journey itself, except for behaving badly and knocking Douglas MacGowan over to steal his water pistol, and punching Bruce Flynn on his ear. The sea was choppy for the first few days and there was an overcast sky, perhaps making us less visible to German raiders or Jap submarines. Someone claimed that the ropes on the lifeboats had been cut. Of course, as we were children we were not solemn for long, and I remember playing wild games on the decks in the early evening in semi-darkness. No lights were allowed outside - and all the portholes had been painted over. When night fell we had to stay inside as the opening of any door might display a flash of light to possible enemies.

In Sydney we stayed in a boarding house until my mother found a furnished house to rent. Then began that long wait during that long war - a dreadful time for our mothers. Not until late in 1945 were we to learn of the fate of our fathers on the Montevideo Maru.

Wally Bock - Katoomba from Port Moresby (with additional material) (Item 2)

Australians were officially at war in the Pacific on 8th (7th US) December 1941. The European women and children were to be evacuated from Papua and the Mandated Territory of New Guinea by the end of December. The women and children were allowed one suitcase each and on 19th December boarded the Katoomba, a coal-burner built in 1913 in Belfast. 750 passengers embarked, 220 extra over the 557 usual cabin accommodation. Women and children had to sleep below, soldiers with malaria and dysentery, together with a stone-fish victim, on deck.

It was a pretty rough trip - I recall lying on the deck near the rear cargo hold and seeing rough water over the bow, then the stern, as the ship pitched and then to starboard and port as she rolled. We amused ourselves as children can with quoits, deck tennis, cards, playing catch and French cricket, and eating. The crew, however, drew the line at bedlam. Christmas on board was well organised by the crew and parents, with a gift for each child and a large Christmas cake with green icing - to this day green icing still makes me sick. The journey for mother and me ended in Brisbane on Boxing Day. Other families went on to Sydney. A lot of teenage children were at boarding school in 1941 and were not allowed back to PNG and the islands after their school year.

How did we feel about the evacuation? From 60 years away, a mixture of sadness, excitement and fear of a new life and school. Men over 45 years were evacuated from February onwards. Our father was "posted" to the Canberra Government Printing Office where he spent most of four years as a reader. Mum and I "trained" to Canberra to join him after the 1942 school year was completed - I was in Grade 4. The climate change was painful and there were no extra coupons for evacuees. How our parents managed our clothing requirements is not easy to answer. I knew it was cold but we always had an overcoat each, and gloves and beanies (the latter two knitted by Mum).

Additional Material : The mixed-race population also suffered hardship. Two groups were ordered to proceed to the island of Daru in August 1942. Adrian Matthews, a Medical Assistant, accompanied the first group and his father, Rev. Henry Matthews, the Anglican rector since 1927, volunteered to go with the second contingent. Although aged 66 he had refused to go South, and although his discharge was ordered, he was still a chaplain when he set off with some 72 men, women and children of mixed race and some Papuans on the little coastal vessel Mamutu. At noon on Friday 17 August, a Jap submarine was sighted about 30 miles from Bramble Bay - 4 shells were fired by the enemy craft and the Mamutu foundered. There was only one survivor, Mr Billy Griffin. (A brief account of this tragic event was in the poster display at the Luncheon). The Jap submarine which sank the Mamutu was itself sunk 12 days later by HMAS Arunta.

Rosemary Brown (nee Grant) - On Tolema from Fergusson Is., then Neptuna from Samarai - extract from a comprehensive record (Item 3)

My father Ralph Grant was Chairman of the Methodist Overseas Mission (MOM) at the time of our evacuation. My mother Dawn, my two younger sisters and myself were evacuated from Salamo, Fergusson Island (headquarters of MOM) to Samarai on the mission launch Tolema.

We were told to be on the Samarai wharf at 9.30 am on Christmas Eve as a ship was expected in from Rabaul. There were rumours flying around that it could not take anyone as it was loaded to the gunnels with women and children from New Britain. The Neptuna arrived at noon and anchored a couple of hundred metres from the wharf (with engine running in the event of a surprise air attack). An official who had gone on board the ship informed us that it could only take about 30 and a list was drawn up. All in our party were included. After lunch we assembled on the wharf.

The main stores on the island were distributing toys to the families. I think it was one per family. I remember we scored a large teddy bear.
About 2 pm a launch took our luggage out to the ship and we followed in the Tolema. We were hauled on to the deck in canvas baskets. I had kept my eyes closed on the way up in the basket and when I opened them after I felt the deck I was looking straight into the face of an Asian seaman. I was dumbfounded for a moment as I thought we had been put on a Japanese ship by mistake. All this talk of the terrible Japanese over the past two weeks was just too much.

At our reunion in Budgewoi on 7 December 1991, a Samarai friend and Neptuna shipmate recalled watching my mother going aloft in the sling with Pam firmly held to her bosom in one hand, the other on the basket rim to steady her, with Val and myself clutching her skirt with our eyes closed. My mother was in complete command of the situation. To her the operation was a piece of cake (and much more comfortable) compared with getting off rolling launches into bobbing canoes and then being carried ashore soaking wet (an experience she repeated hundreds of times in her 30+ years in Papua).

Most of the Samarai families were allocated the ship's lounge room for sleeping, and I thought, "Wow, a beaut pyjama party tonight" - and it was. We arrived in Sydney on New Year's Eve but were not allowed to disembark until the morning. We stayed at Haberfield for a few days, then to Adelaide; Dad joined us mid-February 1942.

Jill Lewis (nee Blackman) - by plane from Wau (Item 4)

I was evacuated with my mother, Eileen, and brother Bill (20 months old) in December, 1941. My dad was Harley Blackman, a dredgemaster for Bulolo Gold Dredging (BGD). At the time of the evacuation I was five years old. We lived in a comfortable bungalow near the Power House at Baiune. Dad had been in New Guinea as early as 1933, when he was with Daydawn N.G. Ltd, Edie Creek. I believe the life was idyllic even though, looking back, war was on the horizon. Dad was a member of the NGVR at that time.

