 
TRAVELLING ON A ONE-WAY TICKET

The Journal of a World War 2 Soldier [PRIVATE]

By Walter Sisam. MC.

Published by Liberty Publications at Smashwords

Copyright 2014 Walter Sisam

ISBN 978-1-927241-25-7

Smashwords Edition, License Notes  
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### Contents

Prologue

Introduction

Auckland East Coast Mounted Rifles

The Journey Begins - Wednesday 12 January 1944

In Harbour

Forty Days at Sea – 30 January to 21 February 1944

Leave in Cairo 26 February 1944

Maadi 10 March 1944

Egyptian Museum & El Azahr Mosque 11 March 1944

The Pyramids 15 March 1944

Amarich 20 – 22 March 1944

NZ Advanced Base Italy 28 March 1944

Mottola 30 March 1944

Bari 31 March 1944

Taranto 1 April 1944

Still at Advance Base 5 April 1944

Italy April 1944 to 8 May 1945

Holiday at Colle Pachinello - 30 October 1944

In Camp 26 November 1944 – 13 April 1945

An Incident During World War 2 in Italy

Peaceful Advance

Six Days in Rome - August 1945

20 September 1945

Italy January 1946

Capri 16 February 1946

Italy to Japan 24 Feb 1946

Visitors to the "Strathmore"

Japan 20 March 1946 – 26 May 1946

Postscript

Official Citation for Walter Sisam's Military Cross
Prologue

My father, Walter Sisam was a very talented, yet very humble man. He kept a meticulous record of his war experiences and in his latter years typed them up from the original copy of his journal, written painstakingly in green ink, which is still kept by his family. After his death, Walter's children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren felt that his records deserved wider appreciation, being a true and accurate recording of life in the NZ Armed Forces during World War 2.

To allow his 'voice' to be heard, I have done little editing and left in all the colloquiums of the day, even though in modern times they may not always be regarded as politically correct.

It has to be remembered that due to censorship requirements, it was not possible for a soldier at that time to keep or transmit written records of military affairs that could be potentially useful to the enemy. Nevertheless, a very real flavour of military life comes through, along with a glimpse of the man whose skill with prose and description can still enthral us so many years later.
Introduction

The 11th Reinforcement left from Wellington on the "Moultan", a passenger ship converted to a troopship, a vessel of some 22,000 tons. She was a very good ship in a heavy sea, as we were to discover, but didn't have a great turn of speed. Before I left home I was given by my Uncle Len and his family, a Trip Book, which was designed to record the activities of a passenger on a cruise or a visitor to other countries, with page headings of "Itinerary", "Hotels Visited", "People Met", "Places Visited" and suchlike. I used it as a Journal to record day to day happenings and have typed from the Trip Book the following account of events leading up to my finally joining the 20th Armoured Regiment at Cassino in Italy.

I meant to start this book on 29 June 1943, being the date of my journey back to camp on the Taneatua Express, a trip that needs no description, as it is so well known to all interested in the details of this book. However, following my return to Whangarei, it took a back place on the shelf, as the prospect of any trip overseas was then very remote. Now I have resurrected it and hope to have the tenacity of purpose to record in it details of my future movements as once more (5 September 1943) I am told there is a job to be done over the other side now that there is none here for me.

I cannot see myself keeping to the well thought out setting of this book, as the nature of the journey I hope to undertake precludes the detailing of an itinerary, apart from short trips that leave may facilitate, so I shall try to make it a record of events from day to day as I travel from New Zealand and to wherever I am bound.

Walter Sisam

January 1944
Auckland East Coast Mounted Rifles (AECMR)

In the years before World War II New Zealand had a volunteer army, the Territorials. The local unit, formed of men from the Bay of Plenty/Rotorua/Coromandel area, was a Mounted Rifle Regiment of volunteers, the Auckland East Coast Mounted Rifles.

When the likelihood of war with Germany became more and more of a threat to peace, the Territorial Army started a recruiting campaign. My brother Allen and I joined the local squadron about the end of 1938 and became troopers in A Squadron, under the command of Buck Mulhern of Opotiki.

My mother, a widow, asked us not to join the Expeditionary Force until we were legally bound to do so at the age of 21, so we continued with our service in the Territorials after the war broke out.

Our first training camp was at Hopuhopu in May 1940, to which we travelled by train with our own horses for a week's camp. The squadrons and sections all consisted of men from specific geographical areas. A Squadron was from the Eastern Bay of Plenty, B Squadron from Rotorua and C Squadron was from Western Bay of Plenty and Coromandel.

The camp gave us newcomers an idea of how a Regiment was constructed of squadrons troops and sections, how to care for our horses that were tied to picket lines all day if they were not being ridden ridden, what it was like to eat, drink and sleep in the army (eight men to a bell tent, feet to the centre and no room to move), and how battles were fought in 1914/18.

The Regiment was expanding in 1940 and the need was for Troop Commanders and Non-commissioned officers to take charge of the increased number of recruits. An Officers Training Course was to be held at Narrow Neck and our Squadron Commander, Buck Mulhern, nominated me, with others, to attend. The nomination was queried by the Adjutant, whose comment was:

"What! Him! The ugliest little bugger in the regiment!"

However, in spite of this I was selected and spent several weeks learning to be an officer and duly passing the test. My pay book states "1/11/40 Promoted to Second Lieutenant".

In February 1941 the Mounted Rifles were in camp at Waiouru, where the space lent room for military exercises, but the climate was not suitable for horses from the Bay of Plenty. Many horses went down with "strangles", a pulmonary disease which demobilised the horses that caught it and, in some cases, killed them. Whether or not the owners ever were recompensed I do not know. At the end of April we moved back to Hopuhopu (Ngaruawahia) and from there, in January 1942, we shifted to the racecourse at Pukekohe. This move was without horses, the Regiment having been mechanised and its name being changed to Third LAFV (Light Armoured Fighting Vehicles). The move north was the first of three changes of siting, probably dictated by the proximity of the Japanese in the Pacific, although we were never told that this was the reason for the steady movement of troops to North Auckland. In June we moved to Warkworth and in October to Whangarei .

However, it was the camp at Pukekohe that had the most profound effect upon my life. Staff of the Bank, when visiting another town or place, would call on the local branch just to say "Hullo" to the staff there and also on the off-chance that they might know someone working in that branch. One day I was in town and called at the Union Bank to see if there was anyone there I knew. As it happens there wasn't (not surprising considering my narrow field of banking operations) but I did meet the Accountant and saw two or three not bad looking sheilas in the office. A few days later I went to a local dance with a couple of friends and in the course of the dance called a "Paul Jones" where you change partners when the music pauses, the girl I was to dance with next said, "Weren't you in the Union Bank the other day?" That girl was one of the ones I had seen working in the Bank and was Noeline Ogden, later to become my wife. I have always insisted that she manoeuvred herself into a position in the dance queue so as to engineer a meeting with me, lured on by my uniform and shiny buttons.

From the time that the Territorial Army was fully mobilised, commissioned officers were not conscripted for overseas service and the Army kept them in New Zealand under active service conditions. Knowing what we now know about the war in the Pacific, it is not surprising, but at the time we felt that we were not really doing our best for the country. One of my fellow officers and best friend, Gilbert Murray, and I decided we would resign our commissions and join the 2NZEF. So we got hold of the necessary forms, filled them in and handed them to the Adjutant to process. We didn't get past square one! Our Commanding Officer wouldn't sign them and that was that. It was not, therefore, with any great regret that we eventually were reduced to troopers when we finally joined 2NZEF in Italy in 1943/44.

In January 1943, I was nominated by the CO to attend a staff training course, held at Massey College (as the present University was then).This course was in two parts, the first in January/February 1943 and the second part being later in the year.

In 1943 the Territorial force was reduced in numbers and those of us who were eligible for overseas service were sent to join the 10th Reinforcement at Papakura Camp I had the temporary rank of Sergeant. Before the time came to go overseas and after I had had final leave (October 16 to 26) the Army, in its wisdom, pulled me out and said I had to attend the second half of the Staff Course at Palmerston North. So I went back to Whangarei as a Lieutenant, to await the Staff Course. In the meantime, all my friends who were with me up to final leave including my brother Allen, left in the 10th Reinforcement. This was in October 1943. However, the second half of the Course never eventuated for me and I went back to Papakura to await going overseas in the 11th Reinforcement. One thing I remember from this time was that the Army reduced my pay to that of Sergeant when I went into the 10th Reinforcement, but didn't bother to restore it when I was pulled out. I wrote requesting restoration and was eventually paid for the two months concerned.
Wednesday 12 January 1944. The Journey Begins

At long last we are off. The past few days since our return from a fortnight off, including Christmas and New Year, have been a fever of expectation. Although the camp could hardly be called a hive of industry, everyone has been at a state practically amounting to stand to, ready for the detailing of instructions as they came to hand throughout the day. Then came the last three days, with parades for this and that, lists to be made, rolls to be typed, checked and counter-checked, bags to be packed, unpacked, gear rejected or compressed until kitbags would hold all that was to be taken, and all the sundry detail of preparing for a move. The last two days were overshadowed by the threat of more "axings" to follow those of the previous week, as, from all accounts, the ship was too small to take the complete draft. It was rather a relief from the suspense when the names were finally announced on the day we left. As all were very keen to be included in the draft, it was a blow to the unfortunates who drew the marble.

Pete Griffin took it very hard and I can sympathise with him, as I know what it is to be dragged out at the last minute. So that meant, with Jim Race already cut out, that two of our old sergeants had to be replaced. We now have all former A Squadron sergeants running D Squadron.

I must explain here that the officers in the Territorials who were now going overseas were demoted to the rank of Temporary Sergeant and each given command of a troop for the duration of the journey. At the end of the journey we reverted to troopers.

On the last day I was packed and ready by lunch time and so was free to attend to all the odd duties that fall to our lot at a time like this, with the added benefit of being quite free after dinner. Claude Philpott and I went to the pictures and I remarked there how unreal it seemed to be sitting in the picture theatre on the eve of embarkation and a journey to some place still unknown, just like any ordinary night in the week. The most outstanding feature of that last night might be well summed up by saying - the men went to the pictures.

Such was the nature of our departure from camp. No last minute rush, no looking for things overlooked (one advantage of living in a small space), no hurry or scramble, and even very little feeling (speaking for myself) of things being at all unusual - no emotion at all. I felt a bit disappointed after waiting for it for so long.

Now that the date and time of departure were known, the rumours dwindled in number and variety, being confined more or less to speculation as to the type, size and speed of our ship, most of which apparently had some foundation, as they seem now to have been based on the deductions reached from perusal of the various orders that came to hand from the Army. A feeling of exhilaration and a tenseness spread throughout the camp. All minds were on the one thought that at last we were about to have our chance of putting into practice the theory of war that so many of us had been studying for three and more years, while mingled with these were other memories of home and home life, thoughts of loved ones and the worry that would be theirs once they knew we were away, to be ever present in their minds until we returned safely. It is very true that it is harder to watch and wait than to serve - and nothing could be more expressive in times like these than the phrase "They also serve who only stand and wait."

Such was the train of thought that a rather amusing incident occurred in the pictures the last night. The "March of Time" was a brief study of naval might of the USA, depicting various naval craft in action, with a brief shot of torpedoing a freighter. The sight of her falling apart and sinking quickly stem foremost brought a roar from the boys and many wisecracks about our immediate future. Hardly the sort of film appropriate for the occasion.

The whole of the entraining, detraining and embarkation was so typically military that it seemed to us, who had been in camp for three years or so, very much part of a day's work. As expected everything went smoothly and according to schedule we had no trouble of any sort on the way.

The train was scheduled to leave at 2315 hours, which gave us plenty of time after the pictures to say farewell to those who were staying behind, have our supper and collect our troops together. As kitbags had been stacked in the afternoon and taken over by the baggage party, we had only our sea kits to look after and were thus only lightly loaded. Some of the troops celebrated the occasion with bonfires and one became so large the fire brigade came and put it out and then spent half an hour putting out all the others and keeping an eye on the fire situation generally. The biggest danger was that one of the huts would catch fire and spread through the camp.

At 1030 the squadron paraded and were checked by troop through the orderly room, from where we marched to the train and, after some sorting and shuffling were all safely seated. The trip was quite uneventful, apart from some frantic girls wandering up and down the line at Taihape trying to find chaps they knew, with very little success from what we could see. Our only grouse was that the refreshment rooms weren't open anywhere. We finally pulled into the wharf at about 0720 and embarkation began about 0800. Here we were luckier than the infantry who carried both kit bags and sea kits aboard - ours were slung and hoisted aboard and stacked where we could get them, so that later in the day we discovered them and were authorised to collect them and stow them between decks.

After a wakeful night we were all very hungry and lost no time enquiring about the state of breakfast from the advance party of mess sergeants and orderlies, so once we found our mess tables and had unshipped our gear, we hoed into porridge and bacon and egg, which sounds a lot better than it seems, as without milk or sugar we found porridge a bit gooey and the bacon ran out early, while my egg had certainly seen better days. However, hunger was a good sauce and we ate it all in good part, washing it down with what we now call tea, a queer concoction of tea and condensed milk that we rather shied at to begin with but now swallow quite unconcernedly.
In Harbour

Our first impression of shipboard life was bewilderment at the mysterious way one was prevented from feeling that one's path lay straight ahead and the way in which the stairway that led to where we collected our hammocks, lifebelts etc never brought us back to where we started, but rather to another deck or another section of the ship altogether. As we marched aboard, there were guides to take us to the section where we were to live and, as we stepped on deck, I was separated from the troop and led to the sergeants' quarters where I found all the others of our group in a corner near the galley.

Our first task was to secure a hammock from below - how we got there I still don't know, but it was through the galley, which is now out of bounds to troops, so I can't retrace my steps. Coming back we took the wrong turning and found ourselves up on the boat (or weather) deck from where we trekked down the nearest companionway to our quarters. Coming aboard a troopship is far different from boarding a luxury liner and the whole of the troops quarters are as different from ordinary passenger accommodation as chalk is from cheese. Needless to say, the "nobs" get the good places first, so that officers take the first class cabins, while Warrant Officers and Staff Sergeants, plus some furlough sergeants, get second class cabins, where they wallow in luxury to the envy of the rest of the NCO's.

