‘Men become tired of war and armies which are always in action tire as well.’
John Baynes
It had been just over a year since Aquitania steamed through Sydney Heads. The returning men had said little on that journey and little was said as many of those same men arrived unannounced and unrecognised in Brisbane on 9 March 1944. The previous homecoming had been muted by feelings of reunion and thanksgiving. This time around the men were muted by exhaustion. No soldier escaped the physical consequences of the New Guinea campaign, and any psychological damage was understated in the official histories.
Gordon continued to suffer the effects of chronic asthma, but nothing could disguise his delight at being discharged into the arms of Lilly Livingston. St Bernard’s Church in Mascot was the venue for the wedding, slated for 15 April. Stanley and Roy were present and accounted for, being officially on leave, and the event went off in full Roman Catholic style. Everyone noticed a change in Stanley: his usual good humour was absent, and apart from fleeting moments of cosiness in the company of Evelyn, he was ill at ease. When leave finished at the end of April, reported incidences of AWL were far greater than for the previous homecoming. This time, Pte Stanley Livingston was not one of them. If a home can be described as a place where you feel free to be yourself, even if being yourself means not feeling yourself, then for Stanley, the army was home for now.
Training began in May in a new camp at Ravenshoe in the Atherton Tablelands. Stanley didn’t last long here, but this was no AWL: he was carried on a stretcher from the camp on 8 May. For the next three months he lay in hospital with, among other complaints, malaria. He wasn’t alone. Peter J. Jones felt a sense of anticlimax on his return from the New Guinea campaign. Friends and family noticed his lassitude and pallor, and only an hour after returning from leave Jones too was on his way to hospital with malaria. He was reunited with a lot of his mates in the hospital, where he described a two-way procession of men from unit to hospital and back. Daily evacuations continued throughout May, the numbers at times exceeding those returning from leave. Roy Lonsdale was another victim. Roy had embarked from Port Moresby and arrived in Townsville on 21 March. Having fully recovered from the gunshot wounds that had taken him out of the action on Scarlet Beach, he had contracted malaria; in addition, soon after returning he landed in hospital suffering contusions and lacerations to his leg. Perhaps he was in too much of a hurry to get off the boat. He was laid up for five weeks, give or take the odd day off for a wedding, before rejoining his unit in June. Before long the dormant malaria flared up again, and Roy was back in hospital by September.
Those still standing began training, once again having no idea for what or for where. There was also uncertainty at the top levels in regard to Australia’s future in the war. Some rumours had it that they would be joining the Americans as they marched into Japan. Their uncertainty was to last for quite a while.
Stanley was well enough to return to camp in August in time for an assembly of the entire division, where the troops were addressed by the Commander-in-Chief of the Australian Military Forces, General Blamey, Lieutenant General Morsehead and Major General Wootten. The troops welcomed Morsehead and were blasé about Wootten, but it was Blamey who drew the most pique. One soldier described him as ‘a fat, over-fed phrasemouthing parasite’.
While the 9th had been busy capturing Lae, Finschhafen, Sattelberg and the Huon Peninsula, General Douglas MacArthur had been ‘island hopping’ northward. ‘Dugout Doug’ had taken the reins and was galloping towards Japan. It appeared that after so much hard slog, the Australians weren’t being invited to share the spoils. Our use-by date was up. The general public, the troops and even the government were perplexed about Australia’s present role in the Pacific War. While the Americans headlined in the north, Australian troops were restricted to smaller venues closer to home in the still-lethal but less glamorous Pacific theatres. General Blamey seemed to be copping most of the blame. This is perhaps somewhat unfair, as the reality was that no matter what Blamey’s intentions were, he stood at the feet of a giant in MacArthur, and Blamey’s hands, along with John Curtin’s, were tied. Australia had played a strong supporting role, and for years it had been crucial to the plot. But with the end in sight, MacArthur craved the spotlight.
