Virtual
War Memorial
Australia

These are extracts from a talk delivered by Legatee Ross Smith, to the Tea Tree Gully Legacy Widows Club, in July 2019

“My Dad didn’t talk much about the war, though it was the family joke that he didn’t know that his first name was George, until he needed his Birth Certificate to apply to join the Air Force. He was always called by his middle name Alan.

We knew Dad had been a Fitter Armourer in Catalina Flying Boats and as such had manned one of the machine guns mounted in the side blisters. He had been in New Guinea and operated out of various Australian bases with 11 and 20 Squadrons.

Catalina’s were used very effectively, being able to carry bombs, depth charges, sea mines and torpedoes, in addition to the 4 machine gun positions in the bow, two side blisters and the rear tunnel. They were also very useful for surveillance, inserting coast watchers and rescue work as they had long range endurance and amphibious capabilities.

My Mum, after they were married in 1944, following a courtship of less than a week of cumulative time together, followed Dad to a number of bases in Australia, when they were allowed to live off base. My Mum, always had an adventurous spirit and was still riding roller coasters and the Mad Mouse in her 70’s and most probably would have continued, if the opportunity had been available.

My Dad was working for Astor TV’s in the 50’sand 60’s, so we were the first family, to my knowledge, to have a TV in our neighbourhood, as he built it himself in the garage and often had it in bits in the lounge room, doing some adjustment or other. With the regular programming of war movies, Dad would occasionally tell an anecdote that might be interesting to us boys, like how he went fishing with hand grenades or how flying over Truk Atoll, they would drop beer bottles with razor blades in their necks to make a terrible noise to scare the enemy, (besides bombing and machine gunning the barges and ships that were anchored there). But of his best mate Bill he still didn’t speak.

My Dad didn’t attend the Anzac Day marches, though he would occasionally watch on the TV, but he wore a Returned Serviceman’s pin on his best coat.

This photo (see Photos) was the one occasion when my Dad, Mum and I went to watch the Anzac Day March in Melbourne in 1988, though my Dad didn’t march.
In my last years at high school, the Vietnam War was still being fought. My elder brother Lindsay’s ball, had not been drawn in the Conscription Ballot and with the prospect of the war continuing, I was becoming involved in the Moratorium marches. I had realised Vietnam was not a war we could win, particularly when the order was issued not to Bomb Hanoi. The United States and our own government had removed that focus, so I saw no purpose in our troops continuing the campaign, nor in myself possibly being Conscripted. Thankfully, before my ballot would have been due, the government changed and Conscription ended.

Well, one Saturday, my Dad was going to visit his parents who lived at Ardmona, near Shepparton in central Victoria.”

“Anyway, this time was just a quick visit as I said, mainly to see they were OK, a bite of lunch and we were on the way home again. It was on the way home that things between my Dad and I changed.”

“So, on the way home, with only ourselves for company and our smokes, (I think mine would have been Winfield’s then and my Dad’s Alpine) we got to talking. Most of it centred around the Vietnam War and what had happened with my brother’s ballot and the general issue of Conscription.

At that time, I was not aware that you could be called up to do your National Service, but choose not to go to Vietnam. I thought, as did my family, that once in, off you went.

So, my Dad and I are talking about what could have happen and I turned to him and said, “I wouldn’t have gone, I couldn’t have fought THAT war.

What surprised me was that my Dad agreed with me. He then went on to say that while he had enjoyed some good times in his war,…. and this is what sticks in my mind,… at other times he said,… “I was just shit scared”. Now I use that word, because that was the one my Dad used, and it was the strongest language I ever heard him use, and only on that one occasion.