The whole of the first day in harbour was taken up in getting settled. The troops had to be moved around quite a bit in order to settle everyone in, with the consequent evil of being considered no better than a meddling fool by the individual trooper, although now that things have straightened out, I should imagine the voyage will be happier for everyone and there is quite a contrast between our quarters and most of the others now that order is established.

We sleep in hammocks slung between the shelves holding our gear and the tables where we eat. This means nobody can sleep between decks during the day as it would prevent any eating, but so far we have all spent two very comfortable nights and everyone has a place to lay his head. I had thought the sketch in the 10th's "Queue Ship" was a bit stretched, but find now that the resemblance of the troop decks to sardine tins is remarkable.

The biggest disappointment of the day was leaving harbour, as at the time we pulled out I was standing in a long queue with a teapot in one hand and a dixie (cooking pot) in the other, hopefully groping my way to the galley, while through the porthole I could see the wharf slowly slipping past until the hills of Wellington could be seen across the harbour. So, instead of experiencing the thrill of leaving our berth and circling the harbour, I became a martyr to the demands of the stomachs of some fifteen sergeants and missed most of it. However, before sitting down to mess I sat on deck and had a view of Petone and Soames Island as we did a bit of manoeuvring in the harbour and later on was on deck to see the Heads just astern and feel the first chop and roll as we hit rough water at the entrance. So we headed into the sunset on our voyage to the front line and to whatever fate was in store for us, gazing on the land where most of us had spent our lives and wondering when we would see it again - a land of peace and happiness.

That night we slung our hammocks and slept the sleep of the justly tired, not waking till the dawn of our first full day at sea.
Forty Days at Sea — 30 January to 21 Febraary 1944

First Day at Sea

30 January 1944

When we woke and rolled hammocks, the first move of everyone was to the decks for a breath of fresh air and a glimpse of whatever there might be to see. From this latter we gathered that astern on the port quarter was the coast of the South Island slowly falling away as we forged steadily to the west, so it appeared to us that the ship had been up to a few tricks in the night in an endeavour to delude the enemy. All that day we forged steadily west, or in a generally western direction, as the constant changing of course is a bit confusing to a landlubber. There was some discussion in the troop about whether watches were advanced or retarded, so I had to do a bit of thinking to settle the argument.

To-day, of course, is the first one to test our resistance to sea-sickness, that bug-bear of all travellers, and although the sea is calm and the ship very steady, the closeness of the atmosphere between decks and the mingled smells that can be detected at every point on the ship, make conditions below very difficult for the unseasoned sailor. So, in very short time everyone was on deck and seeking fresh air to stave off the nausea that overcame nearly everyone who stayed between decks.

It was at this stage that I was glad I had a troop of twenty six to look after, as although they are fairly seasoned to army life and don't require much mothering, there are a thousand and one details to be attended to - rules to be promulgated, order to be restored from the chaos of gear that was just shoved on shelves, hooks, bars, tables and in every conceivable nook and cranny throughout the mess deck, arguments between troops as to boundaries, kit bags, messing and duties - so that all that day I was so busy that it wasn't possible to feel sick and work too. I still maintain that the best job and the most interesting in the army is that of a troop leader, as it had so many sides to it to make it a full time job in training, administration and plain psychology.

Letting the troops know as much information about the running of the army side of the ship's life as possible is quite a big job and a lot of it is gleaned from old hands at the game, from answers to questions asked. Then more comes from the Officer Commanding Troops through the usual channels to the Troop Sergeants. We are under a continuous fire of questions from the troops and are quickly learning most of the information they require - the one thing we can't always answer is where their gear has got to as there is always something missing, but we hope it will come to light when we leave the ship at the end of the voyage.

On the first parade at ten o'clock, it was very cold and those of us who had been wearing shorts between decks were rather badly off standing in the wind for an hour or so. We do have one very good thing in our favour through being given our action stations on the boat deck, where the sun shines in all fine weather and from where there is a good view of anything that can be seen - so far, wherever we look we see just sea. So after the parade we sat in the shelter of the rafts and discussed some of the problems of the day, answered queries as best we could and imparted all available information till lunchtime.

The afternoon we spent in storing kits and hammocks and making things ship shape between decks, so that now we all know how, when and where our gear is stowed and the best way to fit a troop into the available space.

The meals we get are very good and reflect credit on the ship's staff for the way they are prepared, as there is always plenty and the quantity it must take to feed us must be tremendous. No doubt the keeping up of the supply of vegetables must be a headache to the Quartermaster's side. As everything possible is frozen and we carry far more than the normal number of passengers, storage problems are probably acute. Dinner is the best meal of the day and everyone is ready for it as a rule - we get very hungry and the further we go and the fitter the troops feel the more the demand for hearty meals. The awful schemozzle of meal queues was straightened out at dinnertime and we now know about how late to expect meals so that nobody among the mess orderlies queues up before his turn. The system of messing is good and, for the manner in which the stewards get through serving to the orderlies, they deserve some praise.

Two men from each table (in most cases permanent appointments) are mess orderlies and at certain times of the day select from the collection of pots and pans at the end of their table the ones required for the meal. Taking them to the galley they get the meal served out for the eighteen men at their table. It is then their turn to serve the individual troopers, so that the need for anybody other than the mess orderlies to queue up for meals is done away with.

The dishes are washed in hot salt water, which surprisingly washes off all grease, and the teapot, dixies etc are then left at the end of the table until the next meal. All the troops are usually fed within the hour, which is pretty good for the number of men we have aboard.

Yesterday I was very amused to hear the reference (in full knowledge of the correct names) to the "sharp end" and the "blunt end" of the ship, the first time I had heard anyone use such an expression. It seems to very common with the boys who use the inter-island ferry, being introduced, from the information I have gleaned, by one of the Rail Transport Officers. We at least know that we are travelling in the direction in which the "sharp end" points, so have increased our learning to that extent.

The afternoon was spent in stowing our kit bags in the armoury, after many pleas to have them removed from the mess decks, as they were rather a nuisance cluttering up the floor. What is more important to my mind, they took up valuable air space, as when troops are packed between decks like sardines, they need every cubic foot of air that can be found and even now there is a pretty good fug at night. The main cause of this is that the portholes have to be closed because of the blackout and the fresh air they allow in is much more refreshing than the canned stuff.

Second Day

14 January 1944

Today marks the beginning of the routine of daily life on board and also the start of training, although the hours for this are greatly reduced from those observed in camp, occupying from 1030 to 1130 and 1400 to 1530. Routine is much the same as in camp.

Reveille 0600, roll and stow hammocks

Breakfast at 0645.

On deck by 0900

Boat stations at 1000, usually preceded by half an hour PT under the Squadron Sergeant Major.

Training till 1130.

Lunch 1145.

Parade 1400 to 1530.

Afternoon tea. Tea at 1745.

Tattoo (of sorts) 2145.

Lights out 2200.

A better day than yesterday, but there is still a wind blowing and it is quite cool on boat deck in the morning. We saw our first albatross and were all duly impressed by the size and grace of these birds and the effortless way they skim the waves without moving a wing, just dipping and rising and at times trailing a wing along the water, as they followed the ship all day.

Later in the day some of the chaps saw a whale blowing, by which I gather our course has taken us well to the south, although whales are still to be found in warmer waters as well. The sea today is calm as could be desired and it is as well for the doubtful sailors, as many of them would otherwise be sick properly had she rolled much today. We certainly are having a good trip so far.

To our amazement it was announced we would reach port to-morrow night. This sounded rather beyond the capabilities of the ship, as, by her course and speed we had reckoned on much more time being taken to cross the Tasman. However, we believed our officers and all set to work to write home. There was a regular fever of letter writing all over the ship. Wherever we went there were chaps in every off corner and at all the available tables, busy writing or thinking about what to say and what not to say. We sergeants had a terrific amount of collecting, especially of thrums for airmail postage. As for the poor officers who do the censoring, they have been overwhelmed with the volume of mail that poured in last night and this morning. (I am writing on the third day.)

So ended this our second day at sea, with everyone's spirits much higher than at any other time on the trip and all glad that there was to be a chance to let the folk at home know of our welfare. We all had another good night's sleep in our hammocks.

Third Day

15 January 1944

We are duty squadron today and most of the troop will be on fatigues, so there are to be no squadron parades - this is welcome as it will mean that I can get a few of my odd jobs done, such as writing up this book which is still two days behind. The spate of mail has dropped now that we aren't reaching port till tomorrow but Captain Pyatt has a box full to censor and that is only half, as Lieut Stewart has two troops to do too. Although they glean some interesting information from letters, it must be a tiresome job and one that we troop sergeants are lucky to be spared.

A fine day, although it got up a bit rough in the afternoon when we ran into the edge of a storm and had enough rain to send most of us below till it grew better. Most of the morning was spent detailing fatigues and trying to find the men for them among the hundreds of others on the ship. Also managed to get up to yesterday in this book, so am catching up gradually. Some of the chaps had their injections this morning, including Claude, so it looks as if he won't be going on guard tonight. Terry Minhinnick has got an AEWS job of some sort and no longer has No 4 Troop. His place has been taken by Colin McIntosh who, being new, is spared the task of going on with his troop tonight to guard the boat deck from being trespassed upon - why he should be spared is beyond me. I think the Sergeant Major is just being soft on Colin. _We_ don't ask or get favours.

Everyone is getting settled now and only the worst are still sick - these seldom go below and can be seen at mealtimes looking askance at their plates kindly brought up to the deck by their mates. It is very smooth today so they shouldn't be very bad. I find that if one is very empty, the feeling of nausea can be quite distinct, so recommend good meals for the queasy and keeping something solid at hand to settle it now and then.

I am on guard all right and have to take over from Bill Archdall at four o'clock, so have to find out a bit about the job first. Took over at 1600. We sleep on deck and man the posts to prevent the troops going forward of the funnel and aft of the last gun posts. There seems to be a question of cocoa which is available at the change of shifts, but isn't to be had from the galley without a chit. In fact nothing can be had from anywhere here without a chit and the machinery of the chain of command is so slow that it takes a day for anything to be done after reporting the need for it. Even if the pipes burst and water is flooding the mess decks it takes some hours to get anything done. However, after chasing all over the ship, I discovered that cocoa would be available, at the ship's orderly room of all places, at 2215, 0015 and so on through the night. Verified this at 2015 myself and sent the troops down, telling them to pass on the information.

It is a beautiful night. There is no light but that of the stars, and as the sea breaks from the bow wave, the phosphorescent gleams seem like floating lights on either side of the ship, while the wake is one glowing torch stretching out behind us as far as we could see. One of the troops is amazed at the sight and asked me what it was. Later on the moon came out and lit the decks so that we could more easily find our way round, as well as showing up the sea which was running higher than usual, with the ship pitching a fair bit, at times developing into a corkscrew roll. The temperature on deck is much cooler than that in the mess decks and the three blankets that I allow myself are much more than I need below, but above they are entirely inadequate and I have been warmer sleeping under the stars. However, for all that, I get quite a good sleep and apart from changing once to a more sheltered spot, had a good night.

Fourth Day

16 January 1944

"Washie deckie! Washie deckie!"

The Lascar crew, armed with hoses and squeegees, were preceded by one waking up the troops sleeping on deck and I had to rise and roll my bed or get it wet by the zealous sailors. They are a queer looking crowd with their dark skins, beards, queer clothes, little hard hats wrapped on with red cloth and the jabber, jabber, jabber that accompanies their work.

It is Sunday and the troops have both slept in and put their watches back, so that they are an hour late (watches stayed the same last night) so I managed a shave and wash at a basin instead of the usual quarter mug of water. This latter is an art. I usually get a mug full from my bottle, drink three quarters, then clean my teeth in the rest, shave and dipping a corner of the towel in the water, wipe all over my face and neck, rub dry and consider that the day's ablutions.

There are several church services, but miss them all for various reasons. Instead I change my guard posts, have a conference with the rest of the sergeants under the 2IC concerning the kit layout, which is to be changed slightly again, making another bad impression on the troops. Then I spent about two hours looking for the troop to mark the roll but couldn't find them all until twelve. Managed to write to Noeline and my sister Joan by surface mail, so they should get a letter by both air and surface mail in due course.

Pork for dinner - apparently the army rationing applies on the ship too. It seems we are destined for pork every Sunday we are on NZ rationing.

There is a heavy swell today and the ship is pitching more than any day previous to this, but it doesn't' affect us at all now. The boat deck is just a packed mass of prostrate soldiers, resting, sleeping, reading, writing, playing cards and yarning.

1335 hours. Our first glimpse of land since we left NZ, a low stretch on the starboard bow which turns out to be a couple of small islands, but we should strike more later on.

An hour ago I remembered the envelope Noeline gave me to open on the boat and was very pleased to find in it four separate letters put there for me to read on the voyage. So I opened the first one only and shall ration the others to last the voyage. It is really a corker idea and I am quite thrilled to think that I shall have mail at least once a week till the end of the trip. At last I have caught up on the time and from now on must resolve to keep it so, as then there will be opportunity to put in a bit more than the bare record of events from day to day.

The two islands grew larger until we could tell they were actually one and part of the mainland of what we conclude must be Tasmania. Slowly the ship approached a headland of high cliffs and strange rock formations, still changing course every so often, until we despaired of ever seeing Hobart that night, but while we were having tea she entered the mouth of the estuary (probably Derwent) and was sailing again on smooth water after four days of ocean and swell. All hands were on deck to see her enter port. Interest veered from side to side as various objects came to view, such as small villages, odd houses and one small town on the southern shore. Just outside the lighthouse we took on the pilot and proceeded on our way past the fort and barracks and past hills, grassed and dotted with, presumably, eucalyptus trees, with an occasional garden of vegetables, but no areas of real grassland such as we are used to seeing in New Zealand. However, one cannot judge from what can be seen from the harbour and no doubt the better land is further inland.

Darkness fell as we came into the harbour proper and so our first glimpse of Hobart was the row upon row of lights rising up the hills beside the harbour and going for miles around the shore - those who know Wellington fairly well declare that there is a distinct resemblance between the two towns and that they are similar in size, while the harbour itself is rather like Auckland's Waitemata, with a North Shore, ferry service and sheltered entrance.

