Chapter : 23
1943: After the Battle of the Coral Sea
Copyright © 2022 by Gary Conder. All Rights Reserved.


Published: 8 May 2023


Chapter 23

 

During breakfast there was a visit from a number of scrub turkeys to the campsite looking for a free meal. Owen tossed a crust of bread that began a noisy squabble over the morsel.

“Turkeys you call them?” Chip says.

“Scrub turkeys.”

“They wouldn’t look much on the table for thanksgiving.”

“The natives eat them.”

Scrub Turkey

“No thank you,” Chip discredits as he tosses an extra portion of crust, “what else is there for hunting around these parts?

“There are tree kangaroos, possums but nothing that you would call good sport, Australia doesn’t have what you would call game animals.”

“Kangaroos that climb trees you say,” Chip questions.

“A type of kangaroo, it is also found in New Guinea. There are also feral pigs but not native, we call them razorbacks – ugly brutes and nothing like what we breed on the farm.”

“It is a strange country and it’s no wonder your natives always look skinny.”

“Dad says they have all got gut worms.”

“Are there any native camps around here?”

“Possibly a few who refuse to assimilate, that is if assimilation is an accurate word to use.”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“In the most they don’t want to and society doesn’t want them, so they are pushed aside onto church reserves and forgotten.”

“It was similar back home with our Indians. You appear to have empathy towards them?”

“People are people. Live and let live is my way of thinking.”

“Are the natives in large numbers?”

“That is a good question. At the time of settlement it is suggested there was no more than a million over the entire continent, now there would be less than half that number, even less but it is becoming so that even with one eighth blood they are claiming aboriginality.”

“I haven’t had the privilege of meeting any as yet but one of the guys from the base has been rooting a young lady from the camp near Mareeba although she is quite light skinned I’ve seen her from distance and thought she may be Italian or Greek.”

“I will say one thing of most of them that being they lack any inhibitions and some of my mates do take advantage of the women.”

“And what of you Owen, what have you been up to?” A cheeky smirk controls Chip’s expression.

“No not me of either sex, I am strictly Anglo-Saxon in preference.”

“A raciest, you would do well in our southern states.”

“I wouldn’t call preference being raciest, besides one of my best mates at school was black.”

“What you said could be considered to be patronizing.”

Owen is thinking and appears to be lacking an answer.

“Have I offended you?”

“No, I was simply analyzing my friendship with Rex.”

“What have you decided?”

“I don’t think it was patronizing but I can understand where you are coming from.”

As Owen gives his reason, a glint of silver flashes through the trees towards the beach, quickly he hurried to the sand in time to see the landing of Short S-23 Sunderland Flying boat.

“Wow,” Owen calls back bringing Chip to join him.

“I love it,” Owen adds to his excitement.

“I must agree they are graceful.”

“I’ve only seen them in photographs and news reel,” Owen admits.

“I’ve flown in one,”

“What a Sunderland?”

“One of ours, a Catalina, I flew between islands in Hawaii, a group of us flew down to have a look at the volcano on the big island.”

“Did you pilot it?”

“No but the controls look similar to any other craft, I guess with a little instruction I could.”

“This one has RAF markings and was probably part of the Empire commercial fleet before the war. I wonder what it is doing this far north.”

“I would say more than likely delivering dignitaries.”

The plane powered down its four Bristol Pegasus engines as a small craft came from the jetty to meet with it. Once alongside a number of men in white uniform alighted and as soon as the tender was away, the aircraft’s engines once again fired up. Within a wink the large plane was hurtling at full throttle adjacent to the beach and within no time at all was airborne with the style of a large pelican.

“Beautiful,” is Owen’s simple explanation.

“Navy Brass,” Chip says.

“Who?”

“Those who came from the plane, they are navy and one appears to be a vice-admiral.

“What would an Admiral be doing visiting Cooktown?”

“As air force, I am not privy to such matters and can only speculate. So what would you like to do today?”

“I would like to have a look-see around town.”

“Easy, we’ll tidy up here and go in; possibly there is a hotel for a beer or two.”


The ride into town found Owen within the sidecar but it was a short ride and within minutes Chip parked the motorcycle on Sherrin Esplanade with mudflats towards the ocean and a small grassy verge leading towards a hotel.