As a child I had no idea of the world's troubles and spent my days playing with imaginary playmates who were called Giggy and Pally. We had indigenous men to do the housework and I believed they were my friends. It was a bit lonely for a small child as we had no neighbours for some distance. Dad worked shift work on the dredge, and Mum amused herself with tennis and afternoon teas. Dad's wages were pretty good and I believe he didn't pay income tax.

During 1941 BGD set up a company school in the township of Bulolo. I was picked up every morning by a company car and driven to school and returned in the afternoon. I liked school very much. All ages were catered for in the school room. The teacher I remember was Iris White. She had a young family but managed to teach as well. I remember she played the violin to us and often fed her youngest baby while we were at school. We saluted the flag every morning and danced around the maypole on 1st May. There were children's birthday parties which the whole school attended.

One day in December 1941 I found myself with Mum and my little brother, Bill, at the airport at Wau. Until this moment I had no idea of what was about to happen. I certainly was not frightened but considered we were going on a big adventure. We had to leave Dad behind to face the coming Japanese invasion. We boarded a Junkers and inside sat on butter-boxes which were placed around the interior of the plane. It was a cargo plane, so therefore had no seats for passengers. At one end there was a curtained area which I believe was a toilet.

We flew to Cairns (via Port Moresby) where we boarded a train for a journey down the east coast to Sydney. Mum was only able to bring one small suitcase with her and had to leave everything else in the house, which was later burned in the scorched earth policy. By this time it was nearly Christmas. In that suitcase Mum had Christmas presents for us from Santa. The train was not very comfortable, but we had sleeping berths. I remember passing a train with pigs on it - they smelt, and made a lot of noise.

At Mackay, Qld, some of the children were sick with an infectious disease and left the train to go to the hospital at Mackay. I was slightly off colour, so it was thought best if Mum, Bill and myself left the train and stayed at the hospital for a while before continuing our journey. Bill proved a bit of a handful at the hospital as he would run everywhere in the wards, so I believe the nursing staff took to sedating him. There was a Christmas tree in the hospital and a doctor who ate lots of nuts.

Shortly after, we resumed our train trip and later arrived in Sydney, where our grandparents welcomed us to their home. I remember grandfather had made me a dolly's cot complete with a lovely doll. Our adventure was complete.
 

Hilda Johnson - By air from Wau

Hilda Johnson's story was printed in the December 1999 issue of Una Voce, page 20 and in our book, Tales of Papua New Guinea, page 65. Her story is taken from a letter she wrote to a close friend in January 1942.

EVACUATION FROM EDIE CREEK, DECEMBER 1941


STORIES SUPPLIED TO US

Kathleen Brown - Macdhui, from Rabaul

I came up to Rabaul from Nakanai in September to have a baby in November - boats coming our way were so few that the District Chairman decided I should be in Rabaul with plenty of time to spare. On 20th November Graham, our eldest son, was born in the Namanula Hospital - the last European baby to be born before the Japanese arrived.

When the baby was three weeks old I went out to Raluana and on arrival learned that a boat was leaving for Nakanai from Kokopo at 5 pm, so booked to go on it. Because of a broken car axle, my husband and I missed the boat, which was very fortunate as the schooner had been radioed to pick up all the women and children along the coast and bring them into Rabaul to be evacuated. So I was saved the ordeal of a week on the high seas in a dreadful nor'-west as I would have had to come straight back, missing the boats going South and being flown out a week later. Of course that meant I brought nothing with me but the clothes I had in Rabaul.

On the Monday prior to leaving we went in to Rabaul to get our visa to leave the Territory, a wet and windy day. On Friday I packed up the few clothes we had and we left Raluana along the coast road in a howling wind, only to learn on arrival in Rabaul that the road had been closed owing to washaways, but we made it. The people who travelled in on the high road had a dreadful trip, trees down, holes in the road, etc.
We went up the Macdhui's gangplank under umbrellas which were blown all ways and arrived on board drenched to the skin, and were allotted our cabins. I was in a cabin with a woman and her 12 year-old son. I changed out of my wet clothes and changed Graham too, he was in his Buka basket but I had been unable to keep him dry.

In the late afternoon a schooner arrived from Bougainville with about 20 women and children, all looking like drowned rats, they had had a shocking trip. All cabins were taken so they were given mattresses on the floor in the music room. We spent the day on board, our husbands with us for the day, and we sailed at midnight.

We all had mixed feelings, we were sailing off hoping we would reach Australia, leaving our husbands behind, not knowing when we would see them again. I don't think there were too many dry eyes amongst all.

The sky was heavy with clouds, next day with rain, no sign of any Japanese planes but we didn't know what might be lurking beneath the waves. Christmas day we had a good Christmas dinner and the children were each given a present from the New Guinea Club. Graham had a rattle.

The weather improved and we were able to sit out on deck. I had Graham in his Buka basket and when he cried I picked him up; a nurse from Bougainville going home to New Zealand said to me, "Don't you believe in the Plunket system?" so my reply was "Never heard of it, all I'm worried about is getting home to Adelaide in one piece".

All sorts of rumours were rife on board - women in China raped and murdered by Japanese soldiers was one I remember.

We had a few elderly gentlemen on board who were not very fit and were being sent South with us. One man said to me one day, "I go to wash my hands and the basin is full of nappies so I fish them out, wash, and then put them back again". I thought, you should be thankful you are on this boat and going to safety while all our husbands are left behind, goodness knows what they may have to face.

On our arrival in Cairns a number of women and their children were put off to finish the journey by train as it was said, "If we are torpedoed who can help a woman with two or three children". One poor soul had a two year-old boy and twin boys aged 10 months - she had to go all the way to Perth by train, so one of the mission sisters whose home was in Perth got off too, to help her on the long journey.