Arriving at the wharf, all the troops crowded to the rail on the port side, with the resulting list to port making it difficult to berth the ship, while the row was so great that the Captain of the ship couldn't make his orders heard and an order over the PA system produced very little effect on the troops. Needless to say, the wharf was deserted but for the few sailors from our escort and an odd wharf hand to assist in berthing and mooring the ship. As soon as we were within range chaps started throwing pennies to the wharf, where they were quickly picked up by the men there to the accompaniment of loud cheers and, in some cases, boos, from the ship. It is a queer sort of person who throws his money to the wharf and then abuses the chap who picks it up, but I have heard quite a few doing it. Packets of cigarettes, chocolate, letters, rubbish of all sorts and much loud talk and yelling went over the side to the chaps below, but apart from this and the lights of the town there was nothing to see by night, and it wasn't long before I was in bed and sound asleep, determining to have a good look in the morning.

Fifth Day In Port - Hobart

17 January 1944

After a quiet night routine went on as usual, except that there was hot fresh water to wash up with and by adding a little Rinso we got our plates nice and clean with little effort for once. Port will be welcomed for that sort of thing and I have my eye on a dixie of hot water to wash a few clothes - they would dry up here on a fine day. Cleanliness, apart from bodily, is next to impossible and if we should get any leave, I can see myself trotting down the gangway with my washing in my hot little hand, looking for a double quick laundry to get them clean and dried in time to catch the boat again.

The town seems fairly decent by daylight, although our view from the docks is hardly likely to be the best there is, but there can be seen one or two public buildings - what is probably the war memorial cenotaph above the railway station, the usual petrol tanks, stores, warehouses and one park (or so it appears) above Princess Pier.

To the north is Derwent River with the floating bridge that can be raised or lowered to permit the passage of craft from harbour to river, connecting the far side of the river to the harbour and town, while each half hour the ferry scuttles across our stern with passengers for the farther shore, who wave a greeting to the troops as they go past. We are not allowed off the ship. The wharf gates are still locked as the ship has been taking on nothing but water all night - that is why we have to stop here, as the fresh water question is a bit dicky and is carefully rationed on board ship when we are at sea. There have been a few Aussie (or Tassie) provost and a couple of wharfies with one official, a WRNS all by herself drawing quite a share of the troops attention as well as plenty of cigarettes, while about 1000 hrs the band came along and played music on the promenade above the wharf shed itself, where they are still playing at the time of writing (1135 hrs).

It is a fine day but we are getting occasional showers and at times I have to stop as this would get too smudged, as the green ink runs if it gets wet. The rails are still crowded so there is plenty of room to sit and write and I am very warm in the sun in shirt and bare feet, but shall have to dress to go below for dinner.

Just as we finished dinner we started to move away from the wharf, and by the time we got out after washing dishes it was in time to see her backing round to port prior to turning and heading out of the harbour. So, after a good look at the town again to see how it looked by daylight from further out, I came below to do my washing before the fresh water was turned off. I just struck the last two basinsful, so now have my washing hanging below, where it is drying nicely. Quite a weight off my mind to get that done and, as I washed my hair this morning, am feeling nice and clean again. So long as that can be done at every port, I shan't worry unduly about clothes, although it is more work to get things clean with cold water than I realised.

The open sea greeted us boisterously as we passed the headlands and has been working up a greeting for us all the way - the westerly has had a fair lash while we have been in harbour and there is a fair sea running. During the first part of the day we were below at lectures and since then I have spent some time on deck watching the fun. The starboard promenade deck is quite untenable and is picking up water forward from what we can tell on boat deck. One of the AA gunners invited me into the shelter of the gun position and from there we could see well forward and also observe the antics of our escort vessel. She is really worth watching as she rides the big ones - right up one side with her forefoot pointing to the heavens and then a swoosh down to the troughs, taking a bite at the next and tossing the spray right over her funnels as she rises to the lift of it. Her crew standing watch must be pretty well drenched, as every single wave wets her decks from stem to stern - we get a great thrill out of it. Our own ship is certainly a good sea boat, as she is moving only very slightly compared with the escort, but to watch her bows rising and falling from our position just abaft the beam, she is certainly dipping some too. She is probably being watched with equal interest from the crew of the escort, although no doubt they are used to this sort of thing and don't worry much.

But are we thankful that this is our fifth day and not our first! Otherwise the rail would be draped with seasick troops, while, as it is, we laugh and make a few jokes about ships turning turtle, tell each other about the sight from on deck and keep on with whatever we may be doing tonight.

I'm afraid some of my troop are going to be decidedly unwell tonight - just the worst ones (Keys, Inwood and one or two others aren't too good so I had better take a look at them before long to see how they are doing). It is very funny watching people walk along, leaning far over to starboard and reeling from side to side of the corridors on B deck. Capt Pyatt's cabin is well forward, so he will be doing a see-saw tonight, but he seems to be a good traveller and isn't worrying much.

It will be plain enough, I think, that Capt Pyatt is our OC Squadron and we are lucky to have him, as I think he is the pick of the squadron leaders in our group. H looks fairly young, but being very fair, he may be older than he looks, has a pleasant face and an engaging smile, is perfectly frank and straightforward and treats the men as one would like to be treated, which goes quite a long way in the army. At the same time he is very firm and I shouldn't like to be on the mat if I were a trooper. From conversation we gather that he has been instructing at NZ Tactical School, which is run on similar lines to Staff College, and from a sample of the instructors there and their obvious qualifications, he must be a fairly clever chap and, from his lectures so far, appears to know his stuff thoroughly. His ideas on training seem to be sound and he hopes to introduce the methods used at Tac School and Staff College, whereby the subject is dealt with by the individual opinions of the pupils and does not consist of a series of lectures that bore men and send them to sleep - this I know well as I went to sleep in a lecture about AEWS this afternoon.

This storm is supposed to last a fair while and, according to rumour, will be worse at midnight, by which time we should all be sound asleep and not notice it at all. Must write a letter to Noeline's cousin, young John Miller tonight, while I have the chance, so this is likely to be all for the day.

Sixth Day

18 January 1944

She is still rocking this morning but not as fiercely, or else we are getting used to it and so are no longer amazed at the antics of the old girl. According to Jim Graham, who had it from "Chips", the wind attained a velocity of 90 mph during the night, so we can't expect the sea to go down in a hurry. Up on deck it is blowing a fair sort of gale, but the sun is shining and in all the sheltered corners and behind the hatches, gun pits etc there are little groups of men with greatcoats and blankets, while only the more hardy are out in the weather watching the sights.

I took a walk around the promenade deck after dinner and saw three chaps with skipping ropes on the weather side (now port) where they were getting warm. Immediately thought of my own rope and remembered it was tied round my blankets down in the hold and a quick look at the door showed it to be locked, so shall have to wait or find a substitute. It is a wonder that I hadn't thought of it before, but there it is - probably too full of other things to do at the time to realise how handy it would be for this weather.

They say the bight is rough all the way across and one hears veiled references to the "Trades" and the "Roaring Forties". We gather that our course lies on the edge of the latter, which would account for the sea being so high. Also we are doing only about 6/8 knots and if we don't improve, it will be over a week to Fremantle.

The sea has gone down a bit tonight but our escort is not making good time, and we are to drop speed a knot at dark. The wind has dropped too and I had a skip for five minutes on the boat deck, with a bit of fun trying to jump when the deck was falling under my feet. I am much the warmer for it, although I suspect my legs will show it a bit later on and be quite stiff in the morning. More of my troop are sick tonight and have hit the hay early, but if it is reasonably fine in the morning we should be able to keep up on deck and they may recover a bit. Were it possible to hang hammocks by day many of them would improve, but that is out of the question as thoroughfares would be blocked and the air wouldn't circulate properly.

It has been too rough to do any work today. Conditions below decks are too noisy and crowded for more than a short lecture and the deck was too windy to have anything there, so let's hope tomorrow will improve things a bit.

Seventh Day

19 January 1944

A week at sea already and it seems to have flown. The novelty of shipboard life, the constant change in the weather creating an interest outside the ship herself, the two days that calling at Hobart broke into, the odd duties in connection with the troop that seemingly are small in themselves but occupy so much time, the periods of training already covered although badly smacked to leg by port of call, weather and interior economy (housekeeping) etc, even the writing of this account and the few letters I have so far managed, all have had their share in hastening the time along, but as the days stretch into weeks we shall probably become more inclined to draw upon our reserves of entertainment to keep our minds occupied.

According to Capt Pyatt, the chaps in their letters refer to the monotony of the life, so it has been his endeavour to relieve this that has resulted in the short pieces of training during the day and, while the men rather feel that they are being victimised through observing the entire lack of activity on the part of the remainder of the Reinforcement, in the long run they will be glad to realise that the entire voyage was not one of utter stagnation, and the habit formed now of working part of the day will be much more easily maintained when we come to the difficulty of battling against the lethargy that will result from our entering tropical waters.

The first reaction this morning to the feel of the deck underfoot was one of relief that the ship was on an even keel, and to the sound of the engines was the sense of comfort that comes from the knowledge that full speed ahead was bringing us more quickly to the next port of call. All day the sea has remained calm and the gentle dip of the bows is relatively nothing to the previous day, while there is a resumption of her curious undulating to the turning of the screw - a sort of a hop forward at each revolution that is hardly perceptible unless felt and listened for carefully.

All ranks have learnt the peril of leaving loose gear scattered about, as many plates, mugs and packets of this and that came crashing down throughout the storm. Our ship's "magazine" tells us it is the heaviest she has struck in twelve months, the wind attaining a velocity of 70 mph, so if I have recorded otherwise it is a good example of the effect of rumours said to have a genuine source.

There is a lot of pinpricking at the moment through the constant changing of the kit layout, but I think perhaps it has settled at last and we will have only such minor alterations of changes of dress to lighter clothes necessitate.

Previous experience of training is now proving most helpful, as, with no other instructors and rather a talkative troop, it is a full time job maintaining interest and at the same time keeping order and refraining from being side tracked along the multitudinous by-paths that lead off from the subject under discussion. However they are gradually learning that it pays to try and the morse lesson this morning was very gratifying considering the almost impossible job of teaching it without any apparatus whatever, plus a paper shortage. Group discussion is likely to become the order of the day, but keeping control is likely to tax my patience somewhat. As it is, all my sense of humour (I trust I am not talking of something that does not exist) is required when taking the troop, as discipline in lectures etc is certainly not one of their strong points, although they give me no trouble at all in other matters.

According to all reports, there is another storm brewing, the bottom having fallen out of the glass this afternoon, but now that we have weathered one such as the one we have just left behind us, there is little fear that another will upset either our stomachs or our sea legs. A bit of rolling and pitching has certainly helped this last, as I now find myself running up and down the stairs without using the handrails at all and can walk along the deck without reeling all over the place - calm seas only, of course.

The first copy of a cyclostyled magazine, which will eventually be edited as a complete copy to serve as a memento of the voyage, was issued this afternoon, but as I haven't read more than the first page cannot comment on it yet. Subject matter for this is likely to be scarce as the days go by, so shall keep any further reflections for another day.

Eighth Day

20 January 1944

A calm and uneventful one, and, I imagine, typical of many days to come. Firstly the weather - little wind and so no sea but a gentle swell to which the ship merely dips and rises almost imperceptibly, but the day is misty with very restricted visibility and a slight drizzle at times. We are told that this is good submarine weather, as they can approach so close without being seen that a certain hit can be easily registered, but I think we all have faith in the ship and the escort. The thought of a swim is far from my mind or from those of the others for the greater part of the day.

Am Group Orderly Sergeant today, and the sole duty appears to be the morning sick parade, which takes anything up to two hours. There is a tiny little RAP tucked away at the rear end of the ship; round a corner, down a gangway, round another corner into a dark passage, turn to the right at the first corridor and fall over a board placed to stop water and seas. Pick yourself up and feel for the door, open it to see and smell the familiar MIR, alive with doctors and orderlies, hand in the book with the list of names of sick men, then stand aside and patiently await our turn. The doctors are very busy and dispose of cases like shelling peas, but most complaints are minor ailments only and are soon fixed up. Sore throats are the most common complaint of all.

The biggest cause of these minor ills seems to be non-observance of the simple rules of health and neglect of daily habits through changes in food and living conditions - a lot of this due to their ignorance of how to control their own bodies and I must try to get lectures by some of the MO's on the ship for the Squadron - must see Capt Pyatt about that.

Ninth Day

21 January 1944

Another routine day, with calm weather, wind rising to very strong about eleven o'clock this morning and interrupting a very interesting lecture by Capt Brown (who incidentally sports the ribbons of MC, DCM and Africa Star) on the Italian language, of which he has a good knowledge, as well as several other languages although these were not detailed to us. There was considerable interest shown in the squadron, the most we have been given for lectures so far, as probably all the chaps want to learn a smattering of Italian, seeing it looks as though we shall surely reinforce the Div there. Up to date the question of pronunciation has been the chief obstacle, as nobody other than Capt Brown knows it at all. So perhaps now the little books will be of some use to us.

Preparations for Perth and Fremantle are in the wind and arrangements are being made so that we can appear clean and properly dressed, but it is a bit disappointing to find that we must wear battledress on account of so many furlough chaps not having decent shorts. "Bombay Bloomers" seem to be their issue and these are hardly dressy enough for leave, being a below-knee length made to button up above the knee in hot weather or daytime.

Mail is pouring in again and my troop is as prolific as usual, several "sixers" and "eights" among them, though luckily only short ones as a rule, and some may be doing the same as I try to, sending one air and one surface mail to spread delivery. As it is likely that this will be our last chance for a while, must get another note or two done tonight as the morning will be busy.

I have had several requests for my book "Lest We Regret" by Douglas Reed - but haven't read it through myself yet and shan't have done so much before next week, but may get some done on Sunday.

Tenth Day

22 January 1944 Saturday

Today is washing day and anyone seeing the ship from another boat or from the air could have little doubt as to that, for the whole of the boat deck aft is a fluttering mass of clothes on lines that criss cross between every available support. Every conceivable article of attire can be seen hanging from lines of string, rope, twine, wire, bootlaces and the straps of lifebelts. It all started with collecting kitbags, from the hold where they were stored, at about nine this morning and the extraction from them of our summer kit (if not already out) and any changes wanted, so that from then on, everywhere one went were groups clustered round the wash-up basins (about the size of a baby's bath) and at every handbasin in the ship. The result is most satisfactory as now nearly everyone has clean clothes again and it is doubtful that we should have another chance. The galley staff were very good and supplied endless hot water, so, with the plentiful supply of soap issued, everyone had no trouble in getting even the dirtiest things clean. It has been a fine hot day with a good drying wind, so the choice of days for washing has been very sound, and if it keeps up for tomorrow, everyone should have all dirty clothes clean and dried.

