Waller was informed he should prepare to join the combined American, British, Dutch and Australian (ABDA) naval forces, whose supreme commander, as dictated by British Prime Minister Winston Churchill, would be General Archibald Wavell. This veteran of the Boer War, World War I, and old boy of Winchester and Sandhurst, did nothing to inspire hope or confidence. He had callously and unnecessarily reported unfairly on the efforts of the best general of the Middle East war in 1917, Australian Sir Harry Chauvel. In World War II, Wavell, also at Churchill’s direction, had presided over the disastrous campaigns for the British and Anzacs in Greece and Crete.
Waller geared his ship for certain engagement in the knowledge that an Australian ship’s captain would have little or no say in ABDA planning. He sailed Perth along Australia’s south coast to Fremantle, with the expectation it would be moved north through the Indian Ocean to Batavia where it was supposed to join HMAS Hobart. This would put Perth right in the middle of the advance by Japanese naval, air and land forces.
Waller received a cable from his good friend Rear Admiral John Crace, the officer commanding the Australian naval squadron.
I want you to know, Hec, that I utterly disagree with the NB [Naval Board] in pushing you up to ABDA. I want our Government to over-ride the decision, although I fear Canberra will not stand up against London [where the directive had come from] in this instance. You know as well as I, as good a fighting Commander as you are, your one grand ship will not make a difference around Java in dealing with the enemy onslaught. We need you in the ANZAC region for trade protection and for dealing with a Japanese landing force in the islands [to Australia’s north]. If you are prevented from doing this, then I concede that our entire cruiser force should join ABDA. I am writing to the out-of-touch NB and our Government to this effect, pointing out that if our [naval] operations are broken up like this then the Japanese will have a lovely time in picking off our ships here and there …
Crace’s pragmatic approach, from an Australian point of view, was consumed by immediate events and not adhered to.
After a false start up the Western Australian coast the decision was made to sail on Friday, 13 February with a convoy of tankers to the port of Oosthaven (now Indonesian Panjang) in southern Sumatra. But a delegation of six sailors, an unofficial union of sorts, met Waller on the bridge. Also in attendance as an observer was Lieutenant-Commander Louis Glenn.
A nervous ordinary seaman, Harry Smithers, a very tall man with a high-pitched nasal accent, read from a prepared script, while a relaxed Waller sat on his captain’s swivel chair and patiently puffed at his pipe.
‘We, the under-signed, as a representative of the ship’s crew, do not wish to sail on Black Friday the Thirteenth.’ Smithers paused, sniffed and rubbed his face before adding, ‘This along with other sailors’ beliefs—’
‘Superstitions,’ Waller interrupted pleasantly enough.
‘Yes … um, that too,’ Smithers replied and stumbled on, ‘this with other sailors’ beliefs—’
‘What might they be?’ Waller asked, his voice a fraction more assertive.
‘Well, we believe there are now two pastors on board …’
‘Yes, our padre, Ron Bevington, and now Reverend Keith Mathieson, a Methodist from Victoria. He is coming to Batavia with us before transferring to another ship.’
‘Two men of God on the one boat is a very bad omen, Captain.’
‘Why?’
‘Well it … means …’
‘What, Mr Smithers?’
‘The men think it indicates disaster could, er, would be inevitable.’
‘I’m not even going to acknowledge such an old wives’ tale. Perhaps I should say, “old sailors’” tale. Go on.’
Smithers was sweating. He paused and said, ‘There is also the matter of your cat, sir.’
Waller’s patience seemed to have left him. He took his pipe from his mouth.
‘I was led to believe,’ he said, ‘no, I have observed Red Lead is a most popular addition to the crew.’
‘Yes, we all think he is the best ratter we’ve seen at sea, but he is black, Captain.’
‘Two corrections,’ Waller said, standing. ‘Red Lead is a she, like your mother, Smithers. And second, she is not black. Wait a minute.’ The captain disappeared into his cabin, found Red Lead asleep in the hammock and took her to the bridge.
‘Unless you are colourblind, Able Seaman,’ Waller said, holding the cat close to Smithers, ‘you will notice that her fur is dark brown; swirls of dark brown.’
Red Lead enjoyed the attention and began purring as Waller parted her fur and added, ‘You will further note that her hair roots are in fact yellow.’
Smithers was embarrassed in front of his fellow complainers.
‘I see, Captain, I had not been close up to him—her.’
‘Even if she were black, she would not be leaving this ship, not on a Black Friday nor, in fact, any day of the week.’
This was the Hardover Hec they had all heard about but never seen.
‘This black cat business goes back to medieval times in Europe, including England. Then witches, or people designated as witches, were burnt at the stake. Pope Gregory IX kicked it off in the thirteenth century. After that black cats were hunted down in Europe, and thrown off cliffs. We live in modern times, Seaman Smithers, where such childish superstitions are things of the past.’
Waller placed Red Lead on the floor and paused to light his pipe again. The cat wandered near the delegation of sailors and sat looking up at them, almost as if she wanted an apology for daring to question her importance. Smithers seemed nervous that the cat might walk across in front of him. He walked a few yards away. Red Lead watched him, as if fascinated.
‘I’ll tell you what I am prepared to do,’ Waller said, ignoring Smithers and addressing the others in the delegation. ‘I am prepared to sail at thirty minutes past midnight, which makes our departure time on 14 February. Happy with that?’
‘Yes, yes, Captain,’ the others mumbled.
‘Good, because if you indicated you were not agreeable, you would all be removed from my ship, immediately. Now please leave the bridge and get back to work.’
They filed away. Waller turned to Glenn.
‘Never thought I’d see mutiny over Black Friday, a cat and a couple of harmless god-botherers,’ he said, as his relaxed manner returned. ‘We should put Red Lead in front of Smithers at midnight, just before we sail.’
‘Why, Captain?’
‘Meeting a black cat at midnight is to encounter Satan in the flesh,’ Waller said with a mischievous grin.
‘You were very fair, Captain,’ Glenn said, ‘even to give them a hearing. It would never happen in the British Navy.’
‘Oh, but there is precedent in our armed forces,’ Waller said. ‘General Monash once met a delegation from one battalion in each brigade that the British wished to retirefrom the war. The delegation told Monash that if those battalions were taken out, the entire First AIF would strike.’
‘What did Monash do?’
‘He did what I just did by changing the date of leaving. He suggested to the British High Command that those battalions should be retired after his army had done its job. The High Command—namely Douglas Haig—agreed. Monash thus kept his complete complement of soldiers for his mighty push to end the Great War.’
Waller picked up Red Lead, who purred. He stroked her and added,
‘We are not going to have Monash’s impact, but Perth will do her bit in this war also by employing some common sense.’