We arrived safely in Sydney, spent one night there in a hotel, then left on the Melbourne Express for Adelaide and home. Nellie Simpson with Margaret, and me with Graham, had a room for the day at the Victoria Hotel in Melbourne, and left that night for Adelaide. Nellie had no family to meet her in Adelaide, she took a taxi home and her parents were away on holiday so a neighbour took her in and looked after her till her parents returned at the end of the week.

My mother and Rodger's parents were there to meet me (I'd sent a telegram from Sydney re our arrival), also representatives from the WA Overseas Mission group with the Overseas Mission secretary and his wife. Home safe and sound, and received in the next week one letter from my husband Rodger, then silence for three months, when I got a wire: "In Australia, Brown" - and a fortnight later he arrived home.


Beatrice Knight (nee Forsyth) - Ship from Rabaul

Being very young my memories are few, but I remember -

• loudspeakers in Rabaul reminding all they had 24 hours to pack;

• my mother being seasick most of the trip;

• my loved little bicycle stored in the hold had disappeared when we went to get it.
   

Mabel Holland - Ambon from Pondo, then plane from Rabaul

My children, son John 2 yrs 9 mths, daughter Ann 8 mths and I were evacuated from New Britain in 1941. We were living on the North Coast at Pondo plantation, a large concern owned by W.R. Carpenter, when the order came for all European women and children to be evacuated, cost of fares to be borne by the Australian Government.

The first order was issued on 16th December and the third and final on 20th December. On 17th December the Administration chartered the M.V. Ambon owned by W.R. Carpenter. The skipper, J.C. Radley (Seventh Day Adventist Missionary), was ordered to proceed to Talasea as quickly as possible and pick up women and children along the coast. The Ambon was made ready with extra food, mattresses and blankets and sailed from Toboi wharf in strong winds and heavy rain. Had it not been an emergency, the ship would not have left the safety of the harbour.

Jean McCarthy, wife of DO Keith McCarthy, boarded at Talasea, Miss Margaret Harris (a midwifery nurse) from the Methodist Mission at Malalia. The Ambon arrived at Pondo on 23rd December and left next morning with 21 passengers, among them Mrs Evensen (the Manager's wife), Mrs Anderson, Mrs McKechnie, Mrs Morgan and three children, and myself and two children.

It was a sad farewell, but putting on brave faces all sang carols. Some of the men left behind were to later lose their lives. Most of the time was spent on deck, wet and cold, as we travelled to who knew what! The children were well behaved and we arrived safely in Rabaul on Christmas Day and were billeted at hotels. Customs opened their offices to provide us with permits to leave the Territory - the "And Return" on forms heavily blacked out. I went looking for baby food without success.

The MV Macdhui had left for Australia with evacuees so other arrangements were made for the 75 late-comers from outlying regions. Two Australian National Airlines DC3s were sent to fly us out. Group Captain J. Lerew of the RAAF had everything on the ground organised. The planes landed (we each had a small case) and all were aboard and away within seven minutes. Two Wirraways escorted us for the first 100 miles of our journey. We flew to Port Moresby, tea and sandwiches awaiting us on the tarmac, then on to Cairns and our various destinations by train: Mrs Evensen to Perth, the children and I to Innisfail and then by White Car to Mr Garnet where my mother and younger sister were living.

There had been no word from Frank but on St Patrick's Day, 17th March, a week or so after John's 3rd birthday, he woke very early and very excited saying over and over, "Mummy, I saw my Daddy, my Daddy is on a big ship and my Daddy is coming home". He then went on to give me all the details. John was a shy sensitive boy but from that day on any mention of his father and he would tell the world his Daddy was coming home. Matron at the hospital said, "You mark my words, this is an omen".

Frank arrived in Cairns on 28th March. He, with Keith McCarthy, had been instrumental in rescuing many troops and civilians and was later awarded the MBE. When he arrived in Mt Garnet he told us his story which was almost word for word as John had described.

Was it E.S.P.?


Lillian Evensen (in a letter sent to Pat Boys in New Zealand) Boat from Pondo, then plane from Rabaul

It was on the second Sunday afternoon before Christmas 1941 that my husband (Albert Stanley Evensen), known throughout the Territory as Masta 3 Finger, in twiddling the dial of our tele-radio communication set, intercepted a 71-word message being broadcast to the people of Samarai to proceed to their nearest port and wait to be evacuated. This message which I also heard, was then broadcast once again, but to the people of Port Moresby.

After giving the matter some thought, Albert called his staff together and told them what we had heard. We were a coastguard watching station for the Navy so it seemed fairly obvious that we would receive instructions through our 0730 call on the morrow from Rabaul. The Macdhui was also due on the morrow for our products and bringing our food supplies. Albert suggested husbands should face facts and let their wives return to Australia by this vessel.

Only Albert and I knew the codeword for messages - which was changed every month - and I did nearly all the tele-communication sessions, thrice daily. Under the circumstances, Albert considered he should be the one to receive such a message and for the next nine days returned to our bungalow from the office three times daily to receive and send messages, but alas - no message re evacuation was ever received. Our food supplies ran out and we had more than one meal of fish cooked in ashes.

As I finished the 1645 session on the 9th day, I saw a strange gentleman (strange to Pondo) coming up the garden path with Albert - he proved to be the Captain of a small trading vessel. I quickly called Rabaul and requested another call from them when they had completed the circuit because there would be a coded message. I guessed correctly, this gentleman had come to take us to Rabaul to await evacuation. He explained he had been tossed about at sea for some nine days like a cork. He knew that the ship that was to have taken us to Australia had gone six days previously. The storm was still raging and he wanted permission from the Government in Rabaul to remain at Pondo overnight and load with desiccated coconut for ballast. The coded message was sent but alas there was no Government official on duty to receive this message - nevertheless, he made the decision to remain overnight.

The vessel was loaded and off we went the following night into the dreadful storm, with a total of 23 women collected from the Bainings district, on this small cargo vessel which had accommodation for only two. We lay on the deck all night with waves washing over us - a never-to-be-forgotten experience.