Just before tea we sighted land again, the first since Hobart dropped astern, but it didn't excite the same interest this time, as we knew it would be over a day's sailing before port was reached. I was waiting for tea down below when I heard, but realised it would still be there afterwards and so have come up now (1930 hrs) to get my first view of mainland Australia. We gather that this must be the eastern corner of the south western tip of Australia and that we still have to sail right round this point to get to Fremantle, so all day tomorrow we should have land in sight to starboard and at the end of the day berth at Fremantle.

Most of the day we have had aircraft overhead, just a single bomber, but it gives a comforting feeling that, even if a sub is about, it would be seen before it could do any damage. Even as I write, it has set off for home, as the sun is nearly down and darkness is but an hour away. I should imagine that this is the most dangerous part of this leg of the journey, as it is obvious that every ship from Sydney, Melbourne and Hobart bound for Perth must go round this corner and therefore it is the ideal place for the enemy to wait for them. Also, as the land is in sight and the feeling that port is so close so general, the tendency to disregard the dangers of the trip increases and it is then that slackness or carelessness could mean the loss of the ship, with the consequent loss of life before a boat could be launched. One torpedo amidships would create havoc among the close-packed troops on the three decks so close to or below the waterline, while the confusion that a night attack would give rise to would prevent many from ever reaching the upper decks at all. So let us hope all goes well, as with sublime faith in the ship and her escort we sleep through the night quite undisturbed.

Owing to packing my bag so tightly, my clothes are in a bit of a mess and all will require ironing before being properly presentable, but as dress for leave is to be battledress, there won't be much of my shirt showing and the crushed shorts will be left on board. I think it might be as well to take togs and towel ashore, as a swim would go very well if it is a hot day and that would be one way of keeping cool. After the comfort of drill over Christmas and New Year, battledress is going to be very trying and the weather shows every promise of being very hot on Monday.

Eleventh Day

23 January 1944 Sunday

Attended Communion Service this morning at 0630 after a frantic rush to dress, shave and roll hammock, so was at the first service and the smallest attendance. With only two dozen there, was back in good time for breakfast. Kitbags went below again at 0920 so must once more live on the contents of sea kit alone, without recourse to the extra things in the other bag. So far I have managed quite easily.

At this stage I first noticed the heat of the day, in battledress with flannel shirt, and when I had finished messing about with hammocks and blankets in the troop, changed to shorts. After dinner I went on deck for a read and sat on the capstan just outside our hatch in just shorts for about an hour until the sun started to burn. Even with quite a respectable tan (for me) still got burnt by the sun at sea, so shall have to be careful for a day or two until I get properly brown. It got just a bit hot up there and reluctantly I came below. The capstan is a corker place to sit because it gets all the breeze on hot days like this, while the others on the decks are in a sweltering heat with no breeze at all. The sea has been a dead flat calm all day, without even a swell to rock the ship. I have never seen a sea like it outside of a harbour, although it is probably only a foretaste of days to come in the tropics.

Land has been sighted at odd times throughout the day, and I could swear that I could see it in the distance at about eleven o'clock. When I came below after dinner, land was definitely in sight on the starboard quarter, the main objects of interest being a very tall mast of some sort and a white tower (probably a lighthouse) on the headland. While we played 500 we entered the estuary that leads into the Swan and Fremantle harbour. From the portholes we watched the pilot come aboard in his neat white uniform, nimbly climbing the ladder hanging alongside. It was then that the bells rang for our boat stations. In order that the berthing of the ship could be carried out it was necessary that everyone be quiet, so we paraded on our boat stations once we took on the pilot, where some measure of control could be exercised. We could see the western side only from where we were, but had a good view of the long sweep of beach and the breakwater. A very good example of camouflage is the line of what appear to be grain silos and storage sheds, painted to resemble the line of the shore. From a couple of miles away they are absolutely indistinguishable from the beach and cliffs, although the silhouette of the tall silo cannot be disguised at all.

The amount of shipping here is amazing, but then, being both a Dutch and American base, a certain amount of shipping connected with the war must be expected. Saw my first submarine, five of them in fact, with mother ships alive with USA servicemen and cannot help thinking how much bigger they are than I had anticipated and what a lovely smack they must be able to dish out. It also reminded us of the fact that there were such things, and that the ship has so far been in peaceful waters compared to what we still have to negotiate. We at last realise how much it means to us not to have our departure noted by agents of the enemy who must be present at a port of this sort.

After tea I shinned up one of the cranes on deck and had a look at the town which appears to be almost the same size as Hobart, except that it is hard to tell owing to the main part being south-east of the wharf and level, and only the frontage can be seen. The station is right beside the wharf and it looks as if our leave trains are on a siding, all ready for us in the morning. I recognised a few familiar names - Dalgety, Gouldsborough Mort, Bushels Tea - and from here there can be seen a nice church or cathedral, probably the War Memorial up on a hill in a prominent position overlooking the town and harbour, another edifice that may be anything, a very rocky hill that may be some indication of the nature of the country round the town, but nearly all the immediate foreground is taken up with the wharf buildings and railway station, naturally enough, I suppose, being the port for Perth.

Everyone is talking leave and the place is a mass of preparation, clothes being sorted, battledress got out and in some cases already pressed at an exorbitant price by the ship's staff (4/- just to press) and badges polished ready for the morrow. I think perhaps I shall do the same. They tell me the temperature was 103 degrees in the shade today, so we shall be very happy in battledress tomorrow! Am taking my togs and towel and shall try to find the swimming pool as soon as the heat becomes unbearable, or as soon as the town wearies me a bit, whichever is the sooner. Very warm tonight, but with no blackout it won't be quite so bad down here.

Twelfth Day

24 January 1944 In Port - Fremantle

Everyone was up early and breakfast was early, followed by an active sort of hour changing for leave, with parade at 0900. Already it is too hot for battledress and the sky is clear and blue with a slight heat haze already on the horizon, so we do our best to keep out of the sun till the last minute. The train left about 0930 for Perth and we were off on a day's leave, lasting till 2359.

The trains are similar to what I imagine English trains to be, with separate compartments seating ten and doors on either side, while, to check tickets, passengers have to pass a barrier at each station, where tickets are clipped, in and out. The carriages we travelled in were fairly old, but seemed typical of the suburban trains here and, as one woman remarked, they are used to them and know nothing else so don't feel dissatisfied. They have their advantages as it is certainly easier to board and get out of them, but it is necessary to sit facing the wrong way for half the time on average, while there is the advantage of being undisturbed by people or half-drunks trekking through or guards clipping tickets.

From the train the impression gained is that from Fremantle to Perth is just one series of suburbs, except that we gather from the Aussies that it is not politic to call Fremantle a suburb of Perth, as it offends both towns, so every mile or so there is a suburban station and homes continuous all the way. There are not the gardens or shrubs that one sees in NZ because hereabouts the soil is mostly sandy and very, very dry, growing mostly twitchy grasses and eucalypts, while wherever there is a bit of grass or garden, hoses and sprinklers go all the time.

The transport here is very much inferior to that of Auckland, being many years behind ours -I don't think I do the place an injustice by that statement. Perth station has nothing to compare with Auckland. It is a deuce of a business finding out when trains leave, with no big notice board indicating platforms and times, with the destinations of all trains, but at the barrier there are a number of clock faces indicating the time of departure of trains - not much good for anybody with poor eyesight, as they are very small and inconspicuous. The other facilities and services available at Auckland - shaving, baths, barbers, stalls, refreshments etc - are just not thought of. These things are invaluable to the "homeless" traveller or the "through" passenger with a wait of an hour or so, especially on the overnight expresses that arrive in the morning.

Trams are very elementary, most of the streets having just a single line, while the stops in the main street are few and far between, so that apart from the traveller to the suburbs, they aren't much use to save shoe leather or tired feet. With the narrow streets and one-way traffic, it is therefore often necessary to move from one street to the next parallel one to catch a tram going in the right direction. Of the three main shopping streets, Murray, Hay and St George's Terrace, only the latter has two-way traffic and even then is narrow compared with the average NZ street. There are trolley cars running round the river and these are much better. The trams are of two sizes, one about the same as Auckland and the other a half size, and both are frightfully noisy, conversation being almost impossible while they are moving. However, trains, trams and trolley cars carried us free of charge and we are all duly grateful to the municipal and state authorities for the gesture. We all made the most of the opportunity to see as much of the city as was possible in the time available.

Perth itself is a much bigger city than Auckland, but I haven't the population figures to compare them and so find by just how much. This shows by the size of most buildings in town - nearly all five and six storeys, with several stores having entrances on both sides of the block and six storeys high (Beans Ltd, Foys, Aherns, Economic Stores). What was perhaps most noticeable was the cleanliness of the appearance of these buildings and the freshness of their exteriors compared with the dinginess of Queen Street. Perhaps it is the drier climate and lack of fogs such as Auckland gets at times with her humid and rainy weather. Again, a very outstanding feature was the complete absence of shop windows, as, owing to ARP earlier in the war ruling that all must be boarded or bricked over, so that to discover places to buy anything one had to peer at all the signs outside, as there could be no display of wares to attract customers. This was one of the biggest troubles with us as we were not really looking for much apart from a present to send home, and these were hard to find.

There is no big main street such as Queen Street, but Murray, Hay, Barrack, William Streets and St Georges Terrace seem to be the main business area, with Murray, Hay & St George parallel and connected by Barrack and William Streets, as well as several arcades. Shopping prices of quality goods are much the same as in NZ, as, with fairly severe rationing here, there is nothing much that can be bought without coupons. To our minds, the most outstanding feature was the fruit - the price was marvellous compared with the exorbitant prices we pay in NZ. Ruling prices in this line were grapes 6d a pound, Peaches 7d to 9d, Nectarines & Apricots 8d, Oranges 3d each, Tomatoes 4d a lb, Plums 3d to 5d. Needless to say, we had a glorious feed of fruit all day, starting with grapes and almost reached the stage of "fruit schicker", taking bags and bags of fruit back to the ship with us.

Clothing is rationed and, although in seemingly plentiful supply, is probably so because of the coupons not being available to purchase. Have no knowledge of how the prices compare.

Anything in the way of gifts was very hard to find. Hugh Redpath sent a set of doyleys to his fiancée, but had quite a job to find them - linen is very scarce. About the only other article of any quality that I could find was a Doulton cup & saucer in the coach and four pattern, said to be re-conditioned, but to all appearances as good as new, with a larger type than the normal afternoon tea cup and suitable for a man's cuppa instead of handing him a silly little affair. It was priced 15/6d. Talking to one of the girls in the crockery department of Boans, I learnt that china is very scarce, apart from a thick, white earthenware of local make suitable for everyday use. A Shelley cup, saucer and plate, when available were priced at 12/6d - someone is making a profit in NZ on these articles. She also said that an English sailor told her that in England it is even harder to get good china than it is here, so it appears that it is all made for export.

The so-called "Art Shops" had very little other than local work in Australian Woods and turned goods of all sorts, rather like the shoddy stuff on sale in NZ now, with nothing worth buying at all. It was just not possible to get anything suitable to send home, so merely sent a couple of cards of photos to ensure that we hadn't forgotten those at home. I hope it will be possible to get some decent things eventually. There was a rather nice table cover in a dark green, with a very nice edging in braid, suitable for a card table cover, but it was from two pieces of material and sewn down the middle, which spoilt its appearance altogether.

Perth itself is on the Swan River at a point where it widens out to almost a lake, or rather, two lakes joined by the "Narrows", and the city is built round the shores and to the west almost to the coast. The river is capable of being used by flying boats and a Catalina spent all day practising landings on it, probably training new pilots.

Here is an account of the day's activities:

We arrived at Perth about ten and went to the YMCA hostel where I enquired the whereabouts of the Union Bank and was given a small map of Perth with information on it re dancing, eating, sleeping etc. This came in very handy, as otherwise we should have wasted a fair bit of time finding our way about. At the UBA I met several of the staff and the Accountant, but not the Manager or Sub-manager, and changed a $20 note to fives and singles and one pound NZ to Australian. Our money is accepted without question by all banks and shops, quite a relief to us after the differing reports we'd had and my own information from experience in the bank after the introduction of Export and Import control in 1938. From there met up again with Hugh Redpath and Claude Philpott who had gone down to Dalgety's, following which we had a look over the town, tried to get a glass of beer at a pub but could get only stout so didn't stay long. Then along to the YAL Phyllis Dean Hostel where we had lunch, provided free of charge to Kiwis - a thing one doesn't often strike and which was very much appreciated by us all.

From there we went through the shops and shortly after starting, Claude left us. Observations on the state of affairs in the shops I have already made, and apologise to Mum and Noeline for sending just the folder of photos, but, apart from an odd (in design) set of doyleys unworked, could find nothing suitable to send home at all, and became very leg-weary in our search. A trip by trolley bus to the baths on the edge of the river, a swim in the rather grubby salt water there which was quite refreshing, back to the shops and then to dinner at the Imperial Hotel opposite the station where the vegetables served were so minute in quantity as to be almost entirely absent from the meal, so had two helpings of sweet to make up for it. At some stage of the afternoon, we saw the museum, but only a quick view of the first floor, intending to go up again the next day - this between the swim and the shopping.

A good hot shower at the YAL freshened us up again at eight o'clock and went to the dance there till about ten - a good floor with reasonable room to move and mainly Kiwis with a sprinkling of Aussies. The girls seemed a pleasant enough crowd, mostly volunteer helpers of the Hostel and therefore, as with most of such girls, quite a better type than is often found in public dance halls. Perhaps it is the clothing rationing or a measure to counter the head, but the girls here don't seem to be as well dressed as our own, most of them looking just a trifle sloppy - this will probably raise a snort from any member of the family who reads this, as opinions on dresses from members of the opposite sex are usually greeted with derision.

After looking in at another dance and deciding it was too late to bother going in, neither of us being in the mood to go out in search of much amusement, we had a supper of scrambled eggs and tomatoes on toast and caught the 2300 train home to the ship - I woke up when we pulled in to Fremantle and was in bed asleep inside half an hour.

