Virtual
War Memorial
Australia

Bert’s Stories
(Mostly) In his own words – from a journal and stories told to his daughter:

Training
I joined the Navy at Fremantle on 25-11-1940 and had initial training in marching and squad drill, boat work, gun carriage drill etc, then drafted to Flinders Naval College at Crib Point in Victoria and arrived there on New Year’s Eve (31-12-1940). Spent three months in Training – more squad drill, seamanship, rigging, gunnery school, torpedo school, rifle drill and range and demolition work. We had every second weekend leave in Melbourne – a special train took the 110’s up and returned early on Monday morning. I stayed with Rev E. Nye and family in Canterbury and a couple of times with Mrs Stevens from their church. A lovely church and people who mixed well with the younger group.
At the completion of training at Flinders, I applied to train as a Submarine Detector and was accepted after tests. As there was a delay in starting the course because of numbers, I was sent home on leave of 14 days. Going back to Sydney, the class started at Rushcutters Bay anti-sub school, but as they did not have enough accommodation, we were given living out allowances and told to find a flat. This was found in King’s Cross – a short walk from the school. Three of us were together in two rooms. We were broke most of the time and always had our evening meal at Central Park in Sydney at the Free Canteen there. Finishing the school, we joined HMAS Kybra for our sea training on ASDICS – often with a submarine.
The Kybra had been a coastal ship on the W.A. coast supplying the North-west and would bring cattle down to Fremantle. After completing the course, we were again given leave to W.A. to await drafting to a ship. To save lugging our kit bags and hammock home – as we had a return ticket to Sydney- we cloaked it at Sydney Rail station.

Deployment
Towards the end of leave a telegram arrived to report to HMAS Leeuwin in Fremantle at the end of leave instead of returning to Sydney. On reporting, we were advised we were joining a convoy to go overseas. We reported about our kit bags. So, we reported each day and were allowed home each night. The convoy arrived – the biggest for a long time. It included the following transports: Queen Mary, Queen Elizabeth, Mauritania, Aquitania and other large ships and a flotilla of war ships. As my gear had still not arrived, I waited ashore. Bad weather etc delayed the convoy almost a week. My gear arrived. I was called and loaded it aboard a truck ready to go down to the wharf, but an officer called me into the office and said “You’re not going.” “Why?” “Because the ship you were drafted to, HMAS Waterhen, a member of the “Tin Can Flotilla” had been reported sunk.” So the convoy sailed and I stayed ashore. A few days later I was sent to ML Hiawatha, a launch to be used as a patrol vessel around the entrance to the harbour.

Swanbourne
Then, as I was an ASDIC rating, one was needed at the Anti-Sub station at Swanbourne – a shore-based station that, through under-water cables, could detect vessels passing over it. Duties during this time included installing and monitoring a network of cables on the sea floor of Gage Roads, aimed at detecting all shipping movement in the area.

Lieutenant Stevens, Swanbourne Depot
The Lieutenant in charge of the Swanbourne Depot was Lieutenant Stevens. He was quite a nice man, but fastidious. The men considered him to have some “cranky” ideas and his manner was rather casual.
One evening, as he had nearly finished his tea in the wardroom, the telephone rang in the next room. It was from the operations room, regarding some shipping movements. After he had left to take the call, the steward, thinking he had finished his meal, removed the plate and scraped the food into the bin.
A few minutes later, the bell in the kitchen rang. “I’ll have my meal back now,” ordered the Lieutenant.
Not knowing what else to do, the steward frantically retrieved the remains from the bin, washed the potatoes under the hot water tap and quickly heated them back up on the stove. Presenting the plate to the Lieutenant, he confidently announced, “Just warmed it up again, sir!” None the wiser, the Lieutenant ate it.