Rabaul itself was completely deserted and here we waited for three days to be rescued - running to air raid shelters now and again - by a plane which came up from Sydney and on which I was the last person to board.

A "Zero" hovered around for some time but we "lost it" ere we reached Port Moresby where our plane was refuelled and on we went to Townsville. From there we travelled by train to the various capital cities and myself to Geraldton in Western Australia by Jan 31st 1942. Different women's organisations met the train at each station and showered us with goodies. In particular, the ladies of Rockhampton will never be forgotten. They took the children and babies away, bathed and fed them, while the mothers and other adults had a lovely meal. They practically filled that long long carriage with home-made cakes, biscuits, fruit, sweets and magazines. People around the vicinity of the Canberra station were just the opposite; they laughed and jeered at us, calling out "Look at the refugees" more than once, which was of course hard to swallow.

Then began the long wait for news of loved ones - five and a half years. During this long period I read in the Pacific Islands Monthly that Albert had been executed. A letter to the Editor asking where he had acquired this information brought no reply, likewise one to the Minister for Territories (Mr E. Ward) in which I requested that he insist on the PIM editor stating how he had obtained such information.

On 20 May 1947 I was advised by Canberra that my husband was now presumed dead on 15 May 1944. Having been given no reason for the date, I cannot accept this at all because our next door neighbour at Pondo (George McKechnie) who was one of the four who came out alive of 800 civilians, told me when we met in June 1971, that Albert was taken into Rabaul and put in charge of our prisoners' hospital and that he was talking to Albert two months before hostilities ceased.

Finally to complete the story, Albert was in receipt of a war pension of thirty shillings a fortnight for injuries received in the first world war (which was the reason of his non-acceptance for the second) but Canberra never ever sent me sixpence of it during the five and a half years, or even asked how I was living. After the war I told the RSL in Geraldton who took the matter up with Canberra with the result that they sent me a cheque for £130.

Well might the question be asked -"Who cared?"
 

Erice Pizer (nee Ashby) - Boat from New Ireland, plane from Rabaul

Christmas 1941 I was evacuated from my home in New Ireland with my mother, brother and sister. It took several attempts - a hazardous drive over the mountains in the back of a truck and a long wait in a copra shed as appalling weather prevented us joining the boat. I do not remember leaving my home, nor do I remember that hazardous drive or the appalling weather.

People have told us of our rescue in two schooners by the Brothers from the Vunapope Mission and of a rough trip to Rabaul - I also do not remember those kind Brothers in their schooners nor the rough trip.

Apparently we were weighed and were being put aboard two DC3s to fly to Australia when enemy planes were sighted. We were thrust aboard for an immediate take-off. In the fear and confusion I lost one of my sandals. A horrendous flight followed before we landed safely in Australia. I do not remember those planes nor the good men who flew them. I do not remember that horrendous flight. But I do remember I lost my sandal - a safe thing to remember perhaps. Over the many years I have pondered its fate - its whereabouts - and wondered if I was given another pair to wear during the long train journey down the east coast.   Now at last I perhaps can ask some of my fellow travellers -

"Did anyone see my sandal?"


Patricia Murray (nee Stanfield) - Paulus/Theresa from New Ireland, then plane from Rabaul

From February 1940, when I was seventeen, until the evacuation I was employed in Kavieng in charge of the Post Office and also had some typing duties.

Everyone was aware that the Japanese would soon enter the war but no one envisaged the sudden onslaught and invasion that took place on 21st January 1942. Rather, it was expected that marauding parties, probably marines, would be landed to destroy the radio station, wharves, etc. Plans were prepared for the strategic evacuation of civilians to inland areas. As I recall, there were three alternative plans, which I typed, but they were never needed. We had no knowledge of the Army's intentions.

During the few weeks preceding the outbreak of the war with Japan, Kavieng had several unnerving visits by a small pea green monoplane, evidently launched by some ship. We could see the pilot, in helmet and goggles, peering over the side of the cockpit at us, and flying less than one hundred and fifty feet above the town.

On the Friday before the Pearl Harbour attack, there was a false alarm about evacuating women and children. At lunch time, as I was closing the post office, Mr Jerry McDonald, the DO (District Officer) and my boss, came and said to me, "When you get to the Club (where I lived) pack a very small case of essential items and be prepared to be evacuated by plane this afternoon".

My immediate concern was for my mother, sister and brother, 74 miles from town on Bolegila Plantation, and the other families "down the road". The DO assured me they had been sent the warning.

I returned to work with a hatbox crammed with as many items as possible and waited, and worked, through the afternoon, but nothing happened except that I handed over money, stamps, etc. to another clerk - I think it was Keith Norris.

So, on Saturday morning I went to Mr McDonald and said I wanted to go home to give my mother any help I could. I then hired a car and driver from Leslie Foon Kong, which cost me about a week's wages!

My father, Ernest Stanfield, a WWI soldier who also had five years' experience in the Indian Army, had joined the Papuan Infantry Battalion and was in Port Moresby. My elder brother, Jim, was in the RAAF, a navigator in a bomber in England. My mother was coping with the plantation, planting cocoa, and trying to teach my sister Diana and brother John by correspondence. I knew she could use a bit of help preparing to leave.

I was horrified and very annoyed to discover that no warning had reached my mother the previous day. We spent the day clearing her desk and sorting accounts, keeping out the most recent statements and all banking papers and legal items. Everything else went into a kerosene box which we proposed sorting if we had time, and we put it on the veranda out of the way.

Having no family or close connections in Australia, our future was decidedly uncertain. I shared Mum's double bed that night and we talked for hours, reaching no real solutions, until we both fell asleep. Next morning, Mum was up before six, being used to "making line" (allocating work to the labour line) in Dad's absence, and she tuned in the radio news. I was roused from a half sleep by her shout of horrified amazement - "They've actually attacked!" - and rushed out to hear the radio. A while later we went to collect the box of papers and found that an enterprising hen had been before us, scratched herself a cosy nest, and laid an egg. She did as good a job as a modern shredder and salved our consciences! I tipped it all out on the beach and set a match to it.