Thirteenth Day

25 January 1944 In Port - Fremantle

By a system of observation and deduction we arrive at the conclusion that there is to be leave again today - there was only enough bread issued at 0615 for breakfast, when usually the mess orderlies collect sufficient to last us all day, and so those who were awake at that unearthly hour could draw their own conclusions. And so it turned out to be, but as the ship had to be moved down the wharf, we didn't get away so early this time.

Hugh and I decided to stay in Fremantle and go to Cottlesloe Beach, where perhaps a swim and a beer would go well. So, after a cup of tea at the Patriotic Institute at the bus stop and a struggle to board the third bus that came along on account of their refusal to overload and the need to let civies on first, we finally got on a bus. A woman on the bus told us she was going to Cottlesloe and showed us where to get off, as well as directing us to the beach from where she turned off to go home, so we were in luck so far. However, when we got there we could find no place to eat and there was no beer at the pub, so we decided against swimming, returned to the station and went on to Perth. Very sad that as it was stewingly hot and we were wet through by this time, as we still had to wear battledress.

A word about the weather - each day was clear, fine and roasting hot, but for Perth quite cool, so probably 88 to 90 degrees F, though to us, in heavy battledress it was intolerable. At every opportunity we had when not actually close to town or in a very public place, we shed our jackets and carried them to try and keep cool. Shorts would have been corker.

In Perth we had lunch and then bought some fruit, had a delicious fruit salad with ice cream on top (Noeline would have loved it) and then went to King's Park, where we lay under a tree with shoes, socks and tunics off and just guzzled peaches and apricots till we could eat no more.

I think that was the best hour of the day, as I was cool, comfortable and content with things in general and we could talk in comparative quiet without being overheard, overlooked or over-run. A walk down from here brought us to the road and the trolley bus back to town. I should mention that King's Park is on a hill overlooking "The Narrows" from where a view of all Perth to the north and west can be obtained, as pictured in the photos I sent home. Unfortunately, as it is mid-summer, the heat haze prevented a view of much more than a couple of miles, so that all we could see was the city and Perth Water as the river here is called. Time did not permit of a trip across in the ferry to Perth North and the zoo, but from all accounts it is quite worth while and many of the chaps were quite keen to see snakes. Never gave them a thought all the time we were there and don't suppose there was one outside the zoo for many miles around.

Followed a vain search for a glass of beer before dinner. I haven't mentioned so far this side of our leave, as the consumption of huge quantities of beer is never an ideal of mine. Nor do I consider it much of a way to spend a spot of leave, as there is so much more to do as a rule than to watch the back of the bar in the local pub until vision is badly impaired or completely non-existent. However, I like a glass or two at times and this afternoon about five was one of them. Beer is short in Perth. Hotels have a quota, delivered daily and once sold, cannot be re-sold, so that bars open when beer arrives and close when it runs out. One has to know where to go at the right time of day to get a drink and, unfortunately for us, we didn't find a wet one till ten to six, so, by the time we had bought one beer, it was closing time, a most regrettable affair.

Dinner at the YAL \- again free of charge but was very crowded, after the broadcasting throughout the ship by the boys that morning of the information that free meals for Kiwis were "on" there. After a rest and a read, we went back to Fremantle to see how the dance was going there - put on specially for us and nobody else admitted, but by the time we got there, after waiting for a train, we were hungry, so had supper first. It seemed a good show but I didn't get a dance, as I had only half an hour and there was a famine of girls compared with the number of men, while those who had been there earlier had already got to know them. Had to check the Squadron in and was due back at eleven, so left Hugh who had met some people and spent the next two and a half hours ticking off the names as they came home. Needless to say, it was a weary head that hit the pillow and knew nothing more till next morning.

Had my watch engraved with number and name today, at Woolworth's for two bob. This was done with a machine like a dentist's drill and very quickly, although naturally not beautiful specimens of the engraver's art, but still ornamental. I was very glad to have this done as it is most necessary to have everything marked in the army.

Fourteenth Day

26 January 1944

At 0700 we were called to our boat stations, a few minutes after the ship had cast off and, as we settled down there, she moved slowly away from the wharf, with one tug moving her away towards the entrance and the other pulling with all her might to port, so as to swing our stern round across the harbour, as there isn't room to manoevre a large ship under her own power. Within a very short time we had turned a half circle and once more her bows pointed to the open sea. Gathering speed quickly once past the harbour mouth, she soon left Fremantle behind and we were off again. The weather still being hot and fairly windless, we now dress in shorts and shirt with sandals and no socks, even that at times being too much, but as we now have the tropical sun beating down on us, it is very unwise to try sunbathing, as many of our chaps have already discovered to their cost.

Everyone being rather worn out after the two days ashore, the favourite occupation today is sleeping, and by nine everyone has found a spot on deck and settled down for a good snooze. This was the time when those who removed shirts suffered for it, as they slept on in the sun until well and truly burnt - luckily only a few legs burnt in my troop.

We were not left long in peace. At ten we paraded and had half an hour's PT, followed by the usual periods of morse, message writing etc, part of which I filled in by having a foot inspection and passing on a few scraps of imagination. However, we did get the afternoon off and after afternoon tea, I managed to find a spot on deck where I had quite a good sleep. Unfortunately I was due at our daily squadron conference at 1645 and slept till 1745 so was in disgrace. Luckily it wasn't a very serious crime so am forgiven, I think.

The evening was one of the warmest we have had and below here it is only necessary to don pyjamas and lie on top of one blanket to be quite warm all night. As our course is now more northerly than before, we can expect it to become even hotter as we progress.

Fifteenth Day

27 January 1944

Another warm day. We got wet through during PT and find sitting in the sun where there is little wind, almost too hot to bear, so I have discovered that with so many of the troop away on fatigues, it is best to sit on top of the rafts rather than in their shelter, as we have done before this - during working hours at any rate. Trying to maintain interest in the troop is becoming quite a task, as with so many from infantry, ASC and other arms not being interested in becoming tank crews, teaching of morse and message writing is very difficult. It is impossible to teach anything such as morse, which requires sheer hard work to learn, when the will to learn is neither present nor stimulated from within the chap himself, and the general effect is disheartening to say the least. A bit more cooperation from the troop would be a great help at this stage, but I am sorry to say quite a few of them are really lazy and just won't try at all.

This afternoon we tried a troop discussion on the role and disposition of a convoy of tanks, both light and heavy. This was followed by a squadron discussion in which members of the troop aired their views, and there was more thinking by the troop than in the morning - to my mind we could do much more of this sort of thing as it does make the chaps think for themselves a bit. The army is not usually a place where men are taught to think for themselves and they do get into a dreary sort of rut in a very short time, through having everything thought out for them.

Another hot night and again only a pair of pyjamas is needed to keep warm enough, and after playing 500 till ten, had to put out the lights for myself for once.

Sixteenth Day

28 January 1944

One day is now much the same as the last and I foresee this book being very little used till our next port is reached, as very little happens outside our own and life is merely the daily routine of eating, washing, working and waiting for night to fall again, with a spot of reading, writing and card playing to fill the leisure hours.

This week ten of my troop are on ship's duties and so there are not quite so many to look after during the day, which makes things much easier - they worked a bit better today too. I am trying to get rid of the very high proportion of tinea (athlete's foot) in the troop, by making them take off shoes and socks for half an hour in the morning and providing foot powder in an effort to cure it. It has lessened quite a bit since we embarked and I may have some little success before the end of the voyage. Tinea is quite a bugbear among troops and had reached alarming proportions at Waiouru, but I think the salt water, sunlight and powder combined should have a good effect on it now.

Every few days there is a consultation run on the boat and, at a shilling a ticket, the first prize of 50 pounds is well worth winning, with 30 pounds, 20 pounds and ten pounds and I think 26 at 2 pounds, but I am not too clear on these figures. As I write one of them is being drawn and it is very difficult to concentrate on this while the detailed winners are being read out over the loudspeaker system as they are drawn. So far, my tickets are of no use to me, but shall no doubt continue to contribute until the last is drawn.

While I think of it, I might as well put in here a bit about the ship - HMT MOOLTAN of the P & O Line, 21,000 tons, 600 ft long, 82 ft wide, with boat deck, "A" deck with posh cabins, lounges etc and also the promenade deck, "B" deck with cabins wherein dwell the officers and WO's (with a few of the furlough sergeants on "A" deck, in what was the theatre and probably the ballroom), the hospital, main foyer used as orderly rooms and a couple of 6" naval guns aft; "C" deck where we live has been converted from cabins and dining saloon with probably other rooms as well, the galley and little else; "D" deck was once the holds and now concerted to a troop deck, equipped with tables, forms and hammock racks; "E" deck being the same, with the armoury, magazine and stores below that again. "D" and "E" have no portholes and are not very pleasant places to live in at night or in hot weather, nor, for that matter, at any time, but it is remarkable what one can get used to. We are on "C" deck next to the galley, with no hatchways except past the bulkhead, so that it could be worse and it could be better. At least we do have portholes open in most weather in the daytime. At nights they are closed on account of the blackout, which is strictly maintained now that we are in submarine waters and within range of the enemy.

The hammocks are slung at night between iron bars running parallel across the ship and are very ingeniously worked to secure the maximum use of available space. A crude sketch may demonstrate this. Crude, but look at sardines in a tin and a better effect may be achieved, as it certainly does resemble that. The sketch in the ship's magazine that Allen sent home is perhaps a better guide as it is not in the least exaggerated. However it could easily be much worse and we are not as crowded as other troops have been aboard her.

When we first left NZ we were escorted by a small warship, of the destroyer class (I think) and half-way across were met by HMAS "Adelaide", who was with us until Fremantle, but owing to her developing engine trouble in the storm, her job has been taken over by HMS "Sussex". I will not venture to classify these ships, not knowing much about them, but their class and tonnage could be easily checked by anyone interested enough. The "Sussex" is much faster than the "Adelaide" and she scoots round all over the place. I forgot to mention yesterday that we had an AA shoot with our guns and saw the first salvo, but I had to go below and so missed the rest of the show, doubly disappointed, as I missed the rockets and the Bofors firing.

I hope this information about the ship is OK as I don't want to create any scandal by being on the mat for recording the information, but must trust to luck.

It has been a hot day and the night is very warm again - shall need no blankets again tonight. I must try sleeping on deck one of these nights, as we shall need to get some sleep in fresh air on the trip. It isn't very pleasant to wake in the morning feeling that one has been in an airless room with a heater on all night, and it is with great relief that we see the portholes opened as soon as we are up.

Seventeenth Day

29 January 1944

Even hotter today than yesterday and have been damp all day, as well as feeling sticky with the salt water and dried sweat, but as I wear no underclothes, it is the best I can manage in the keeping cool line is to sit below in shorts only, playing cards. It being Saturday, work occupied only the morning, the whole afternoon therefore free till 1645 when we had our conference, while the troop duties took from then till eight.

As I write, it is ten at night in just shorts; I am moist with perspiration and my hand will hardly run over the paper, while the pen is slipping in my hand. Writing at this hour of the night is very hard, as everyone is going to bed and tramping over forms and tables, making my pen jump and, writing decently almost impossible. However, I find that from eight o'clock onwards is the best time of the evening to write this up, as then it is reasonably peaceful, while the events of the day are still fresh in my memory and there are unlikely to any more of them at this hour. HMS "Sussex" went past our starboard today, about 100 yards away after a sweep round from way out on the port quarter, and we all had a good look at her. She is a fine sight, cutting through the water about twice as fast as us and she quickly leaves us astern. In fact, she has time to cruise round all over the place, while we plod along on a more or less straight course.

The strongest rumour now is that Bombay is the next port of call and, if so, we have a long spell at the hot part of the world before we get another leave ashore. Should like to see Colombo, but then we have no say in where we go or how many ports we call at. Somebody has suggested that, although we may be having a long voyage, it is all the more time in which to have the war won for us, but I should imagine that most of the chaps want to have a lash at the Hun before going home, rather than let all the others do all the work for us.

Looking for a cool spot after dinner, I made my way to the bow, where, sitting on the rail of the promenade deck and letting my legs dangle over the well deck (here you can relax again as I am not likely to sit on the outside rail, as we have been told so often that the ship will not stop for anybody who falls overboard). I had my first introduction to the flying fish. It was not until I had been there for some time that I realised that the little splashes in the water were made by them, so then I started to look more closely and discovered that big schools of them were flying away from our prow, as our prow disturbed their swimming. Since then I have had a look at large numbers of them, mostly fairly small. In fact I am impressed to find them so small as I had always thought a flying fish was about ten or twelve inches long and red. These are little ones, the size of sparrows and silver white in the sunlight, but they fly astonishing distances, many of them going up to 100 yards in one hop, scuttling out of the water with a flapping of tails and flipping over the sea, the length of flight often depending on just how the waves came, as the flop back into the water usually occurs when a wavelet if met head-on. There must be millions of them as they keep on flying all day and we are always moving ahead and passing the last school.

According to the amateur navigators in our midst, we are getting close to the Tropic of Capricorn, or else are just past it, as the sun is now nearly overhead, and at this time of year it is overhead well south of the equator. It is certainly hot enough.

Another issue of the ship's paper "Down The Hatch" came out today and I should like to secure a copy of it to send home, but, owing to the limited distribution, copies are hard to get.

Eighteenth Day

Sunday 30 January

To church again at 0630 after usual rush of dressing and shaving in twenty minutes - first time I have worn shirt and shorts only to church, but nobody wears anything else all day. Still very hot. Was quite damp when I went to bed last night and when I woke up, was still perspiring, with the inevitable result that my clothes are sticky to put on in the mornings. It is not possible to wash clothes every day, nor even wash oneself as thoroughly as one could wish, so, by the end of another week of this, we should be good models for the lifebuoy soap ads. However, I must try to wash my shirt and shorts this week and then get my good ones done by the ship. Cannot afford this too often, as they charge ninepence per article and money isn't likely to be too plentiful over this side of the ocean.

There are no parades today, but, as we are duty squadron, we have to all do work of some sort. The morning till eleven took all my time collecting men for all the different jobs and sending them off, so that by the time I had finished every man in the squadron was on some job or another. Then wrote up the rest of yesterday's notes, as lights out last night interrupted me in the middle of a sentence.