“There’s our watering hole,” Chip points towards the hotel, “and possibly lunch.”

“Firstly I’d like to ride up to the top of that hill,” Owen points towards the hill at the edge of town.

“Why there?”

“It has always been a wish since studying local history at school.”

“Righto’,” Chip re-fires the motor and in no time they are motoring up the side of the hill.

Once at the top Chip parks, “I guess you are at the junction of a long time dream but I’m still none the wiser of your interests.”

“Not so much a dream. I’ll explain. This hill and that spot down there close to where you first parked could be considered the birth place of our nation.”

“Huh?”

“You remember on our way to Port Moresby, I spoke of Captain Cook?”

“I do and the town is named after him but why would you say here is the birth place of Australia?” Chip was recalling his own school days and teaching of the Pilgrim Fathers at Plymouth Rock, measuring it against such a remote location as Cooktown.

“Cook once climbed this hill, possibly standing right here where we are and used it as a lookout to spy a way through the barrier reef. He was the first know European to sail along the east coast, almost coming to grief on a reef not far out from here. After floating off the reef a large chunk of coral remained in the hole, helping to prevent the ship from sinking. Some bright spark suggested wrapping a sail around the ship’s hull like a sling and using shit from a goat to help watertight the canvas.”

“What was a goat doing on the ship?”

“Milk for Cook I believe.”

“Alright the story so far has him sinking – now what?”

“He was lucky to find the only river suitable to bring the ship to beach for repair in a hundred miles and,” Owen again points to the spot before the hotel, “down there near the pub is where he beached the Endeavour, so if the site of Cooktown didn’t exist, he may never have returned to England and convince the government to send all the convicts out.”

“But they didn’t come here.”

“No they went to Sydney and you can credit a joker named Joseph Banks who was with Cook during the voyage for that.”

“You know more about your history than I do about ours,” Chip admits.

“You can blame Gavin, he is always giving me lessons and some of them take half the day to explain.”

“I have experienced his history knowledge. Come on its hot, I’m on holiday and I want a beer.”


As they arrived at the hotel there was cheering and after asking what was the merriment was about, an enlisted man offered up the reason in his roughest Aussie Strine, “you yanks have just won the battle of Tarawa, it won’t be long now and you will be marching down the Takeshita-dori.”

Chip accepted some back slapping as he moved to the bar for drinks, “come on we’ll sit away from the celebration,” he suggests and draws Owen away from the joyful crowd.

“Aren’t you happy about winning?” Owen asks as they found a table towards a corner near a window, so they could look out onto the incoming tide beyond the small park, where mud crabs in their hundreds scuttled about for morsels of food on the mud flats.

“I’m afraid it is old news, it happened more than a week back but in my mind we sent in a sledge hammer to crack a nut. That is how it is with the Japs they don’t know when they are defeated.”

“Were the Japs highly outnumbered on Tarawa?”

“Outnumbered is an understatement, Tarawa Atoll is not much more than three or so miles long. We sent in fifty thousand troops and marines, supported by three battleships, four cruisers, twenty plus destroyers, planes tanks, all to flush out less than five thousand Japs with a few cannon and a handful of light tanks and dwindling supplies of both food and ammunition.”

“It does sound excessive.”

“That isn’t what bugs me; we lost over a thousand dead to kill four thousand of theirs, leaving only a handful alive. It’s a pointless waste of young lives on both sides.”

“I suppose it is war.”

“And that’s the truth of it, although it had to be done.”

“Why was Tarawa so important?”

“For the next stage, we have to clear them out of the way on our advance towards Japan.”

“Do you think the war will be over soon?” Owen asks.

“I’ll answer it in the words of England’s Churchill, it is not the end but the beginning of the end and I think the Japs know it but they will still fight until every last soul in their islands is dead.”

“What a horrible thought,”

“Come on Owen, we are having a holiday, enough of the war.”


During the late afternoon as the sun lost its sting, Chip and Owen strolled down to their little stretch of sandy beach sandwiched between endless miles of mangroves. It was a pleasant evening, warm yet not stifling with a slight salty sea breeze. The air was quite damp, suggesting that any time soon it would be monsoon season and as occurred during most years, cyclones of unknown magnitude would come in from across the Coral Sea.