I returned to work, on a passing lorry, on Monday and that evening we heard definite evacuation orders had been received. My mother came to town on Wednesday (10th Dec.) to settle what she could re plantation labour, etc. That night the men gave all the women a send-off in the Club at the Round Table, a privilege as it was the men's preserve. To this day I feel teary when I hear the Maori Farewell - it was the wrong way round for the men to sing it to us, and very few of them survived the war.

The evacuation plans included all women and children north of Maramakas plantation on New Ireland and all outlying islands - Lavongai, Emira, etc. - to go out via Kavieng. All south of Maramakas (including the Ashby family who lived there) to the south end of New Ireland and any from islands in the south, were to collect at Namatanai and leave from Ulapatur on the West Coast (opposite Namatanai). I had myself transferred to this group in order to join my mother, my sister Diana (aged 13) and brother John (11).

Our only vehicle, a truck, was broken down on the plantation and the necessary spare was unobtainable. Fortunately, Claude Chadderton, of Kapsu and Lamerika plantations, had lent us one. On the Friday (12th I think) the Kavieng contingent left on the Navanora (Frank Saunders" schooner, skippered by Col Mackellar) in very rough weather; a slow trip to Rabaul and all were seasick. One unfortunate lady "threw up" her dentures overboard, but the Rabaul dentist worked through the night to replace them before she left for Australia. We heard all this later - I think the dentist was probably Ian McLean.

On Saturday (13th Dec.) we (from Maramakas southward) went to Namatanai by lorry. It rained all the way and we were all soaked, sitting in the back and even in front for the truck had no doors. Joe Kenny, the Namatanai publican, who made a hobby of grousing but ran a very good small pub, had fits when we all rolled in. He wasn't prepared for so many (someone had given him the number of evacuees but forgot to mention worried husbands who were naturally there too). Nevertheless he made us all comfortable.

In 1941, for about five or six months, we had had a most unaccustomed drought - creeks ran dry, native gardens withered and the town was reduced to water from wells and spear points. However, the nor"-west broke with a vengeance just in time to complicate the evacuation. In Namatanai there was a wild wind and rain in cascades. A huge tree came down with a crash that night, very luckily away from the pub.

On Sunday morning it was still raining, though a little less heavily and we left for Ulapatur on the West Coast, where there was a rough stone jetty from which we were to be picked up by a schooner from Vunapope. Of course, it was not there, having taken shelter in the Duke of York Islands, and we waited all day.

There were 27 women, 13 children (including some very young babies) and husbands and a few other men. I think we were the only family without a man to leave behind, which was a relief to us. The accommodation was one old leaky copra shed and two very old, very leaky sak-sak houses - they appeared to have never been more than casual shelters for fishermen and so on.

The German priest at the nearby Catholic mission offered shelter but his house was on the top of a steep slippery climb so most of us didn't tackle it. If an unlikely break in the weather had occurred, bringing the Vunapope boat, we'd have had to board as fast as possible.

We had sandwiches and biscuits to eat (from Joe, no doubt), and the Chinese manager of Ulapatur, which was really only a trade station, kept us supplied with boiling water for tea, which was a great help as we were all wet and cold. The children were amazing - 13 of them in ages ranging from 13 to five babies, two of whom were only a few weeks old. There were no quarrels and even the babies didn't cry. The older ones helped amuse the small ones and played games with them.

During this uncomfortable and dreary wait, Greg Benham, patrol officer at Namatanai was trying to find out what was happening. He ground his way over the hill to Namatanai and back several times. There was no real road, just a track cleared through the bush with no gravel or koronas to hold the mud. It was boggy and slippery most of the way. Benham was in touch by wireless with Rabaul but they knew no more than he did. In fact, they seemed to think that we were refusing to board a boat because of the wild weather (not an unwise decision if we'd had to make it!). The Vunapope schooner, of course, had no radio communication. Finally Greg became totally exasperated and said to the Government Secretary, "I keep trying to tell you, there is no bloody boat here and they can't bloody well swim to Rabaul!". This evidently drew a mild reprimand about swearing on the air and "over and out". But at least it clarified the situation.

Late that evening we churned our way back to Namatanai, to Joe's horror - but a good dinner and a hot shower! Next morning Mrs Warrant (wife of Syd Warrant managing Lossu plantation for Mrs Grose) got up at 4 am and made a large curry and a huge pot of rice so we all had a hot breakfast, after pulling on yesterday's wet clothes, in an effort to keep some dry somehow! And away to Ulapatur again at daylight, with rain still pouring down. By mid-morning, it was obvious we waited in vain. The Government Secretary then advised that we should "disperse and go home" as the ships (no names mentioned of course) could not wait in Rabaul any longer.

So we set off for home, as did the Ashby family, the Bells, the Warrants and anyone else who could, but the women who had come in from south of Namatanai, mostly on horseback, stayed in Namatanai. The rivers down the south end are large and by then running high. Fortunately I don't think anyone of us became really ill from our soaking.

We stayed overnight at Lamerika with Claude Chadderton, whose wife had gone south earlier. He had expected his truck back, but not us! Two of our houseboys had asked to come with us so we got them a lift home with the Bells who passed Bolegila. When we got home next day, it was to a well ordered house, beds made, flowers in vases, and even newly baked bread. How we wished we could stay.

We had a few nights at home, rested and unpacked our wet luggage to dry things out. Di and John, ever full of energy, rode their pony and swam most of the time. Mum and I continued the useless speculation about what we should do in Australia, only deciding to go through to Sydney as I had some school friends there - which was not really much help but better than landing somewhere without any acquaintances at all.