Had a sleep this afternoon for about an hour - the first I have had in the daytime for about a week - and as my eyes and the poor light made reading a fairly rare pleasure, played 500 till tea-time.

The sleeping on deck becomes quite a problem. Being Orderly Sergeant, my job at blackout was to see that nobody encroached on our squadron area. To begin with, each unit on the boat is permitted to sleep one third on the deck at a time, the other two thirds remaining below while this third are supposed to sleep on their boat stations. Each unit has a certain area of deck space allocated as boat stations, where they have all their parades as well as practice "boat stations" and ours, as I have said before, is on aft boat deck port (left) side. This being a very desirable place to sleep at night, we have to contend with a lot of bludgers. The Orderly Sergeant is supposed to keep them off and at the same time make sure that a path is left between the rows of blankets throughout the length of the deck. This is easy up to 1945 hrs, but after that it gets very dark and it is hard to tell if a chap is ours, an infanteer, engineer, jam snatcher, body snatcher or what have you, while at the same time there is usually a big crowd on our part of the deck, listening to the piano accordion and singing. All very nice, but makes policing the deck a bit of a task. However, our chaps can look after themselves and they all get beds somehow, so at half past eight I went below for a short game of cards.

Every evening, Terry Minhinnick (brother of the cartoonist) who has secured from somewhere the use of a piano accordion, plays it, seated on the hatch on deck here and always has a big audience. He plays very well, from our point of view and definitely not from Mum's, as he cannot read music, but can play any tune by ear after hearing it once and it is mostly syncopated. The chaps enjoy a bit of a sing song in the evenings. Occasionally another artist will give a few tunes or sing a solo, one chap tonight giving a few humorous items that were given a very good hearing by the crowd. We also have other musicians on board. One of my troop has a set of bagpipes but has no great skill yet and won't even practice on the boat, while another has his ukulele and sings quite well but generally limits his audience to the troop. There are at least two other sets of pipes and probably innumerable ukuleles, while no doubt many chaps have a shot at playing the old piano down below with the fourteen dud notes.

Of an evening there are usually a number of groups on deck, Terry's audience perhaps the largest, two "Two Up" schools, one or two smaller gambling schools, a couple of games of "Housie" or "Bingo" and an odd game of poker, 500 and even bridge. All this just on boat deck, as down on promenade deck where most people are, there must be a swag of small groups, but I am seldom there to find out.

19th Day

31 January 1944

So far, this is the hottest day. As I sit here in the "cool" of the evening breeze, on the capstan (still my favourite perch) I am still just dripping wet, as I have been all day long and until I have a shower and come up here to sleep, shall probably continue that way. Last night at ten I decided that it was far too hot below and slept on deck, where it was just right with a blanket over me to keep off the breeze, and although it wasn't the usual dead sleep, had perhaps one of the best nights for a long time. As it is my turn to sleep on deck tonight, through the roster starting and my being on the first night, shall be very glad to be here again.

Now that we are definitely in the tropics the nights are drawing in, very early blackouts being the main effect, while the sun rises at about 0625 with blackout lasting almost till then; in fact it does do so in the morning, while the most noticeable is the short twilight and the suddenness of nightfall. Just now there is a waxing moon and we have quite sufficient to see clearly on deck, and this, combined with the brilliancy of the stars, makes the nights very beautiful, even if warm. I haven't looked for the phosphorescence lately, so must see tonight if there is as that would complete the picture.

It has been a very quiet sort of day, the only incident of note being the firing of a dozen rounds by the 6 inch naval guns at a floating target dropped by the escort and of a couple of dozen by the three inch guns at the same target but at a closer range. The first shot by the big ones just about made us jump overboard but we were expecting the rest, although the flash and blast from one of the three inchers only ten yards away was a bit tough on the eyes and ears. Some of the shooting was quite good but the target is still OK. All the same, I should prefer to be at the giving end rather than the receiving. This afternoon the escort went past with her AA guns ablaze and I was unfortunate to be below at the time, but the chaps say it was a great sight - she looked great going past us (she can literally run rings round us and frequently does) from what I could see through the portholes.

The deck is crowded again, with Terry's music (in another place since we told him about blocking our sleeping quarters) as usual, the Housie, 500, Two-up, and many groups just talking. Down on the lower deck, as I came up, a big crowd were singing hymns, conducted by one of the Padres and accompanied by a cornet, so whether it was a choir practice or just an impromptu effort I don't know, but the singing (a lot of Maori) was very good and, had I not wanted to get this done before dark, should have stayed to listen.

The sun has been down for about ten minutes and already it is nearly dark, the golden clouds have turned to dull grey with the sea a darker grey still. To port of me, the figures of the men sitting on the rafts are becoming mere silhouettes, although the others to starboard reflect a sort of golden light from the glow in the sky, which fades even as I write, and the short twilight is fully upon us. The slightest of swells rocks the good old ship the merest trifle and, so smooth is the sea that it appears to be an enormous river running past us, rippling over the stones like any shallow stream. Underneath me the iron capstan still retains the heat of the day, while a heavy sealed cover to an ammunition case retains it for the greater part of the night and is a favourite sleeping place for two of my troopers.

The crowd drifts away, Housie and card games stop, hammocks are coming up to the deck, while the strains of music from the accordion become stronger, accompanied by the voices of the crows singing. As they go below the troops tell me that my eyes will be strained, writing here in this light. They are a good crowd and I am lucky to have such a good troop - never have any trouble with them at all.

It is now too dark to write any more, so this must end my day's tale.

Twentieth Day

1 February 1944

The sun is just sinking as I start, amid many wisecracks from the troop about having bought the capstan, as I seem to be always on it. However, it is a good idea to have a regular seat, as it becomes known as such and respected, as well as being known as the place to find me when I'm on deck. As we are always being wanted for something or other at odd hours of the day, everyone knows just where to find me.

There is a shower coming up on the starboard beam that looks as if it will bring a crowd under the awning. The awning was only just hung today and it looks as if the main job it has got to do just now is to keep us dry rather than cool. This is the first rain we have had since the storm, so it is a novelty to us - it cools the air at all we shall indeed be grateful, as it has been just as hot all day and I have been in a constant bath of perspiration since before breakfast. Luckily I have my bed in a dry place under the awning, where I propose to spend the night and although I was a bit sorry to be missing the stars, it looks as if there won't be any to miss. When I went to bed last night I had a look for phosphorescence but there wasn't a sign of any. Claude says that he has always found that full moon and high tides bring phosphorus in the Whangarei Harbour, so perhaps it will be the same here.

It has been a quiet day and much the same as usual. Although meals on board are usually as good as we can expect, we are beginning to turn our noses up at fish. Now we all know that sea, ships and fish are synonymous, but this is a special variety which I quietly call "super spineless sea serpent", entirely boneless. In actual fact it is Iceland Cod, packed at Billingsgate and frozen in about ten inch cubes, then cut up and boiled. However, it is never properly thawed and when served is half raw, so one must be very hungry to tackle it. That is the only thing that I can't eat.

Already it is too dark again, so cannot write any more up here tonight.

Twenty First Day

2 February 1944

A bit cooler today. This must mean that we have passed the sun and are on our way to the equator. To test this theory a chap stood in the sun at mid-day and his shadow pointed to the bow of the ship, so we take that as being a good enough guide. Altogether an uneventful day, just routine eating, reading, parade, lecturing, dinner, lecture, a game of Liar Dice, tea and up here again.

Claude Philpott went to hospital this afternoon on account of kidney trouble. Actually the source of the trouble is in the fact that he had infantile paralysis as a kid, which left him outwardly unaffected (he is a champion runner and has run in NZ sports) but he cannot stand heat as it upsets his stomach and especially his kidneys. As he has no mention of this on his file the army knows nothing about it and he hasn't mentioned it at all. It remains to be seen what will happen when he gets to the Middle East (if that is where we are going) as the heat there is likely to lay him out for a while - he can't eat at all when he has these spells. I must go below and see him as the visiting hours are on now. Another chap I know, who was at Staff College with me, is there too, with ear trouble. The deck is fairly crowded tonight and I shall sleep below to give someone else a chance.

When I came up tonight an infanteer was sitting on the capstan and my troop had a lot of fun trying to talk me into pushing him off, but seeing I haven't bought the thing, couldn't take any action. However, their remarks made this chap shuffle off, so I have my perch after all.

We seem to be going faster than usual today, as the screws were doing three or four more revs per minute, so we reckon they must have squeezed an extra knot or two out of her. I hope so, as every extra knot brings us nearer to port and safety. Apparently the Indian Ocean is a bit of a hot spot just now and we shall be glad to be out of it.

Twenty Second Day

3 February 1944

Much cooler today, but this may be on account of the clouds, as it has been overcast all day and rather sultry in the early afternoon, so that I had a sleep after dinner again, on the seat by the table. These seats run the full length of the table and seat 9 men, are only 9 inches wide but we can sleep on them quite easily on days like today. A quiet day, with nothing of interest. Finished letters to Mum and Noeline and have handed them in, but don't know if they will be posted, so probably my first airgraph will be home before them. Last night had a game of bridge and hope to play a bit more as it is better than any other card game, while my eyes are not standing up to the bad light too well and need a rest.

Claude was asleep last night when I went along, so didn't waken him and shall try again later on tonight. Blackout is getting earlier - 1900 tonight \- but lifts earlier at 0600. It is quite dark already - a few minutes before seven - and with rain spoiling the page think I had better call it a night.

Twenty Third Day

4 February 1944

Group Orderly Sergeant today and one of the busiest I have struck, with four trips to the RAP (Regimental Aid Post) instead of the usual one of a morning with the sick parade. There is an epidemic of gastric enteritis and several chaps have fainted with it, one this morning with a temperature of 105.2, so no wonder he fainted. Five of our Armoured Group admitted to hospital today, one from my troop, making a total of five chaps from my troop to be in hospital during the voyage. One trench mouth, one swollen ankle, one rash, one pleurisy, one gastric, so we at least run to variety.

The "Sussex" left us today. Earlier in the morning she was sending very interesting messages, about reports of a raider, re-broadcast from a shore WT (Wireless Telegraphy) station, so we were all thinking perhaps we might see action after all. Before finally leaving us, the "Sussex" passed us on the starboard and, slowing down to our speed, she bade us farewell. All hands were on deck to give us a cheer and their band played "Sussex by the Sea", "Now 'tis the Hour" and "Auld Lang Syne", clearly heard, as she was less than two hundred yards away. It was a stirring sight and, as she dipped White Ensign and turned away, I am sure everyone felt sorry to say farewell to the stout ship and stout hearts that had accompanied and protected us over this dangerous lap of our trip.

And tonight we "cross the line", though just at what hour we haven't been told - it is certainly hot enough for it. As "blackout" fell before we finished tea tonight we had all the ports closed early and everyone was dripping wet all the time. Also hadn't much daylight left and I am finishing this below, simply dripping wet and have to be careful not to smudge the page with my wrist.

The hospital staff are flat out tonight, with all hands on deck and no visitors are permitted, but managed to get in to see one of my troop, the other being asleep, so didn't wake him. However, one of the sisters saw me and, although I told her I was on duty and had to see him, she said to clear out as soon as possible, so I wasn't there more than a couple of minutes.

Have been playing bridge lately and shall probably play again tonight.

Twenty Fourth Day

5 February 1944

Being Saturday, a quiet day, enlivened slightly by the issue of half a bottle of beer per man free. Work as usual in the morning and played bridge most of the afternoon and evening. Now that we are in the northern hemisphere, there are some new stars in the sky and one of the chaps who has been over here before was telling me a bit about them last night. (Tonight I should say, but I am writing this on the Sunday.) It is a beautiful night with a good north wind that is most refreshing but quite warm and a singlet and shorts is a comfortable dress on deck, the moon about three quarters full and a clear sky except for a few white clouds flying across it and the heat haze round the horizon. Neither the Pole Star nor the Southern Cross can be seen at eight o'clock, both being just below the horizon or hidden in the haze, but all the others are very bright in spite of the moon. When the various constellations were pointed out I recalled a bit of instruction that Joan gave me once when they were fresh in her mind and picked most of them up again. It is very handy to be able to distinguish them all, as one never knows when it may be necessary to use them to find direction at night.

When I brought my bed up later on, we had a further talk and some chap seemed to know a good bit about them but don't know who he is, as there wasn't quite enough light to tell. Compared with the temperature below, it is cool up on deck at night, but even then hardly need a blanket over me, as it is very warm out of the breeze.

Playing bridge I was just dripping wet, and at teatime, with the ports closed, had to keep wiping my arms to prevent them from dripping on to the table. And yet it isn't unbearably hot or we shouldn't be down below at all when we could be above. We are getting quite a bridge school now, four regular players who always play together and about six or eight others who change round a bit - am getting the hang of the game a bit better now and quite enjoy playing.

Twenty Fifth Day

6 February 1944

Having brought my shaving gear and water on deck last night, was ready for church a bit earlier than usual and didn't have quite the usual rush. It looks like being a really hot day, so shall spend a lot of it below, writing letters - at least that is my intention. Whether or not it will hold remains to be seen.

At four o'clock, just as we had started to play a hand of 500, the alarm bells rang and we all grabbed our Mae Wests and toddled off to our boat stations. Just prior to this we had sighted a tanker and she had been going through rather unusual manoeuvres, while we appeared to be circling, so we gathered she had something to do with the bells ringing without warning, and were therefore not unduly surprised when it was announced that we were to take aboard some survivors of a torpedoed or shelled ship who had been afloat for seventeen days. The idea of parading us was to prevent a rush to one side of the ship and so upsetting her balance. Now it may seem impossible to create a list on a 21,000 ton ship just by standing at the rail, but the effect when this does happen has to be seen to be believed. Since we left Hobart, the ship's officers always take the precaution of having us paraded whenever any close handling of the ship is involved, as this also prevents any undue noise likely to smother their commands. However, we didn't take anybody aboard, or perhaps they preferred to stay on the destroyer who is now our escort or wait till night. Unless they came aboard when we were still all asleep, we have no survivors on board after all.