I remember a story he once told me about not needing to swear and maybe this was what influenced him, or it was just how Dads were meant to behave and what they should teach their kids, (I’m sorry I never asked him which one it was).
His example was about a drill instructor at Point Cook R.A.A.F base in Victoria. Now you are most probably aware that drill instructors are One; particularly loud and Two; in their day, very colourful in the language they used, to encourage their squad to march and drill correctly. This one sergeant was known for not swearing, but if you got on the wrong side of him, you soon knew it, because he would call you a ……“silly rabbit”. I would be interested to know how drill instructors cope in this day of political correctness.

From that moment, my Dad and I really started to get closer.” “We would all just natter away, with often the conversation between my Dad and I turning to his war, as it was a big gap in my knowledge about him.

Sometime later, my parents put a collection of family photos in a frame on the family room wall. Also included was the photo of Bill. (Please refer to William Murdoch PARKER S/N: 20343 re his fate and that of the crew of A24-18)

One of the things I do when an issue is troubling me, is to write poetry and after my Mum and Dad’s deaths, I wrote the following, originally as a poem and then adjusted to form a song.

Up Ardmona Way

We’d seen the grandparents up Ardmona way,
Just me and my Dad, we went up for the day.
We were cruising back home in the old XY,
Having a quiet smoke as the scenery passed by.

So we smoked..... and we talked ....
And the silence was filled with our thoughts
Wheels turned around as we covered some ground
in that white XY Ford

We got on to talking ‘bout that crazy war,
My future coming down to a numbered ball.
Well the draft was gone now, we had voted it out,
Didn’t have to see if my number came out.

I told my father; that I wouldn’t have fought,
As his son I hope, that I hadn’t fallen short.
Go fight them they say, but you can’t make a fuss
We can’t bomb Hanoi, no we can’t be that tough.

So we smoked..... and we talked ....
And the silence was filled with our thoughts
Wheels turned around as we covered some ground
in that white XY Ford

My Dad opened up then, which wasn’t his way,
Said how pleased he was that at home I did stay.
In his war he enjoyed some good times in the air,
At other times he said, I was just shit scared!

Now Dad didn’t swear, or use language like that,
You can imagine how I was taken aback.
For him to speak to me in that plain way,
Established a bond that remains to this day.

My Dad spoke often of his war after that,
We both looked forward to those special chats.
Bill’s photo appeared on the family room wall,
A handsome young man buried on a strange shore.

So we sat…. and we talked ....
And the silence was filled with our thoughts
A closeness we found as we broke new ground
With our father - son talks

My Dad is long gone now, I do miss him so.
I think often of Bill, and others unknown.
Who go off to fight, their stories not to be told,
Some get to return, others never grow old.

Now to all those brave men, and the women too,
Who join the armed forces, I salute you.
To your families and friends, may I say a last word?
This country is safe, because they choose to serve.

So we sat…. and we talked ....
And the silence was filled with our thoughts

In March 2015, I put together the following, (Refer to the Photo Section) which I suppose is my personal memorial to Dad and Bill and the mission of A24-18 and sent it off to my family.

In the centre section, I included another poem I wrote which is as follows:

I have read a lot of stories lately,
of those who went to war.
Of young lives changed forever,
by what they did and saw.
I look at your pictures,
and wonder what you thought.
As you stood and posed so formally,
before you went and fought.
I am here because you came back,
and glad we often talked.
But I still cannot imagine,
what you really felt and thought.
I wish I had known Bill,
but he was a casualty of the war.
I look at his picture,
and feel your pain once more.
I honour your sacrifice,
and of all those that served.
While others take new photos,
as they prepare to go to war.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
There is a term bandied around in 2019 – “The quiet Australian”.
This term most aptly fits my Dad. He never saw himself as anything special and he placed the care of his family before anything else, he was never loud or putting himself forward and was always prepared to lend a hand and to do his duty.

My Dad served his country during World War 2, like many other men and women, and we should be forever thankful for their service and remember them.

I am thankful that this site is available, so that tribute can be paid, not only to those who made the ultimate sacrifice, but also to the many who are known by family and friends to have done their duty.

Ross Smith 20 December 2019
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------