On Christmas morning the Warrants, who had been through to Kavieng, called in. Mrs Warrant said she had been looked on with amazement in town as all the women were long gone - felt like a reincarnated dodo! We greeted them with "Merry Christmas!" "Merry Christmas be blowed", they replied. "You have to be ready within an hour to be picked up by the Bells. We all have to be in Namatanai tonight". So we hustled Di and John out of the river, repacked our cases in great haste and were ready when the Bells came. We had no transport of our own then. We farewelled our house servants with heavy hearts and set off once more, only to find when we arrived that "someone had blundered". We needn't have been there until the next day!

Joe Kenny was, of course, full of woe! "All this bloody rubbish I imported for Christmas - balloons, streamers and plum puddings and Lord knows what, and now it's wasted." "Not at all", we cried, "let's have a party". So the decorations were hung, the balloons blown up and the puddings duly scoffed with enjoyment. There was no point in sitting around with glum faces. On Friday 26th, while there were about a dozen vehicles, mainly trucks, clustered near the hotel, a Japanese plane came over and circled for a while, obviously looking at this. We fervently hoped they wouldn't drop a bomb on us! Luckily they didn't.

On 27^th we made the crossing to Ulapatur one last time, in lovely sunny weather. The Vunapope schooners Paulus and Theresa, captained by two German brothers, took us off from the jetty of the little plantation, which was owned (or leased?) by a Jap! He wasn't there. We spent one night in Rabaul, at the Rabaul hotel, where we met a small group of women and children from Pondo who had also been weather-bound.

To our astonishment, we were told we'd have to obtain "Permits to Leave the Territory". "But we have no choice", we complained. "Ah, but it's a Permit to Leave and Return". This made some sort of sense so we all trooped off and collected our Permits.

As I'd worked for 22 months in the Kavieng Post Office I was due for leave pay and badly needed it as I had exactly £16 when I set out. A bored treasury clerk asked me for my address in Australia so he could forward me a cheque when my request had been "processed". I demanded to see Mr Townsend, the treasurer, who was fortunately a friend of my Dad's, and I got my entitlement on the spot - I can't remember the exact figure but I was earning £8-16-8 a fortnight when I left, so it would have been around £50.

On Sunday morning, we all boarded two DC2s and flew out. I was very interested in my first flight and rather afraid I'd be airsick, but luckily wasn't, although it was rather bumpy crossing the Owen Stanley Range. At the Port Moresby airstrip (and that is all it was then) the few ladies still there were Red Cross or CWA members and they had arranged a big tent, urns for tea and more salmon sandwiches than I've ever seen since. We were told we'd be on the ground for twenty minutes.

Fortunately our take-off was delayed, and my mother was able to contact Dad. She saw a soldier crouching over a field telephone about fifty yards away, and to his astonishment, had him call various places till he located Dad. Mother had a quick word with him and he came out immediately, so they had a brief time to discuss all kinds of arrangements - financial and so on. Dad was naturally surprised to see us as he thought we'd left Rabaul in either the Macdhui or the Neptuna. He was able to tell us, quietly, that the reason for our delay was that we'd been followed by a couple of Jap planes and were being held until they had to give up and fly back to wherever they'd come from. From our point of view, it was a bit of luck and relieved my mother of a lot of worries.

That evening we arrived in Cairns where we were taken to various hotels. We were lucky as we were delivered to Hides Hotel, then the best hotel in Cairns and very comfortable. Some of the group were unlucky and spent their night in basic accommodation after dining on Devon sausage and bread and butter!!

At noon next day we boarded the special evacuee train to Sydney, largely filled with those who had arrived earlier by ship and had been kept in Cairns waiting for our group. They numbered about two hundred or more and included a large number of German women and children from the Lutheran Missions. They were treated exactly the same as the rest of us, and there were some in the same carriage as we were.

For the first two nights most of us didn't have sleeping berths, which were allotted to mothers with very young babies and old or ill women - and here the German women received the same consideration. However this didn't stop quite a number of them from being very arrogant and demanding. During the first night, some of them resorted to stretching out on the floor, rather than trying to sleep sitting up, which would have been quite acceptable had they not completely blocked access to the toilet compartment. When one of the women asked the guard to move them, he replied "Walk over the top of them, same as they'd do to you in their country!!"

The Queensland Tourist Bureau made all the arrangements for our trip, as far as the Queensland border. Good meals were ready for us at suitable stopping places, which meant the times were a bit erratic but not too bad. These meals were provided, and at shorter stops we could buy refreshments if we wanted them.

Two VADs (Voluntary Aid Detachment) travelled on the train and doctors and nurses were on many of the stations, in case they were needed. At several stops Red Cross and CWA members met us with milk and biscuits for the kids and magazines for us. At one or two places, they supplied complete changes of clothing and some other items, such as combs and toothbrushes, to people whose luggage had gone astray. We all hoped it would turn up later.

All along the route we had numerous stops, usually short, to allow other train traffic priority. People came hurrying down from nearby houses and farms and handed us fruit, biscuits, and in one case, a big bowl of hot buttered scones! "But what about your bowl and napkin?" someone said, and the kind woman replied, " Don't worry about that; you've lost a lot more. Good luck!".

During the first night, as we all tried to sleep sitting up on hard seats, John (my eleven year old brother) suddenly announced "I just can't sleep. The train keeps saying "Bugger the Japs, bugger the Japs". Of course we all then "heard" it all night too!

At both Rockhampton and Gympie about 40 or so VADs and Red Cross girls met the train, dashed up as soon as the train stopped - "Any babies in here?" - grabbed the babies and small children and rushed them off to be bathed, dressed in clean clothes, and fed, giving weary and harassed mothers a short respite. Needless to say, the startled babies and toddlers yelled loudly and, as there were about 90 of them, there was considerable uproar. Only a few took it placidly. The most inconsolable were the poor German infants who couldn't understand a word the girls said to console them. They too were puzzled as they didn't expect German children.

On arrival in Brisbane we were taken to the Canberra where we were able to have welcome hot baths and to change into clean clothing.
We all noticed a surprising, and rather daunting, difference in the public attitude to us when we crossed into New South Wales. The Queenslanders had been totally friendly and extremely generous, but suddenly we were "bloody reffos". I never did know what authority took charge of the train trip through NSW but certainly there'd been little explanation of our origin.