Twenty Sixth Day

7 February 1944

Had a rather subdued morning on account of losing before breakfast my fountain pen, having had it tucked into the neck of my singlet while I was warning some of the troop for fatigues and not discovering the loss until eight o'clock, when a search of my kit proved it to be most definitely missing. Immediately retraced my steps and re-visited my ports of call, but with no result, and with a sinking heart reported the loss to Squadron and to Group HQ, with little hope of seeing it again and resigned myself to writing in pencil for the rest of the trip. However, at 1345 hours I went along to the Orderly Room and on the way met Captain Pyatt going to take the afternoon lecture and he told me that a black Onoto was reported in Ship's Orders as having been found. I shot up the stairs and, to my very great relief, found it to be mine. I thank the finder, whoever he may be, and must commend his honesty.

Saw our first sampans this afternoon, three of them in line ahead to port and heading southwest, probably fishing craft. They looked very small little ships to be so far from land but no doubt it is nothing to them.

This morning we were entertained by the Kiwi Concert Party and all thoroughly enjoyed it. They are very good and play excellently, even the frightful clash and bang of what they call "Modern American" style being well executed even if a bit trying to the ear. It was a very welcome diversion.

Twenty Seventh Day

8 February 1944

A day entirely without incident, except that the weather is the best for a long time, actually feeling fresh and not sticky. Last night it was quite cool on deck and the breeze in the daytime makes one feel more like working or playing than the heat of this last week. Our watches get a thrashing today, being advanced a total of two hours to fit in with Bombay time. We lose an hour and a half of sleep tonight, with blackout until 0800 tomorrow. We shall strike Bombay during the morning and hearts are light at the prospect of shore leave, but, unfortunately, it is not at all definite that we shall get any. In any case, we shall have a lot of material for this book and shall save my energies for that.

Twenty Eighth Day

9 February 1944 In Port - Bombay

Up in the dark this morning - 0400 by the sun - and, sunrise being at 0800, we were all on deck to see it. Under the rosy glow above the horizon heralding the coming of day, we had our first glimpse of India. This came into view as daylight emerged out of moonlight, while in the west the moon sank, a round golden full moon that had guided our early morning efforts to dress and roll blankets. Called to our boat stations we saw from there the land grow closer and higher, until at last Bombay could be seen below a series of low hills that actually form part of the mainland.

Bombay itself is on an island, its history as far as Britain is concerned going back to the seventeenth century, when it came into British hands as the dowry of Charles II's wife, or probably part of the dowry. Full details are available, but unless I look them up, I am not in a position to note them now.

The harbour doesn't appear to be very sheltered nor very deep, as our screws stir up a lot of mud from the bottom. The water is very muddy and colours the sea for some miles out. As this is being pumped through the ship, we are afraid all the showers will be muddy too, so it looks as if we shall have an unwashed stay here.

We have anchored in the stream, with lighters alongside supplying oil and water, and our worst fears were confirmed at about three this afternoon - there is to be no leave. We are all very disappointed not to be able to go ashore after being a fortnight on the water, but the story goes that smallpox, famine, overcrowding on account of refugees from the East, lack of lightering facilities and the difficulties of apportioning any measure of leave, have all contributed to the final decision. The ship's officers and troops' officers have done all that is possible to get us leave but nothing more can be done. I am particularly sorry as I had hoped to be able to buy some linen and cotton ware and silks for Noeline and the girls, but our chance is lost to us to purchase at the cheapest of markets those things that are in such demand at home.

When we had dropped anchor a few lads came out in canoes to scavenge, but got very little, as we are in no position to give anything away, except for a few empty tins, bottles and boxes, which duly went into the bottom of the boat. A few heaved threepences into the water for the kids to dive for, but most of us are fairly broke. There was fish again for tea - greeted with grumblings from the troops and a general refusal on the part of the individual to put it into his stomach. This on top of the leave situation has started a lot of grumbling against the powers that be, for which we sergeants come into a share of the general abuse, in spite of the fact that we share the same food and same conditions as they do and at the same time do the job of an officer and four NCOs. This fact, however, is lost on them.

At about eight thirty word came that some leave would be granted for 500 men and our squadron's quota is 15, so we had three from each troop and the Sergeant Major, Squadron Quartermaster Sergeant and Sgt Minhinnick were simply nominated for the other three. This has had further repercussions as the chaps rather think they should have balloted the whole 15. None of us sergeants struck the ballot, but Hugh Redpath did and he is going to try for some of the things I wanted.

Twenty Ninth Day

10 February 1944 In Port - Bombay

Slept on deck last night and it was quite cool, even with two blankets, so may stay down below tonight where it is reasonably fresh with the portholes all open. One of the strangest things was the sight of glowing cigarette ends on deck after dark - a sight never seen at sea once blackout restrictions start at night.

Spirits are very low this morning and the boys don't feel like doing anything at all. Perhaps we can hardly blame them in a way, but they are certainly like a crowd of spoilt children and I am afraid they can't stand up to a bit of a knock-back, refusing to believe what the officers tell us regarding our having to stay aboard and demanding leave, better food etc or else. However, like previous occasions such as this, it has all fizzled out, but it is rather amusing to walk round the boat and feel the general atmosphere of the ship as a contrast with yesterday, when everyone was conjuring up visions of leave in Bombay.

The five hundred left fairly late and I hope they have a good day. Especially hope Hugh has some luck with his shopping.

Well, they have come back, but not, not the five hundred. Three hardies that we know of stayed ashore and will probably find some means of transport during the night. All are full of tales of Bombay and their adventures there, but the occasion was spoilt by bad staff work, as they had to wait on the wharf for two and a half hours for their pay, thus halving the time available to collect souvenirs, see the sights, shop and generally do all the things troops do on leave in a new town. Should we ever see Bombay again I shall try to record my impressions, but shan't attempt any at second hand.

Hugh was able to get me only some unbleached sheeting, not having time to do any other shopping for me, but I'm glad to get it as it is much cheaper than at home and definitely easy to get with no coupons. Should have liked to get a few personal gifts but then nobody can interpret tastes and it is a bit risky to get things for other people to give as presents unless knowing both parties. The sheeting is 6 yards unbleached 72 inch and cost five dollars exactly, less money changer's commission of 2/6d, so I think is fairly reasonable.

The time factor in shopping in the East is a big thing, as the boys say that each transaction cost them half an hour of wrangling over prices. Many of them did get prices down to bedrock, as the places wouldn't sell if they refused to meet their lowest demand, even if they walked away without buying. So, as time was short, shopping wasn't very successful and several of the chaps got definitely rooked through not knowing the difference between good and bad quality. Prices seem to be fairly high - a result I think of so many troops and, of course, the Yanks having been through here. They spoil everything for us, the same as we do for the Tommy soldiers, although our chaps are fairly keen and drive a fair bargain on the whole. I think one is likely to compare prices with those at home and in consequence imagine prices to be lower than they really are. My sheets for instance cost 22/6d sterling.

Sterling is deceiving after our high rate of exchange.

According to the best authority, we leave again to-morrow, so that is all we shall be seeing of Bombay - our biggest disappointment of the trip.

Thirtieth Day

11 February 1944

Shortly before eleven the destroyer escort drew alongside and played a few songs over the loudspeaker system, then at eleven she set out ahead of us. It was then that we realised that we too were moving off on perhaps the last leg of our journey, so we gazed over the rail as the waterfront of Bombay slid past, saw the Taj Mahal hotel and the Gateway to India fade from view, the dhows, sampans, bum-boats and what-have-you falling behind, their strangely shaped sails still in the morning sunlight. And so we say farewell to Bombay, city of riches and poverty, setting forth once more on our voyage to the front lines and the war that we are to take part in.

This afternoon we had a very interesting talk by Capt McIntyre, the official war artist from the Public Relations Section of the NZEF. His narrative consisted of details of the work entailed in running the Section, with a nice mixture of anecdote and reminiscences, a short description of his work and of the various notabilities he had sketched, including Generals Montgomery, Wavell, Freyberg, the King of Greece (in conference with General Freyberg), Goering in Switzerland before the war, Winston Churchill in a blue boiler suit, white toupee and a white umbrella. He has been through Greece, Crete, Libya, Syria, Tunisia; out in the desert with the LRDG and I wonder if Bob (Rawson) was with the detachment that he mentioned? Two incidents: The detachment camped by the shores of a small salt lake having a welcome dip, the water being so salt they were lying in it with hats on, smoking and reading - a strange sight. They traversed in their operation parts of the desert inaccessible to the Arabs on account of their water difficulties and he said that in all probability they were the first humans to be there since the Stone Age, carvings and inscriptions in stone discovered by them having no signs of having been previously disturbed.

After a long trek they reached the Nile and a village with one white inhabitant who made himself known, conducted them to his home, where they parked their vehicles, and ushered them into his garden. This, lying in the desert, was like a small spot of Paradise and to crown all, there was a beautiful private swimming bath, all tiled and filled with clean fresh water. They all piled in without a moment's hesitation. Then from the house issued a string of servants, carrying, of all things, glasses and iced beer. It must have been heavenly.

He has a collection of photos of his sketches and these he showed us - many of them familiar, but again many more that we hadn't seen - some of the LRDG looking like modern Arab brigands, with their Arab hats and neck-shades, sandals and beards. No wonder Bob liked it - should be the ideal life for one such as he, with his knowledge of mechanics to render his services so much more valuable.

Thirty First Day

12 February 1944

A quiet warm day, calm sea, uneventful and very normal, with nothing of interest to make entries here worth while.

Claude went to hospital again tonight, with the same trouble.

Thirty Second Day

13 February 1944 Sunday

Another calm, uneventful day.

The sky this evening is brilliant, with a million stars undimmed by the light of the moon and giving sufficient light to make the decks quite bright, while the thousands of little stars quite disguise the main groups which are hard to find. Consequently it took some minutes to get direction and so discover whither we are heading. The sea is beautiful with phosphorescence in the bow wave where daylight would show only foam, with a broad glow lighting up the sides of the ship from the broken water alongside and a ribbon of gold stretching out behind. We spent a long time before going to bed in just admiring this effect and it provided a topic of conversation between decks.

Thirty Third Day

14 February 1944

Of no account and similar to all the others lately.

Thirty Fourth Day

15 February 1944

We had a lecture this afternoon by Capt Browne of the Long Range Desert Group, in which he gave a brief record of the activities of the patrols, his own in particular being best known to him, and several of the incidents mentioned by Bob Rawson were also included in his talk. He says he knows Bob but I hadn't time to ask him anything more. One of the things that he stressed as being of the utmost value to the army was the road census they took for eight months along the road to Tunisia, while another feat was the guiding of the Division in their wide flanking moves following the battle of El Alamein and the retreat of the Africa Korps.

Captain Pyatt gave a talk on Aden this morning, as it is to be our next stop (to-morrow), giving a brief history of it and its continual sieges and captures, from before the birth of Christ until the British capture following the molesting of several English ladies at the hands of the then holders of the key to the Red Sea. We are thankful for it, as there will be no blackout once we are safely past there, making the journey through the Red Sea so very much more pleasant. I should like to record here its very picturesque history and shall ask Capt Pyatt for his notes on it to-morrow, with luck including that in my remarks on the port. We get no leave there, advisedly so it appears, as there is just nothing to see or do there.

Thirty Fifth Day

16 February 1944 In Port

True to her promise the ship dropped her "hook" in the mud of Aden harbour at 0815 this morning, stopping for the fourth time since leaving home. Aden itself was not in view from that position but a general impression could be obtained of this outpost of Empire, said to be the hottest part of it. The harbour is a horseshoe in shape with rocky hills at either point. The eastern tip, with the town of Aden backed by Mt Shumshum (three thousand feet approximately) rises steeply from the shore, a forbidding, barren, rocky height with a wireless station on one of the lesser peaks. The western tip is just a collection of hills, bare of vegetation and barren as the wilderness. To the north the bay sweeps round in a beach, with low country rising to rolling hills and, behind all, what are probably near-mountain ranges. It is on this beach that the salt pans lie, with heaps of glittering white salt visible from here (some two or three miles away) the salt being obtained by the simple expedient of admitting the sea and then shutting it off and evaporating it. Nowhere is there a leaf or a bit of green to break the monotony of desert and rocky heights.

Just before lunch we weighed anchor and proceeded further inshore, rounding the eastern point that hid the town and we are now a few hundred yards off the main street (running round the waterfront) in a position to observe all that happens in such a place. I should have said that, before we moved, we could see the cable and wireless station, the Army barracks and the Airforce barracks, but, as I did say, none of the town buildings. These are all either on the narrow waterfront in a long single street, or up the slopes of the hills that are immediately below the mountain. There actually are some green scrubby trees along one part of the street - how they grow is probably a mystery to most people.

As Capt Pyatt mentioned in his talk, Aden has so continually been captured, stormed, shelled, sacked, burnt and generally knocked about that, of the old buildings in the Eastern style, little or nothing remains. The present buildings, all brick, concrete or stone, are reasonably new and British in design. The town is very small, being just the waterfront, and is supported by the British occupation of it. At one time the cheapest market in the world and a heaven for the tourist ashore looking for souvenirs and sundry Eastern purchases, on account of its being a free trade port entirely without restrictions or duties, Aden is now very poor as a shopping place through the inevitable restrictions imposed on imports through war and the shortage of shipping. So we need not worry about missing an opportunity of getting presents to send home.

The harbour is full of shipping. No doubt Aden is an important place in war time, being a collecting point for convoys crossing the Arabian Sea, but that is merely conjecture on my part.

Ashore there are cars, trucks and camel-drawn carts moving to and fro, predominantly army vehicles, but during the heat of the day there seems to be little activity.

As soon as we stopped this morning there was the usual fleet of small boats manned by hopeful natives coming to sell, but their stock seemed to consist solely of sandals, shorts, money belts and cigarette lighters, for which they demanded a uniform price of "nine bob". Disgusted looks resulted when we offered sixpence. However, there seemed to be a bargain struck on the promenade deck, as one chap tossed up his long line on which to hoist the purchases, but he wouldn't send anything up without the money first, while we wouldn't send the money without getting our hands on the article. A deadlock resulted, followed by an argument resulting in the peddler losing half his line and a kit as well when one chap cut it off and kept the top half. I think they gave us up as a bad bargain after that. There are a few boys swimming outside and diving for any coins thrown to them, very dark skinned with woolly hair and the usual native jabber - I don't think they make much out of us, soldiers not being plutocrats, preferring to spend the odd penny on ourselves.