With mopping up Japanese elements withering on vines in New Guinea, Bougainville and Borneo the best MacArthur could offer, by mid 1944 an ample section of Australia’s most experienced fighting force were left thumb-twiddling in northern Queensland. The press were frustrated by the dearth of noble deeds they could blow out of all proportion. The newspapers had fulfilled their role as eager propagandists, albeit under heavy censorship by the government, and now they wanted their share of glory and triumph.
It was clear to most that the Allies had effectively won the war in Europe, and with the threat of a Japanese invasion now past, civilians were growing weary of continued restrictions and war itself. Curtin stuck determinedly to his guns, remaining committed to the war effort and to the Australian troops. Not surprisingly, the Labor government solidly lost a referendum in 1944 aimed at allowing them to control post-war prices. The waiting troops did not take too much interest in the debate. The interminable waiting had induced in them a subtropical coagulated ennui. The lack of action, a mulling on the past, no power over their future and a sense that the war was petering out kept morale down. Rumours of impending new campaigns were so frequent troops began to ignore them.
Still suffering the effects of malaria, Roy Lonsdale was discharged from the army on 7 December 1944, the reason for discharge being that he was required for employment in an essential occupation. This essential occupation remains something of a mystery. Perhaps Ernie Snr had used his rank in the Masonic Lodge to pull a few strings? Roy had punched above his weight and gone down more times than most—perhaps it was time to throw in the mop. Or maybe he actually was required for employment in an essential occupation. Whatever the case, luck had never been on Roy’s side, and his family would have dreaded him taking up his mop and marching into a new theatre. This weary Rat of Tobruk was going home. But the Tennyson Hotel was still minus one, and Stanley James Livingston would not be home for Christmas, his fifth away from family, and by all reports his most disappointing.
By early 1945, it was clear Australia would play no part in the recapture of the Philippines, with MacArthur now planning his long-anticipated glorious victory parade into Manila and not one Australian invited. Cinderella would not make it to the ball. Training resumed in February 1945, with the ORs still in the dark about why they were training at all. On 11 March a little light was shed when the men learned of pending embarkation. Two months later, on 6 May, the troops embarked from Townsville on David C. Shanks. Pte Livingston had been on home soil for fourteen months with not one AWL or any other offence to his name. Was this a soldier who had now found his place in the army, surrendering to duty and authority? Or had he just had a gutful?
The general feeling among the troops was that this was going to be the last big show, the final act. A history of the battalion reports that morale was high, but for the five-year veterans, the mood was somewhat damper. Being a hardened veteran did not by definition make for an easier journey this time around. For the seasoned performer it was a numbers game—they’d been dodging bullets for years. The gut feeling was that the more time you spent among stray bullets, the closer you came to the one with your number on it. As the ship passed by the coast of Finschhafen, it moved closer to shore for the benefit of those who had fought there. Stanley Livingston may have preferred a wider berth; a lot of numbers had come up on those shores.
They were on board only a few days when news broke that the Nazis had surrendered unconditionally. The war in Europe was over. Newspapers described scenes of mass jubilation in Sydney on the afternoon the announcement was made. Thousands jammed into Martin Place and a snowstorm of paper fell from surrounding buildings. Standing knee-deep in shredded paper, complete strangers linked hands and sang ‘Polly Wolly Doodle’. The AWA tower was brilliantly floodlit, in stark contrast to the brownouts of recent years. The party continued long into the night, extending into Kings Cross. It was noted in The Sydney Morning Herald on 9 May that the soldiers present seemed to be the most reserved. Celebrations on board David C. Shanks were also tempered. Their war was still very much alive.
On 16 May, the battalion arrived at Morotai Island in northern Indonesia. One soldier on board would always remember this island. A Japanese POW being held on Morotai would eventually migrate to Australia and marry the daughter of a 9th Division soldier, Pte Ralph Hopkins.