As quite a large number of fellow passengers left the train at Brisbane, we had the luxury of sleepers for the third night, finally arriving in Sydney on New Year's Day, just one week after we'd been sitting comfortably on the veranda at Bolegila. Sydney was under threat from bushfires that New Year and the smoke haze and heat was about the same as that caused by recent fires (Christmas/New Year 2001-02). We left the train to find the temperature was 107°F (approx 43°C), and being told "But you're used to this sort of temperature, and you'll enjoy it!"

The beneficent Government paid to billet us for two weeks if we had nowhere to go, and we went to a King's Cross boarding house, which was simple but adequate. The Cross was rather more respectable in those days.

After that we were on our own.

(Soon after her arrival in Australia, Pat Murray sent a letter to her brother who was overseas on active service, describing the events surrounding their evacuation. Her brother was killed in action before the letter reached him and it was returned to her. The above is largely what Pat wrote as a 19 year-old.)

 

Nancy Reason - Plane from Madang

We were living on Dylup plantation when that fateful message came over the AWA transmitter (we were all coast watchers then, in touch with Port Moresby at all times) "proceed to Madang immediately" which we did. Without warning - be on the airstrip the following morning at 9 am, 33 lbs luggage allowed. A 12-seater Lockheed Rapide plane with Arthur Collings as pilot awaited - my sister-in-law, my mother-in-law and Ruby Luff are the only names of the other passengers I can remember. I think there were some women from Wewak.

We took off but because the cloud cover was so dense, we could not fly over the Owen Stanley Ranges so we were held up in Salamaua and there we stayed for five days. The women had left the previous week and the male population were kindness itself. The stores were full of Christmas goodies which we could not have, owing to the luggage restrictions. Some days after our arrival the menfolk asked why we were continually patting our bosoms, and we admitted that was where we had pinned the £25 which had been all the money the bank could give us. There was lots of gold in hand in Madang, but no cash. Our shoes were almost worn out from walking to the mess for each meal - the oddities one remembers during a time of stress ... the koronas road was very sharp.

Eventually the mountains cleared and we left for Moresby - here we met officialdom and all its red tape. DC3 aircraft lined the aerodrome complete with hosties, who had been allowed to wear leg make-up instead of stockings because of the heat. Several had forgotten to do the backs of their legs, and this looked quite odd. The women and children who had been flown in from Wau and Bulolo joined us here. We were flown to Cairns, stayed overnight at the then Queens Hotel and the next day were herded to the train for the trip South. It was the oldest rolling stock in Queensland, 14 carriages of it. The last carriage was a Pullman fitted with bunks for the old folk and the sick, then it was decided the women with babies and small children should be there also. We had been allotted seats individually through the train, and there were several carriages left empty. In charge of this complex, unhappy and bewildered crowd of females and young children was one young, humourless, inexperienced man from the Tourist Department and one very young VAD (Voluntary Aid Detachment member), freshly trained from the hospital with a starched veil and looking lovely, poor girl. The man from the Tourist Dept decided to move these poor souls to the Pullman at the end of the train. Instead of starting from the furthest away carriage and working down the train, he chose them from his list, the chaos was complete - he collected them and led them through that long train with their babies, little children and their luggage, the sick, the pregnant and the elderly, one group after another. We ladies from Madang helped as much as we could, but it was a ghastly afternoon that did not end until 10 pm. The afternoon tea was put on board tied up in a tablecloth, Dick Whittington style, with the tea in a kerosene tin bucket. It tasted good to the thirsty!
We had a 15-minute stop, the next afternoon, at a small station where there was a bar - at the sight of a thirsty lot of New Guinea-ites descending from the train all the locals left very quickly. We were pulled into a siding every time a troop train full of soldiers on their way to Townsville and New Guinea went by. There were many of them day and night. But we did witness a huge flock of brolgas dancing in the dawn light one morning. A wonderful sight it was.

We were running so late that Christmas dinner was the cold porridge laid out on trestle tables on Townsville station - that morning's breakfast. The various organisations, such as the CWA, were so very good and kind to us all the way down to Brisbane, although they had suffered from the previous lot of refugees from Hong Kong being unkind to them. Gympie surpassed them all - they had the platform lined with baby-baths full of hot water on tables, ready for the mums with babies and small children. The mums with more than one little one found themselves very popular - they were helped quickly by the folk without children just so that we could wash some of the grime off ourselves ... the water for everything except drinking had finished days previously.

Many small "happenings" disturbed us on those long days - one little child threw another child's shoes out of the train window and it was the only pair he had. A very foolish teenager tried climbing along the outside of the carriage from place to place. At long last we arrived in Brisbane. The streets from Central Station to the Canberra Hotel (since demolished) in Edward Street were lined with barricades that Brisbane then used for processions. So the crowd waited for us as we were marched across to the hotel. It was a temperance hotel - I must say they were very sympathetic "Oh, they do look tired, poor things etc. etc.". We felt more than sorry for ourselves by then. I have often wondered how the staff ever cleaned those beautiful baths we bathed in - no, more than bathed in, luxuriated in - for we left inch-thick lines of black train dirt behind.

The following morning we went to the south side of Brisbane for the last lap of that never-to-be-forgotten journey to Sydney. No-one to meet us, our schedule had been too uncertain. Some very kind officials, their names I cannot remember, were there to meet the train. Some folk had relatives to go to, others went to various hotels etc. I was fortunate I had my parents to go to, a warm welcome and a bottle of beer on the ice from ... my teetotal father.

 

Rosemary Turner (nee Brewer) - Plane from Bulolo

My father Charles George Brewer went to New Guinea from Randwick NSW in 1932 and worked in the office of Bulolo Gold Dredging Company until the war. When he returned from the war he worked in the Sydney office in Carrington Street until 1960.