“I could remain here forever,” Owen suggests with a deep knowing sigh as all things must past.

“It is a lovely setting for romance,” Chip reaches across the small space between them and draws Owen close, his arm wrapped tightly about shoulders as he drags them both to be seated on the cool sand.

“Have you ever been in love?” Owen asks.

“Only once.”

“What happened?”

“It is still happening Owen, it is with you.”

“Oh.”

“Now I’ve embarrassed you,” Chip releases a soft chuckle.

“Not at all;” Owen was choking up and almost to tears. He fights the emotion away with a number of deep silent breaths.

“What’s wrong, have I spoken out of turn?”

“No Chip you spoke my very thoughts, although I was much too frighten to say so.”

“Why would it frighten you?”

“The war won’t last forever and what then. I will work the family farm and you will return to yours across a deep broad ocean.”

“Possibly,” Chip simply says.

“Probably,” Owen strongly answers.

“Come on we have a few beers on ice and I’m in the mood to get drunk.” Chip jumps to his feet and heads back to the hut.

“Get pissed, you mean,” Owen corrects.

“Why should I get angry?”

“In this country pissed means drunk not angry, you will have to stay out here to learn the lingo’.”

“You know Owen, I just might do that, or I could take you home as a war bride.”

“You’ve already made that suggestion. I can imagine what your family would say.”

“I shudder to think.”

They both laugh loudly and the gloom that was, is no more. Yet a seed had been planted and would sprout into something unknown in the future.


The morning of their last day found Owen taking a quick ocean bath while Chip kept an eye for crocodiles. As Owen left the water he noticed a long craft with a low profile coming from the south and quite close to shore.

“A submarine,” Chip calls to Owen and points seaward.

“We haven’t any so it must be one of yours.”

“No it’s Japanese, the I-2, an old J1 class.”

“You know your subs.”

“We have training in distinguishing all kinds of craft, as you wouldn’t want to bomb your own.”

Both stood silently watching the submarine as it rounded the point and entrance to the town proper. Chip quickly glances across to the jetty but the patrol boats are out, leaving the town unprotected.

“Will she come in?” Owen asks.

“I should think not, it is much too shallow, besides it can do enough damage from out there if it is intended.”

While watching Owen notices men attending the forward 14cm cannon and having nothing to shoot with, he simply gives them a friendly wave.

“You are being more than magnanimous,” Chip says.

“Other than that the best I could do is hurl a handful of sand and I don’t think that would help.” As Owen spoke he notices the cannon was being armed and trained on their position then before either could speak further the submarine fired, sending a shell over their heads to explode in the mangroves along the river. Both hit the sand as the submarine travelled further from range and view.

Japonese Submarine

“So much for your friendly gesture,” Chip says as he lifts from the sand and brushes it from his clothing.

“Should we report it?”

“That wouldn’t do much good as by the time the message got to anyone who could do anything, the sub would be well away from Australian waters, besides someone in town would have heard the firing and seen the boat.


“It’s a pity the patrol boats weren’t in.”

“As well they were out or the sub may have used them for target practice but I wouldn’t mention the firing to your parents.”

“Why not?”

“They haven’t forgiven me for taking you to Moresby. Come on breakfast and then we will need to think of packing up and heading out, I have to be back at base by late afternoon.”

“Yes leaving,” Owen says while Chip refrains from further comment.


On returning to the Mareeba airfield Chip has hardly enough time to power down the Piper Cub before he is approached by Hank Wilson who appears somewhat bothered.

“What’s up?” Chip asks as he steps away from the plane.

“The old man wants you, he expected you back long ago.”

“There was a delay at the Cooktown field.”

“You better get going or he’ll have your arse.”

“I have to take Owen home first.”

“I’ll take him home; you go see what the old man wants.”

Chip turns to Owen, “sorry,” he sympathizes, “I’ll give you a bell later in the week, I have a few ideas I wish to run pass you.”


Gary’s stories are about life for gay men in Australia’s past and present. Your emails to him are the only payment he receives. Email Gary to let him know you are reading: Conder 333 at Hotmail dot Com

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1943: After the Battle of the Coral Sea

By Gary Conder

Completed

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30