By late May all ORs were informed of the nature of the coming campaign. Australian troops were ordered to focus their mops on Borneo and the Netherlands East Indies. The 9th Division was to be split into two groups, the operations for this particular theatre being OBOE-1 and OBOE-6. The 26th Brigade were given first oboe duties—to secure the island of Tarakan—while the 20th and 24th took on sixth oboe, the recapture of North Borneo. No other oboes were mentioned in the orders. Stanley, ever a fan of rhyming slang, made the comment, ‘I didn’t mind playing the oboe, I just didn’t want to get shot in the orchestra stalls.’
On 2 June 1945, Stanley’s twenty-seventh birthday, he boarded HMAS Kanimbla and joined a convoy of eighty-three vessels headed towards British New Borneo. The birthday boy’s part in this show was to assist in capturing Brunei Bay. The 2/17th were to make their entrance with an amphibious assault on Green Beach and capture Brunei Bluff. Over fourteen thousand 9th Division troops joined the party with Stanley. On this island he was by no means Robinson Crusoe.
After two previous amphibious landings, Stanley was well acquainted with the choreography. On 10 June, after eight days on board and 1700 kilometres travelled, the convoy arrived at their destination at 0800. After sharing the compulsory nervous cigarette below deck, the troops received their landing orders. Pte Livingston stood by as the scramble nets were draped over the side; already a massive air bombardment was raining down on Green Beach and Brunei Bluff. It did the trick. The landing barges made it to shore about a kilometre too far east but there was no opposition and all objectives were achieved by 1230. Everything was going to script, apart from a bit of upstaging by a couple of the 2/17th boys. After landing, the first shot fired was by John ‘Basher Lug Slug’ Sugden into the face of no enemy, but he almost took out his good mate ‘Bateye’ Shepherd. Meanwhile, ‘Lusty’ Layton got a bit lost as he wandered neck high in the swamp. He eventually caught up with the battalion at day’s end as they advanced towards Brunei Town.
The next morning, with C Company in the advanced guard, none other than Supreme Commander General Douglas MacArthur dropped by to congratulate the unit and wish them luck: he just happened to be in the area checking the vines for wither. With their luck freshly wished, they made for Brunei Town. By late afternoon they were forced to take up a defensive position. There was enemy movement ahead of them—what rotten luck.
It was a nervous night’s sleep and the going was tougher the next day. As the battalion negotiated mined roads, pockets of enemy fired on them from the thick scrub surrounding the track. As the terrain became thicker, so did the enemy presence. Mortar bombs headed their way, some hitting their mark. At dawn on 13 June an airstrike intended to decimate an enemy position ahead of them fell dangerously close. A second strike forced almost an entire battalion of enemy troops to withdraw. A good thing too: it would have meant fierce close-contact fighting for the 2/17th had they remained. More bullets dodged. By 1445 hours, the town of Brunei was secured.
On 15 June, the battalion were paid a visit by the local Dyaks, the spear-carrying, head-hunting, poison-dart-shooting men of Borneo, who marched in from the jungle carrying several Japanese hostages bound to poles, a gift for the Australians. The Dyaks, with their jungle knowledge and stealth tactics, were a curse to the Japanese. Although of small stature, these men were a fearsome sight, with coins and other trophies of war worn in their ear lobes, waist-length hair, teeth replaced by jewels or brightly coloured stones, and their necks and arms covered in tattoos, generally images of birds. The hogtied Japanese were extremely happy to be delivered to the Australians, rightly confident the troops would not remove and smoke their heads before mounting them on spears. It is not the best tactical move to alienate a people who know the terrain like the back of their hand and have the nasty habit of relieving you of your head if you upset them. It comes as no surprise that these particular prisoners were very forthcoming when it came to giving up information.
On 16 June the battalion advanced towards Tutong by motor transport. No enemy contact was made and Tutong was secured the same day. This advance was recorded as one of the fastest made by land forces in the South Pacific area. It’s amazing what infantrymen can accomplish when you give them trucks and remove all traces of a deadly enemy presence. In civilian terms it’s called driving along a road.