Sep, the Cook
The cook was Sep. One day, he decided he’d had enough of the mess left in the kitchen by the tea towels lying around everywhere to dry, so requested that he be provided with a clothesline. Hooks were duly installed in diagonally opposite corners of the room, and eyes spliced in the ends of the line.
While being presented with the line, he was told, “Now one of the eyes is bigger that the other. It must go in the corner nearest the stove, or the line won’t reach.” Some days later, he was observed hooking up the line. He walked halfway across the room, stopped, and returned to unhook the line. He changed the eyes over, then walked to the other side of the room and attached the second eye. He hadn’t thought that the line was the same length whichever way it was attached!

Dougie
Dougie was a relief cook. He had a reputation for doing some very silly, strange things. One afternoon as he arrived to prepare the evening meal, he found that Sep had left a pot of fat mixed with water on the stove to clarify it. Dougie thought that the mixture was a little dry, so decided to add some more boiling water to it. He got the kettle and started to pour in the water. Frankie Giles was standing at a table a couple of yards away, with his back to the stove. As Dougie poured the water into the pot, the fat in it bubbled over onto the stove and exploded into flames. The flames shot either side of Frankie. The next thing either of them really remembered was that they were standing outside the kitchen, uninjured. Dougie was still holding the kettle and stirring spoon and Frank was unsure whether he had jumped the table or not.

Dave
There was an older man, Dave, in his late fifties, employed as a yard man. He drove an old Model T Ford ute, which he would run on kerosene or whatever else was available. From time to time, he would have to take a hammer to the engine to chip away the built-up coke from the cylinders. To start it, he would jack up the car and spin the back wheel. It did not like hills – the only way it would go up them was backwards. Dave was a vain man, and considered himself to be a real “killer” with the ladies. He wore a wig and would not tolerate anyone joking about it. One of his jobs was to light the fire for the cook, so one morning Bert went down during his watch to wake him. Dave was sound asleep, the parting on his wig stretched across the top of his head from ear to ear. As soon as he was roused from his slumber, Dave quickly disappeared under the sheets. Frantic movements under the sheets were followed by Dave appearing, the parting of his wig adjusted correctly, ready for the day.

One night on Watch
One morning, shortly after the midget Japanese submarines had entered Sydney harbour, I found myself on the First watch (4 to 8 a.m.). About 5 a.m., I noted a miniature crossing register on the equipment I was monitoring. My call to the Port War Signal station on Rottnest Island created panic. The duty Corvette was dispatched near Rottnest, and the “King Bay”, a pilot boat which used to meet all ships, got under way. They soon realised that the offending vessel was the Hua, a wooden ship which was bringing munitions from New Zealand. Contrary to the standard procedure in those days, she had not identified herself and had entered Gage Roads via the southern passage. She was severely reprimanded.

The Panamanian
On the 17th of January 1943, the Maidstone, a British submarine, was tied up at the North Wharf. In front of her was the Panamanian, which was loading wheat and undergoing some repairs. A welder’s spark accidently set fire to a hessian bag covered in oil, which was lying on the deck. Trying to prevent a catastrophe, the welder grabbed it and hurled it overboard. Unfortunately, he did not realise that the waters under the wharves were covered in accumulated oil from the visiting submarines. The oil caught fire. The fire brigade was called, and tugs began to pull the Maidstone out of the way, as she could not get her engines started in the panic. The superstructure of the Panamanian caught fire. On the stern, a sailor in charge of the gun mounted there began throwing the shells overboard before they exploded. A naval officer from Leeuwin, passing on the wharf below, saw what he was doing and yelled out to him, “Hey, man! You can’t do that!”
The sailor, thinking more of safety than procedure, yelled back at him,
“If you want the bloody things, YOU come and get them”, and continued ditching them. Some of the shells were recovered in dredging operations in the late 1990s. The Panamania was partly destroyed and the Maidstone was lucky to escape with a scorched bow.