My mother Mary Brewer (nee McSweeney) left Sydney in 1934 and went to New Guinea on the Macdhui. Charles met the boat in Port Moresby and they proceeded on the boat to Madang and were married at Alexishafen on 28th August 1934 by Father J Weyer an SVD missionary. They lived as a married couple first in Bulwa and then in Bulolo.

My brother John, was born in Randwick in May 1936 and I was also born in Randwick in July 1938. We both returned to Bulolo when we were six weeks old. My younger brother George was born in Wau hospital in October 1939.

We were evacuated on 21st December 1941 on the first plane that left Bulolo. From my memory of tales told we made a forced landing somewhere near Kokoda and then flew on to Moresby. My father was in the office in Bulolo and got the message that the plane had gone down and he thought for some hours that all had been killed. It was not until the plane got to Port Moresby that they heard all was OK. From Moresby we flew to Cairns and then it was a train from Cairns to Brisbane to Sydney. There was an outbreak of dysentery on the train and George my brother was very ill.

My father stayed in Bulolo and joined the NGVR. He was one of the men that Fr John Glover was responsible for alerting the authorities about, that there were men trapped and ill in the highlands. He arrived home in May or June 1942.

In December 1960, Dad and I went from Brisbane on the Bulolo for a six week trip to PNG. We flew from Port Moresby to Wau and stayed in Bulolo with Mick and Gladys Shutt for Christmas and then went by road down to Lae where we boarded the Bulolo again. The ship called at Madang (we went to Alexishafen), Lombrum and Lorengau, Rabaul, Samarai and then back to Port Moresby, and then on to Brisbane. A great trip for my father who seemed to meet so many old friends.

About six months after this trip Dad was diagnosed with tuberculosis and spent a year in St Vincent's Hospital in Sydney. Some few years later he developed emphysema and died in December 1970 (aged 70). My mother died in 1990 (aged 89).
 

Patricia Jackson and Clare Taylor (nee Perichon) - Katoomba from Port Moresby

Our mother, Cecily Perichon, was evacuated on the Katoomba on 18 December, 1941. Enclosed is a photcopy of Evacuation Order, No. 149 (displayed at Luncheon). Many folk may still have their original copies which were on green paper. I send this as neither my sister Clare, or myself, can attend the lunch on 2 December. Mum will then be with you all in spirit.

In July 1941 my sister Clare and I were placed into boarding school in Sydney with the Anglican sisters at St. Gabriel's, Waverley, and so we had no experience of the evacuation traumas as such. Mum had only been back in Port Moresby a few months when the evacuation order was issued and she was really very shocked at the time as we had no real home or close relatives in Australia, making the future look very uncertain.

Our father was in the services as was her brother, Roy Field, and her parents were no longer living C Grandma Field (Vieuseaux) having died just the year before in Port Moresby. Mum never really talked about the evacuation or the war years very much because she found it very stressful.


Peter Foldi -

Our evacuation party was Vera Foldi (wife of John Rollo Foldi, ARM Kikori), myself (born 23-5-37) and my brother Ian (born 14-4-40). I have very little knowledge of any details. I do remember we stayed at the Strand Hotel in Townsville. Vera kept reminding me throughout my life that I stood on the steps of the Strand and announced to the world "Peter Johnnie Foldi flying shene [to] Sydney".


Bert Rowe - Home!

This is included for general interest. The story of Bert's escape from Salamaua is available in the Mitchell Library and the Australian War Memorial.

M.V. Malaita was overcrowded - when it sailed from Port Moresby it was carrying at least double its normal number of passengers.  As the New Guinea coastline faded into the distance we were told to assemble for lifeboat drill. Accordingly we formed into groups at the few lifeboat stations, where we were addressed by the ship's captain, a crusty, brusque old mariner. His address was short and to the point. He said, "This ship is very overcrowded, and there are only enough life jackets and places in the lifeboats for about half of you. So, if we are torpedoed, or we strike an enemy mine, I don't want any trouble. I won't tolerate any fighting for life jackets or a place in a lifeboat. If the ship sinks most of you will drown, and it may as well be you as the next man!" He then ordered that the life jackets be distributed at random. I did not get one. After that most of us were to spend a very anxious 48 hours.

Because of the numbers on board there was nowhere near enough cabin accommodation for everyone, consequently most of us had to sleep where we could find a vacant space. Some managed to find a spot in the dining room, or the saloon bar, but most of us slept on deck. For two nights I, and many others, slept on the top of a cargo hatch cover.

We arrived in the port of Cairns, Queensland, on the 18th February 1942, two days after leaving Port Moresby. A special train was waiting to take us to Brisbane, which we reached three days later. Another special train took us on to Sydney. In this train I was in the care of Doris Booth, then a Red Cross officer. Doris was a famous early New Guinea identity, having been the first white woman to live and work on the Bulolo River goldfields, in the Mandated Territory of New Guinea. Her book Mountains, Gold and Cannibals told the story of her remarkable life on the goldfields in the pioneering years 1924-1927 as the wife of Charles Booth, planter and miner. From Sydney I travelled home to Adelaide, via Melbourne, on the normal interstate rail service.

I arrived home on Wednesday 25th February 1942, safe, but not sound, and possessing nothing but the clothes I was wearing: but with a treasure house full of memories of a year spent in the wild, untamed land of New Guinea.

-ooOoo-

EVACUEES AT LUNCHEON

* The asterisk before a person's name indicates those persons who were listed as "evacuees" but were "south" prior to December 1941 and not allowed to return to PNG because of the official evacuation order.
We apologise for any inadvertent errors or omissions.

EVACUEES UNABLE TO ATTEND THE LUNCHEON AND WHO SENT BEST WISHES:

Shirley Lockhart (nee Feetum), Peter Foldi, Kathleen and Rodger Brown
Nancy Reason, Mabel Holland, Pat Boys (nee Wood), Bert Rowe,
Rosalie Thacker (nee Skelly), Jillian Shadbolt (nee Hemming), Joy Brooks, Jill Lewis (nee Blackman), Bill Blackman.