The Sultan of Brunei accompanied by his Sultana arrived by canoe on the seventeenth to express his gratitude to the troops. A detachment of the 2/17th was provided to guard the Sultan. Stanley never mentioned guarding any sultans, but he never let up with the sultana jokes. (One thing Stanley was well known for: if something amused you once, he figured it would amuse you for a lifetime. Withered fruit were a particular favourite of his, and we kids were always up to our apricots in date jokes.)
This campaign was proving easier going than previous ones, but still the men had no idea of what was ahead or how long this mopping-up would continue. Some speculated that it would take years to flush out the remaining Japanese left to roam the Pacific islands.
Their next mission was to liberate the oilfields in nearby Seria. They advanced on 18 June and by mid-afternoon reached the oilfields. While the outer fields were intact, those further on were burning fiercely. The enemy were there, but not in battalion force—just small groups and isolated snipers, many half-starving. The next day they were gone. The locals provided the information that the Japanese had withdrawn from the area, but not before slaughtering many Indian POWs in a compound nearby. The locals now refused to approach the place, turning away from the bones of POWs that lay near burnt-out galvanised iron. The men had been herded and forced at bayonet point, bound, beheaded and set on fire. The Japanese were unrelenting in fighting a losing battle.
Meanwhile, forty-five oil wells blazed out of control, sending black smoke thousands of feet into the sky. This would take some serious mopping. The scorched earth left by the Japanese spread 800 metres inland for around three kilometres along the coast. The noise of the blazing wells was intense and the night burned bright as day. The battalion spent the next three months fighting the fires using mud, water and steam to quench the flames and secure the valves. Dangerous conditions, particularly for those wearing asbestos safety suits.
The wash-up for the campaign had been an advance of 120 kilometres in twelve days, capturing along the way Brunei Bluff, Brunei Town, Tutong and the blazing oilfields of Seria. Swift and successful it may have been, but six men of the battalion did not leave Borneo alive. Still, from here on, the Japanese gave up on recapturing Brunei. They withdrew inland, a dangerous move into the heartland of the Dyaks, who literally preyed on the retreating Japanese. The jungle and its inhabitants took over mopping-up duties.
While OBOE-6 had suffered relatively few casualties, the troops from the 26th Brigade in OBOE-1 had drawn the short straw. The battle to capture the island of Tarakan had cost 250 Australian lives. It was by all accounts a bloody affair, and unfortunately the aim of the enterprise (to open the airfield on Tarakan as a base for ongoing operations) was not implemented, mainly due to the damage done by the preliminary Allied bombardment.
Bill Pye had been involved in the battle of Tarakan but escaped any harm, and was currently not too far from Stanley in the port of Weston in British North Borneo. The general idea at Weston was to work their way up the railway line clearing Japanese. Bill took the first train from Weston to the town of Beaufort—there were no locomotives so they fitted railway wheels to jeeps:
The Japanese had landed in Borneo without any resistance, so there hadn’t been any damage before we went in to land, and then we went in, and we destroyed the aerodrome and blew up all the railway bridges. We destroyed the railway bridges! Bloody unbelievable, so when you got to Beaufort you had to take the stuff off the trains and get into barges and then take it across to the other side and then you went on to Papar and there’s another river and you had to take it off and take it out [load onto barges] again, and then go inland to Tenom, which was the end of the interior railway line. Anyhow, soon after we’d landed I took this train up, and we didn’t have any resistance on the way to Beaufort, but because we were bombing, strafing there, the people were leaving their villages, and at Weston we had hundreds of people pouring into it with no accommodation and no food and it was a hell of a bloody mess.