Apples
During the war, the orchards in the state’s south-west were short of workers and materials to properly pack apples, so they would pick them, load them onto trucks and bring them to Perth. They would advertise that they would be at a certain park at a certain time, and people would come to purchase their selection of Granny Smith, Jonathon or Cleo apples.
One day, my father-in-law, George, heard that such a truck would be at a park near Petra Street, Bicton. He caught the tram there, purchased his bushel of apples in a round bag about 12 inches high, and began the return journey. This took him along Canning Highway. At one point in the journey, the tram had to climb down a steep hill and ascend the other side. The passengers on this occasion included some American servicemen, one of whom was rather inebriated. A lady seated towards the rear of the tram had the misfortune to have her bag of apples, which had been leaning against her leg, fall over. The apples began rolling down the aisle of the tram. She got up quickly to retrieve them in the rocking carriage. As she bent over, she broke wind. The inebriated American looked at her in amusement, then drawled, “That’s right, lady! If you can’t catch ‘em, shoot ‘em!”

Deployment to ML 818
I was drafted back to Rushcutters for a refresher course in Sydney in 1945. Then drafted to ML818, which was doing a refit at Garden Island. A short gunnery course was included in the build up after the refit. The shipyard handyman painted the upper deck – including the refit carpenter’s toolbox. When this was removed, we had a bare spot on the deck. Another shipyard incident was when fitting extra bolts to the forward gun mounting, the engineer couldn’t drill through the wooden deck, as that was the carpenter’s job. He could only drill through steel!
We left Sydney for the north in one of the worst storms of the winter and only got as far as Coffs Harbour when we had to turn back. Below decks cupboard doors had burst open and stores were everywhere. Of the 18 crew, only the skipper was not sick. In the rolls, we were putting the side depth charges under water, the top of which was about 8 feet from level water. About a day later we headed north again to Brisbane and all ports north, arriving in Port Moresby on 8th July.
ML818 June 16th 1945 to 2nd November 1945

It was on then through Milne Bay to Madang access to New Britain and then to Cape Torokina in Bougainville. On to the Treasury Islands and then to Choiseuil, an abandoned Japanese base, on 14th August 1945. We did a patrol on the Northern Coast at night to stop Japanese barges travelling up the coast, with the assistance of a Corvette and another ML. One night, we took action against one barge, but after an exchange of gunfire, it disappeared.

The Japanese Surrender
Back to the Treasury Islands where news of the end of the war came and we used up some rockets and flares to celebrate. Returned to Torokina. Ordered to Rabaul, but had engine trouble, so we didn’t make it.
8th September to 14th September: At Torokina we did a Peace Exercise with HMAS Lithgow as lead. We (ML818 and ML804) were ordered to Buin at the southern end of Bougainville to receive with other ships, the surrender party from the Japanese based there. The Japanese had control of the whole Bougainville Island until the Allies came and landed Mid island and split the Japanese forces. One group formed up south at Buin and the other up north with HQ at Buka Island.
So, two surrender parties were formed, one for the north and our group for the south. We anchored at Gazelle Harbour, about halfway, overnight and proceeded early to be at Buin harbour soon after dawn. Buin Harbour was an excellent harbour, very deep water and sheltered by small islands and small entrances between. Many merchant ships were beached and sunk and their superstructures were above water. A Japanese landing craft, two in fact, came out to the ships and their surrender party went aboard the Lithgow. The press with cameras etc had a busy time.
We (ML818) were asked to do a power run (at 20 knots) past to satisfy the Press. I understand the Australian party included (now Sir) Charles Court as Senior Officer to accept the surrender of the Japanese Southern Command. However, it turned out that the Senior Japanese Officer in Charge didn’t turn up but sent his second-in-command. This caused some problems and after radio contact back to Torokina, the Japanese surrender officer and his interpreter were required at Torokina. So up anchor and back to base with the group. After more talks, the surrender officer with interpreter were put aboard our ML with some equipment (tent, camp stretcher etc) and it was back to Buin with an overnight stop at Gazelle Harbour.
The interpreter talked to us, we found out that the Japanese knew nothing – didn’t know about the atomic bombs being dropped on Japan and the final surrender plan. We explained the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The poor chap went white and very quiet. We asked “What’s wrong?” He explained that his wife and family lived in Hiroshima. Next, it got dark and the officer asked to go to his cabin. We all burst out laughing – there were no cabins aboard. “Your room for the night is a tent pitched over a gun mounting with a stretcher each side, with mattress and blanket”. An armed guard was kept overnight. I had the misfortune to kick over a tommy gun on the metal floor strips about 2 a.m. The two Japanese shot up into the air. “Sorry, sorry” I said, and they settled down.

