Virtual
War Memorial
Australia

So, September 7th 1943 saw us in trucks at the airstrip at Jackson's Drome waiting to get into the DC3s to be flown to Nadzab.

Together with two other young Sigs, Bill Alexander and Alan Furnance, I had been attached to Don Company for this campaign to attend to communications there. But, while we were still in the truck at about 3a.m. disaster struck. An American Liberator Bomber, one of our largest planes at that time, took off on a bombing mission. Hardly had it become airborne when it developed engine trouble.

The pilot tried to land it back on the airstrip, but could not do so, and it crashed – right on Don Company. Actually the nose of the plane hit the truck I was in. It was carrying a full bomb load and 7000 gallons of high-octane fuel, and we were in 'battle order' which meant we were carrying live ammunition, grenades and mortar bombs etc. The plane, of course, exploded and caught fire. The bombs went off and all the rest of the whizzbangs added their contribution to the inferno.

I was hurled from the truck and knocked unconscious. I do not know how long I stayed stunned, but when I came to and stood up there were flames everywhere, and the air was filled with the roar of exploding grenades, mortar bombs, bullets etc. The plane's big bombs must have gone off while I was unconscious. I was badly burnt about the head, back, arms and legs, but was able to stand and look around. Near me was a chap who had a shattered ankle, so I helped him to his feet and we plunged through the flames, getting a bit more singed in the process, and got out. He had his arm around my shoulder and one hand round mine, and I remember when he took his hand away, all the skin peeled off the blistered back of my hand. I often wonder what happened to that lad.

Soon the ambulances began to arrive and transported us to two field hospitals. I was taken to either the 2/5th or the 2/9th A.G.H., I am not sure. There were doctors, sisters, nurses and orderlies everywhere and they soon had us all in bed. I was groaning a bit and a sister asked if I was in pain, to which I replied that I certainly was, 'But' she said 'Didn't they give you a shot of morphia at the drome?" I said no, they hadn't, so she got a syringe and gave me the injection. It was the most blessed feeling I ever experienced, just as if someone got hold of the pain and peeled it off me.

I lapsed into a come, from which I did not emerge until four days later. Again I complained of pain in my back, and the sister said "But your back is not badly burnt, not as bad as your head and arms." I said, "No, it hurts inside." So they whizzed me off to the x-ray room and took some photos, which showed that the second bottom joint of my spine, had been injured. This was to have a big effect on my health in later years.

I now began a slow recovery, because the burns were difficult to get to heal, owing, they said, to the tropical atmosphere. One day they took me in to put me in a saline bath, to aid the healing process. I was laying in the plunge bath, and the sister said, "Will you be alright?

I have to go back to the ward for a moment." I assured her I would be OK, but I must have been weaker than I thought, for while she was away I fainted and when she returned I was blowing bubbles from the bottom of the bath. I came round back in bed in the ward with her anxious face about a foot from mine, and she said, "Don't you ever do that to me again."

Bill and Alan, my two fellow Sigs, had survived the crash and were both in hospital with me. They had been burnt, but had got out earlier than me. We were very lucky, for seventy-eight had been killed in the crash and another one hundred and thirteen taken to hospital.
We heard that the plane's engine failure had been caused by sabotage, and that two members of the American ground staff, who were actually enemy agents planted in America years before the war, had been caught in the act of 'doctoring' another plane, court-martialled and shot. I do not know if this was true or not, but it is true that seven heavy bombers, three Liberators and four Flying Fortresses, had crashed in similar circumstances, all in the space of a week.

I spent about six weeks in hospital and I cannot speak too highly of the staff who toiled unceasingly, some-times under very difficult conditions, to care for our sick and wounded soldiers.

Late in October I was released from hospital and sent to a convalescent camp at Koitaki, from whence we had begun our advance in to Owen Stanley ranges over a year ago. Here we played cards, had a few games of cricket and dodged as many parades as possible.

My back was still troublesome, and I underwent daily treatment and exercises under supervision of the famous Sir Raphael Cilento.

After four weeks of this very pleasant and gracious living, I was deemed well enough to return to my unit and with a chap, named Bill

Lilly, another survivor of the plane crash, I boarded an indescribably filthy little Dutch steamer called the "Both", at Port Moresby.

We sailed round the toe of New Guinea and, at sunrise next morning, passed Milne Bay, scene of the first defeat on land of the Japanese. It looked very peaceful and beautiful, far from the violence of just a year ago. We arrived at Lae, late in the afternoon, said

goodbye without regret to the noisome "Both" and reported to the staging camp. Here we slept that night, and next morning they pointed our noses up the Ramu valley, told us the 2/33rd "was somewhere up there," and regretted that there was no transport available, and we must find our own way. So all the morning we hitched rides, which was easy enough, for there was plenty of traffic up and down the valley. We enquired at intervals regarding the whereabouts of the 2/33rd. . always to receive the same answer, "Somewhere up there," with a vague wave of the hand further up ;the valley. In the afternoon, however, things changed, just as we thought we would run out of road. "The 2/33rd?"said our informant "Oh, just around the corner, about two hundred yards!" And so, I joined the unit about three months after the plane crash. I was warmly welcomed back by the other Sigs and it was a bit like coming home.