News of the death of John Curtin came through on 5 July. He did not live to see Japan’s ultimate surrender, nor would US President Roosevelt, who had died on 12 April. Both deaths were blamed on the stress of managing their nations throughout the war, but Roosevelt’s may have been helped along by his ongoing battles with angina, coronary artery disease, atherosclerosis, high blood pressure and congestive heart failure. Churchill was still standing but he was no longer Britain’s leader, suffering a landslide defeat after a general election held on the same day as Curtin’s death. The old warhorse would have to cheer on from the sidelines the victory he had instigated and fought for.
Back in Brunei, with no enemy in the vicinity, attention was turned to local reconstruction and maintenance. The troops swam by day, and there was a mobile cinema for the night’s entertainment. Many recall pleasant times in the area, the local children being a constant source of amusement, as was the introduction by the adults to the native wine, saki. One soldier recalled an old Dyak coming into view carrying the head of a Japanese soldier: the head was smoked in celebration and much saki was consumed. A further anecdote attests that ‘Bubbles’ Andrews drove everyone mad playing the same record over and over on a gramophone until it broke down, and life was pretty peaceful until ‘Shell Head’ Mathews and ‘Gundi Guy’ repaired it.
Among the same collection of anonymous personal anecdotes was this paragraph: ‘Ring-a-Dang-Doo Ring was the cook (or thought he was). He had the cheek to yell out, “Come and get it or I’ll throw it away.” Pat Green carried out a bit of bookmaking on a commentary given by R.C. Ford. Jack Littlewood and Stan Livingston were worried about the five year plan.’ The five-year plan had been announced by the Australian government in late May, proposing that those who had served in the Australian Forces for more than five years would be made eligible for early discharge. There was much scepticism about the chances of the government actually implementing the plan. Stanley and Jack would have been banking on it. Sgt Jack Hadfield Scargill Littlewood was the elder of the two friends, twenty-nine years old on enlistment and married with three children. He had enlisted ten days before Stanley; the pair had seen action in the earlier theatres of the Middle East and would be together at the end. Jack racked up a few minor AWLs before being made sergeant, which probably endeared him to Stanley and the rest of the ORs.
After the war, Stanley spoke more of Borneo than anywhere else. He talked freely of the jungle, its remarkable wildlife and his fondness for the locals. It occurs to me now that this was the end of his journey. Any bullet with his name on it would have to wait. He had time in those final months to relax, and smell the bamboo. He was officially at ease.
D Company had set up their headquarters in a small Dyak hut on the jungle-lined bank of the Bakoeng River, near Baram. In the evening the troops would sit around a small wireless set and listen to news from Radio America. On the night of 6 August those huddled around heard news of an atomic bomb dropped on Hiroshima, with enthusiastic commentary by the American announcer, who omitted no details of the horror unleashed. A few days later the same announcer was delighted to report that a ‘Fat Man’ had fallen on Nagasaki. And that, as they say, was that.
The show was all but over. There was a sense of unreality about the impending end of the war. It had gone out with a bang, or two, but that was not the general feeling in Seria where Stanley was waiting out the end of his war. The cursed thing had dragged out, and the danger was not over. The men were advised that should the Japanese surrender, military discipline would not be relaxed. The present danger was whether those remaining isolated Japanese would even know of the end of the war, whether they would believe it, and whether they would surrender without a fight.
On 13 August 1945, the troops were issued orders to cease offensive operations. On the fifteenth, VJ Day came with confirmation that Emperor Hirohito had accepted the terms of surrender. The fighting was officially over. Exhilaration among the troops was tempered by reflection. Peter J. Jones wrote home from Tarakan that day that the Japanese surrender had ‘seemed anti climactic to me after we heard that a Jap city, once flowing with the life of a quarter of a million people, was laid waste and lifeless, with a single man-made piece of jetsam called an atomic bomb’. J.W. Holmes too wrote home on the fifteenth, ‘The War Is over! It is hard fully to comprehend what that means. No one is surprised. No one appears excited. Tommo says, “No one is excited and it’s not very much to our credit either.” It shows our minds have become warped and numbed. I don’t think he is right, really.’