This event was reported in The Western Mail, August 30, 1945

Next morning after a light breakfast, we moved down to Buin and a Japanese landing barge met us. We were pleased to hand them over.
We stayed most of the day, searching for mines near the entrance passage. We got one, too, and sank it. Later, some of us went ashore for a quick look around. On the paths leading to the jungle were every type of machinery for building an aerodrome: trucks, graders, bulldozers, road rollers etc. But along the beach with jungle growing around them were about 100 Zero aircraft, apparently unloaded from ships and no fuel to drive any of it. The New Zealand Air Force had made regular bombing trips on the shipping etc. We did walk over a partly sunk freighter with point five bullet heads everywhere. We later returned to Torokina.

Returning home
About a week or so later, we had orders to return to Australia. Arrived at Brisbane 2nd November 1945. After about a week, left the ship and travelled by train to Sydney. Joined the Stirling Castle to return to Fremantle and arrived 19th November and demobbed on 6th December 1945.

War stories

Supplies
In 1945, Bert was sent to Sydney to retrain for work on an ML. He was posted to ML818, a 100 foot-long motor launch, which was sent to Bougainville to patrol the waters around the Solomon Islands. There were eighteen men on board. The Cox’n was inexperienced at ordering supplies, and for the first week, ordered 20 dozen eggs. The order was repeated for the next week. The crew were forced to eat eggs three times a day and the imagination of whoever was on cooking roster was stretched: boiled, scrambled, poached, curried eggs … there were only two small gas fridges on board, and they were full of meat. After that, crew members often asked the cook “What’s for dinner? Eggs?”

Cooking
The first day on board, Bert was rostered on to do the cooking. Corned beef and cabbage was on the menu, and the pots were soon boiling after their 6 am departure. As they got out into open water, it got rougher and rougher. The water in the pots soon slopped over and put out the fire on the oil-burning stoves. No-one really cared too much about the food – they were all being sick, except for the skipper! The mess tables were normally bolted to the floor, but on this occasion, they weren’t and they began to slide around. The store cupboard burst open and tins began rolling around the floor. The signaller had a lucky escape when he went out the hatch and headed towards the rail to be sick. Just as he moved, the boat dropped suddenly in a trough of the waves. He was on the point of being thrown overboard, when another wave came in and hit him, forcing him back onto the boat.
By the time the ML had reached Coff’s Harbour, they decided it was too rough, and taking advantage of a brief lull in the swell, turned the boat around. Bert discovered that he easily got seasick and was regularly teased “We must be near port – Humfrey’s stopped being sick!”

Armed with a recipe book designed for six people, the kitchen was a learning experience for many of the men. One day, they decided to make pancakes. They took the basic recipe and continued adding in flour and milk until they had four bowlfuls of the mixture. Unfortunately, the pancakes turned our very rubbery, and no-one wanted to eat them. They were eventually used for burley to catch fish.
Bert was offered the cook’s job full time, when he presented the men with baked beans - a luxury they were not used to. However, not all his efforts were as well appreciated.
Whilst patrolling the northern coast of New Guinea, they tied up at one place near Madang, and noticed some pawpaws on the trees near the beach. The crew picked some, even though they were green. Considering pawpaws to be a fruit, Bert stewed them, and served them with custard. The men turned up their noses. Apparently, they should have been cooked like a marrow and served with meat as a vegetable.

Cherry Hospitality
One day, the sailors invited a group of Papuan boys aboard the ML. The boys had an Australian in charge of them, who was attached to the A.I.B. (Allied Investigation Bureau). They lived in the jungle of Choiseul and spied on the Japanese, then reported all movement by radio to headquarters. The cook decided to present them with some cherries, thinking that this would be a new, pleasurable experience for them. Pleasurable it certainly was, as the cherries rapidly disappeared. The newness was discovered by one boy, who, upon finding the stones inside them and not knowing what to do with them, stored them in his cheek. When his cheek had expanded to the size of a tennis ball, one of the sailors noticed his predicament. He reassured the boy that he could spit out the stones, and with great relief, the lad promptly filled a bowl with them.

Jimmy
The men often wondered how Jimmy, the second-in-charge, had been appointed. They could only conclude that it was because he had been in the Naval Reserve prior to the war, in between his job as spruiker outside the Hoyts cinema in Brisbane. He had little expertise.
On the way north to Bougainville, he was navigating them through a passage inside the Great Barrier Reef. Bert was the lookout for the Mid watch (midnight to 4 am) when Jimmy called out to him “Humfrey, keep a lookout for a starboard marker buoy. It should be coming up very soon.” Bert looked intensely, both with and without glasses.
“I can’t see it yet, sir,” he replied.
Jimmy joined him. “It must be there somewhere – we should be level with it now, according to the charts.”
“Well, it’s not there – but there is a light we’ve just passed on the port side,” replied Bert. Jimmy hurried into the wheelhouse to check the charts, returning moments later.
“Yes, sorry, you’re right, Humfrey”, he admitted.
Once, when docking at Totokina wharf, Jimmy had to take over command. “Slow! … Stop! … Slow! … Hard astern!”, he yelled.
In desperation, the engine room tried to obey his commands, but stalled both engines as the ML’s bow collided with the stern of a landing barge. Fortunately, there was very little damage.

Bougainville: Torokina
Torokina was the Allies’ main base on Bougainville and had massive store sheds full of all types of supplies. An airstrip was one of the first things made when they landed, and its end was almost on the beach. The main road to the store was along the waterfront. Many a truck driver had a fright when driving along it and an aircraft took off – there wasn’t much clearance.

Earthquake
A few miles inland was Mount Bagana, an active volcano, and each morning, if the wind was blowing towards the boats, the decks would be covered with black ash and the sailors would have to wash them down. One night, just after midnight, there was a large earthquake. ML818 was tied up alongside the Lithgow and the metal racket of it shaking was terrifying. The ML shook as well. Bert had been asleep in his bunk and was unaware of anything prior to waking up on deck, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
On shore, the Naval Signal Station was built up on a platform of coconut trunks, about 30 feet high. The signaller on duty reported that he didn’t touch one step of the ladder on the way down, as the platform began swaying in the earthquake.

Once on Leave
Before leaving Bougainville Bert thought that he would try to contact a soldier, Vern Ward, who had married a Fremantle girl known to Bert, Shirley Freeman. After getting leave, he set out one afternoon from Torokina. The army camp was about 10 miles out in the jungle, so Bert located the correct direction and hitch-hiked out to the camp. By walking and riding, he eventually reached the camp gate. The sentry on duty arranged a messenger, and Vern came to meet him and took Bert to his tent for a chat. Time went very quickly, and the camp was due for tea at 4.40 pm. A quick word with the cook, and a spare Dixie in hand, the sailor lined up for the meal. The chap serving the meal gave him quite a few strange looks and the boys all teased him: “A bit far from your boat, aren’t you, sailor?”
The meal consisted of Shepherd’s Pie and sweets, which they took and ate in the tent. Bert quite enjoyed it and said so. “What?” queried the four soldiers in the tent, “Bully beef and spuds?” The look on their faces told of their contempt for the repetitive meal. Bert had to admit that he hadn’t had it before then.
After the meal, he said goodbye and headed for the gate. The sentry didn’t know of any vehicle going back to the coast, so Bert started to walk. After about an hour, it was really dark, and still no vehicle came. He began to feel a bit nervous, as there had been some raids by the Japanese in the area. Although it was near the end of the war, and the Japanese were pulling out, intelligence sources believed the raids were simply to obtain supplies.
High scrub and trees lined each side of the now hard-to-see road. Suddenly, Bert saw lights ahead – no noise, just lights – and they were moving. A bit anxious about being alone and not knowing what was going to happen, he stopped, watching and looking. He couldn’t hear any noise, so resumed walking and very soon the lights were all around him – they were fireflies, although it was impossible to see the insects themselves. It was like being in a magical wonderland.
Later, a truck driven by an Army chap came along and picked him up. “Where to, sailor?” he asked, then delivered him to the harbour.

Rough landing
On one occasion at sea, during rough weather, one of the sailors was tasked with taking the Officers’ meals on a tray to their mess. The kitchen was towards the rear of the boat and to get to the mess in the front, he needed to climb a ladder, make his way along a heaving deck, descend another ladder, and move along a corridor past the Officers’ head (toilet). Just as he drew alongside this door, the boat lurched suddenly and unexpectedly and the sailor was thrown against the door, which flew open. To his horror, the facilities were occupied, and he landed on the officer’s lap. “Sorry, Sir”, he exclaimed hurriedly, and rose, still maintaining all the food balanced expertly on the tray.

Supplementing Rations
Catching fish supplemented the rations. One day, near Choiseul Island, the sub-lieutenant went fishing. He took with him some hand grenades as he headed across the reef. When he spied some fish, he dropped a grenade in the water, and was able to bring back many for the next meal. However, fish caught in this way go bad within 24 hours, because their insides are fractured. Many had to be thrown away.
On another occasion, a grenade was used to catch some long Toms, a fish similar to a garfish. However, no-one would dive into the water to get them out when something was noticed snapping at them!
At Choiseul there was an abandoned Japanese garden. One day, the Islanders took some of the men to it in a dug-out canoe. They were able to collect silverbeet and dig up sweet potatoes from it to supplement the rations.
Once, when coming in to Torokina, the message came over the radio from the naval officer in charge: “Suggest you do an exercise and drop a depth charge – and get some fish!” The orders were obeyed and a depth charge was dropped in the middle of a school of fish. A dingy was then lowered, and with one man in the front, scooping, the crew were able to get all they could want. They had enough to feed most of the staff at Torokina, including the crews of boats in port at the time.
Swimming became an unpopular pastime after a 15-foot shark was spotted near the boat shortly after some men had been swimming.
Bert and Bob were able to buy a crate of cordial (4 dozen bottles) from a factory producing it in Totokina. The men received a beer ration of two cans per week, but as many of them didn’t drink, they traded their rations with Americans for supplies from their boats, such as chicken. The supplies came from the Army refrigerated stores ashore. On one occasion, three or four sailors went ashore to get provisions. On their way through the cold rooms, they saw some frozen tripe hanging there. This was mainly for the hospital, as in those days, it was considered good for the patients. One of the sailors thought it would be a great treat for the men, chiselled a bit off and smuggled it back to the boat.
“Did you buy TRIPE?” came the disgusted reception on board.

Choiseul
On another occasion, the ML was patrolling near Choiseul, the island to the south of Bougainville. They were chasing Japanese barges that ferried supplies between the northern and southern ends of Bougainville. Following orders, they headed for a point on the horizon. It appeared to be another, smaller island, which confused them, as there was no such island on the charts. They turned and followed the coast northwards, spying a group of huts near the beach. Suddenly, the fires in the huts went out. Confused, and thinking themselves lost, they broke radio silence and learned that their navigation had been spot-on until they turned to follow the coast. They turned south into Empress Augusta Bay. They had been near the Japanese camp of Buka, and the huts they had seen belonged to the Japanese, who had hurriedly tried to conceal their presence for fear that they were about to be attacked.