Thirty Sixth Day

17 February 1944

At 0700, with the assistance of tugs, the good ship "Moultan" pulled away from her berth at Aden and with the usual quiet efficiency headed out to sea on the last leg of the journey, for we are indeed bound for the Middle East and, we presume, Maadi. Our hearts are light at the thought of reaching our last port within a week. Leaving port is always much more easily accomplished than entering, and within an hour Aden was well astern.

At 1430 we had land on either side, to the north Arabia and British Protectorate of Aden, with French Somaliland and Africa to the south, the straits being Bab el Mandeb - the entrance to the Red Sea where we are safe from enemy submarines for the first time since leaving New Zealand. We are disappointed to find the sea the same green, belying its name.

This is a busy section of the sea highways, and, with no blackout restrictions, every ship can be seen at night by her light - we have passed several already tonight (2000 hours) and shall probably see many more to-morrow. I have an idea that a lot of these are Arab dhows but naturally cannot tell at night as we must class them all as ships and neglect the tonnage question. There is a following wind and the white horses again are a pleasant sight after the calms of the Arabian Sea and the Indian Ocean, but it is fairly warm still on deck and I am still sleeping there. Although blackout is not enforced, portholes must be closed when the lights other than the blue ones are going, so when ten o'clock comes the ports will be opened and the other lights switched off.

Thirty Seventh Day

18 February 1944

I am Ship's Orderly Sergeant today, a task that involves sitting on a box in the main foyer and reading interminable short stories, gently perspiring the while, until someone should want our services, and as we were not called upon all day it was very monotonous. Rather, it would have been had we (two of us) stuck religiously to our posts, but an hour or so at a time was quite enough and we made ourselves as scarce as possible.

I was surprised to hear that Capt Pyatt had gone to hospital this afternoon, as he had seemed all right before lunch. However, as the hospital now has no visiting hours, I cannot go along to find the seriousness of his complaint, but hope he is out by Monday.

It is a very hot day, but I overheard a remark that it would become cooler tonight about one in the morning. Certainly at bedtime it showed no signs of doing so, but instead had quite a job to cool down before going to sleep.

Thirty Eighth Day

19 February 1944

Preparations are in train for our arrival and disembarkation on Monday - kitbags lifted from the hold, odds and ends handed in to store and numerous instructions issued as to the procedure to be followed at our arrival. I have packed my kitbag again with one or two more things in it than before, so should be able to make the rest fit into the smaller sea kit. We hear rumours that are most disquieting of a long trek of three miles at the other end with our kitbags in our hot little hands. I am hoping it isn't correct, for if so I shall be done for at the end of it. Still, that too we can meet when we come to it.

Thirty Ninth Day

20 February 1944

To all intents and purposes our last day aboard, ushered in by a chill dark morning with all the stars shining and the all too familiar cry of the Lascar deck hands "Eh! Johnny, washee deckee Johnny, six a colocky Johnny, water come Johnny. Come on Johnny, washee deckee. Wash deck pleece." All this with our usual wail of "Too early George" or "Too dark George". Not that this was much use but it maintains our slight edge of independence. However, there is no arguing with a three- inch stream of cold salt water and the deck clears miraculously.

A fine windy day cool below decks and for the first time for many days have no discomfort from perspiration at meal times - we are feeling very fit now that the weather more nearly resembles our own at home. After all the sweltering days spent above, my legs got sunburnt today, proving the theory that windy days result in worse burning than sultry ones. A quiet day with no work and find there is no incentive to write letters, as much more material will be available later on after we have landed. Church as usual at 0630, reading, 500 and bridge occupying the remaining hours. Shall not enter into any arguments on the ethics of card playing on a Sunday, but there are other attractions of a more doubtful type in that line than bridge, so my conscience is fairly clear. One must do something or go bats.

Fortieth Day

21 February 1944

Almost to the tick of scheduled time the anchor bit the mud of Tewfik and the head of the Red Sea and at last we have arrived. Little time was wasted and almost within the hour we were ready to move off, so that, after a few minor delays, with kitbag and sea kit threatening to overbalance us and drag us into the water, we thumped our way unsteadily down on to lighters that were to convey us to shore. Once full they pushed off to the barren looking place that was to be the first land we had set foot upon since leaving Australia. Bare, rocky, barren and uninviting, the narrow foreshore rose to thousand foot hills, with sheer cliffs and rugged slopes that were most forbidding. They seemed to be just grimly standing despite all efforts of wind and sand to wear them down. Beside the waterfront ran the railway line and before entraining we were given a hot meal and a beauty orange each. The train, due to leave at 1200, started at 1135, went a few hundred yards and stopped till 1230. Then by fits and starts it left and we were on the final stage of our trip.

For many miles the line follows the canal and glimpses of the water of the bitter lakes with ships thereon, as well as of ships apparently sailing across the desert (where the water wasn't visible) relieved the monotony of the desert, so far all we had seen of Egypt. From Farida through Ismailia, Zagazig and Cairo to Maadi, the train carried us to the accompaniment of a continual "Whip, whip, whip, whoof, whoof, whip, whip, whoof" of the whistle - we bet that more steam went out the whistle than into the cylinders of the engine. The blessed driver kept one hand on the cord and every time he felt lonely, happy, unhappy, crowded out, sad, cheerful, lazy, busy or just bored, he pulled it and played a tune. After eight hours of it we would have cheerfully tied the whistle cord round his neck and pitched him off the train.

Then a short trip from the station to our new home, and sleep after a meal was all we asked and it claimed us quickly.

Thus, briefly, our first day in Egypt, into which were crowded a hundred and one impressions and memories, as being for many of us our first introduction to the East, the wonders of a country that had a civilisation so many centuries older than ours and has a life so utterly removed from that to which we are accustomed, crowding one upon the other as the train flashed along, that an otherwise long day became one comparatively short and full of interest.

The utter barrenness of the desert and the absence of any living vegetation is the strongest impression of all, miles and miles of nothing stretching to the far horizon, in places rising to steep hills and grim escarpments. Then, in sheer contrast, the irrigated areas where the brilliant green of the crops runs right up to the desert and stops dead, the fertile areas created by the simple expedient of bringing water to the soil, giving some idea as to what a wonderfully productive place it could be if there was a rainfall of thirty inches a year. As we have already had told us, the desert is not pure sand as fondly imagined but a browny clay that has all the elements but humus and moisture to be a highly fertile region.

Cultivating and farming methods are still the same as in the year one, the oxen yoked to the plough, treading the endless path round and round the water wheel, the ass and the camel as beasts of burden, and the women with everything from water bottles, jars, pitchers or what have you on their heads, balanced neatly and easily as they walk along. The plough is merely a pointed stick that digs a drill in the loose soil, but even so the result is effective and the furrows dead straight for all their shallowness. With the average piece of ground about ten yards by twenty or thirty, there is no need for anything much more modern.

Irrigation, the lifeblood of the felaheens' existence, has done wonders for this region round the Nile, and with the use of the primitive water wheel the water can be run to every corner of the area. There are no fences, no gates or apparent boundaries, so that stock cannot be grazed but must be tethered. It is a common sight to see a camel, water buffalo, cow and an ass all tied close together on a bare arc of ground with foot high lucerne just out of reach. Nothing appears to be in any quantity sufficient to provide more than a bare existence, and men and animals both seem never to have had a decent meal since birth. This is a state of affairs to which their fathers and grandfathers, great, great-great and great-great-great grandfathers, back to the umpteenth great, were accustomed and better than which they are not likely to dream of, much less wish for. Just what the crops are I do not at present know, but shall learn in time if we are here long enough.

The Gyppo house has to be seen to be believed. It is of mud or mud bricks and has an ancient appearance, even when new, with low walls and flat roofs, several dwellings clustered together into a communal centre, occasionally walled around by a high mud or brick wall. Upon the roof goes everything that will help to cool the inside, anything to be ripened or dried and also probably anything that is of any use with no place else to put it, so that they rather resemble a higher class compost heap than a home. Typically Eastern and biblical in appearance, mean, unfinished and dirty, but home to the Gyppo and probably as much to him as ours are to us.

In the desert areas are the camps, aerodromes and stores dumps of the Army and Air Force, miles and miles of them, tents, barbed wire and mud hut. Each like its fellow but displaying different flags, and there for the duration only, thereafter to melt away as snow in the spring, leaving little but scrap to mark the stamping ground of a great army.
Leave in Cairo

26 February 1944

From Maadi by truck, open to the sky, along a sealed road to Cairo, through the Dead City and past the Citadel. One story relating to the Dead City is that, being a burial ground at first, gradually the odd person came to live there until the place had quite a population. Came a plague of typhus in which the far greater percentage of deaths were in this area, so that it became law that anyone could enter but none leave, with the result that the place became quite a city. As all who entered died there, it was called the Dead City. Now it is mainly deserted and the buildings stand roofless monuments to the dead past, with acre upon acre of tombs and graves on either side of the road. Out of bounds to troops, it can only be seen from the truck as we go in.

One of the first things that strikes a newcomer is the traffic being on the opposite side of the road from New Zealand and one has to be careful in crossing streets to look left first, as the cars and trucks stop for no one and it is simply a case of the quick and the dead. The general procedure to be followed if a vehicle hits a Wog is to go back and finish the job, as a dead Wog costs about 35 piastres to bury, but a live injured one runs into many shekels of litigation before his being satisfactorily rewarded or reimbursed. Nothing stops for anything and the traffic just tears round, passing anything on either side, and is rather terrifying at first. The public conveyance is the tram and the private tourist hires a gharry, usually a couple of badly fed Arab horses pulling a fairly well upholstered cab on four sick looking wheels, but is a handy and fairly comfortable method of travel and one that we used for all journeys that took more than a few minute's walk. The ponies go at a trot all day and are fed, if at all, during the slack periods, but like everything else look overworked and underfed.

Our first place of call was the Museum of Hygiene, being on the road in and, although it would be of interest to anybody studying diseases, it is more a chamber of horrors to the average person. Consisting of models of all the various repellent phases of the worst diseases from which humanity suffers, it serves as a reminder that he who wishes to keep his health must first and foremost be clean. Much of it is devoted to object lessons for the Wog in an endeavour to improve his standard of living - with what effect only local people could say.

Thence by gharry to the Muski or native bazaar, where one can see anything that Cairo has to offer for sale. It is indeed a wonderful place, where we spent over two hours just looking. Perhaps the strongest impression I gathered was that there is still quality in the work here, quite unaffected by the war, as the native craftsman knows but the one trade and his work must be good to obtain sufficient remuneration for a living.

The nose receives even more variety than the eyes, as one progresses down the street, with every conceivable smell, scent, odour, whiff and breath mingling and changing all the way. At times I have read of the Eastern bazaar, but the Muski has to be seen to be believed. The efforts of any writer to describe such a place can offer but a very poor substitute for actually visiting and seeing for oneself. The streets and the buildings, apart from the main streets, are all mixed up together, with little, narrow alleyways that lead under arches and through gates, down steps and round dozens of odd corners, while up above the buildings lean inwards and outwards, nearly meeting in parts with odd balconies and windows here and there where can be observed odd species of humanity living their daily life above the bazaar down below. And no building is finished at the top, as a completed building is taxed by the municipal authorities. So long as a house has still the top storey to finish it is classed as under construction. The effect is one of shabbiness with all these untidy looking roofs and until one realises why, it is rather depressing. All the buildings except the European ones are the same throughout Egypt from what I can see of them.

These alleyways are rather fascinating with their offshoots and queer little shops tucked into the buildings. Looking at them one realises how easy it would be to become lost after dark and how sound is the advice to keep clear of the native quarters after dark and to walk in, at least, pairs. It is also sound advice to avoid the narrow and unlit streets, for there is quite an incentive to murder in the average soldier's wallet or money belt for a Wog who counts ten piastres (or ackers) as a fortune, while the market value of a paybook is an added lure.

I might mention here that Wog (said to be derived from Wily Oriental Gentleman) is a term applied to all people in Egypt of doubtful nationality and covers a multitude of colours, races and creeds, and the common name of "George" is given to all of them. They too call us "George" but more often "Kiwi." All New Zealanders are known as Kiwis, the figure of the bird itself being the emblem of the Division and painted on all the trucks.

The Muski is one long street with dozens of these little side streets and alleys and has various sub-markets such as the spice market, gold street, silver street, leather market, cloth market and so on, all of which we could not visit in the time available.

In the spice market there is such a wonderful aroma that the nose is bewildered by the hundreds of different smells - sage, thyme, curry, chilli, to mention the few I knew, in bushels and heaped on trays, Wogs mixing and grinding them by means of an iron container holding about half a bushel and an iron bar with which the curry, sage, or what have you is pounded into a fine powder. All very primitive but none the less effective and very interesting to watch. Until my Arabic is a bit better I'm afraid I can't give the detail of all the articles on sale or all the spices and herbs in this market.

Down the Gold Market where we saw all sorts of articles in all sorts of gold, but didn't take much notice of the detail there, as I wasn't looking for anything in that line but shall go there another day and have a good look. Saw a few pieces of Chinese and Persian china but none of it was very good or worth a second look, some nice Persian carpets that would be excellent for the NZ home if only it were possible to get them there - didn't ask the price as it is not in my line at all to be buying carpets. Besides, quoted prices in the bazaar are not the sale prices, as one has to bargain and haggle for hours, perhaps even days stretching into periodical visits over weeks, to reach a satisfactory price. One has to have time to buy anything but it is great fun bargaining and, so long as tempers can stand it, a lot of amusement can be got in buying a few oranges from a street hawker.

We also saw some wonderful inlaid furniture, to describe it being beyond my power - all wooden inlaid with ivory and mother of pearl in beautiful designs and costly beyond the means of any soldier, rather the sort of things one finds in a museum. I just gaped when we entered the place and could have spent hours looking at everything and admiring the work, done with such skill and patience.

Gold, silver, brass, leather, wooden goods, cloths, braids, silks, clothing of all descriptions, food, fruit, spices, herbs, peanuts, furniture, furnishings, knick knacks, trays, gongs, mugs, vases, bowls, scents, shoes, slippers, sandals, shoe shine shops - in fact anything and everything can be found in the Muski. It is there that I hope to buy anything that I may send home and I shall probably spend quite a bit of my leave there looking around for odds and ends to send as presents for the odd birthday etc.

For dinner in the evening we went to the New Zealand Club, whither all kiwis repair about sixish to have a wash and a meal. Enough has been written about the Club elsewhere, so I need not say more than that it is a great place to have to go to on leave. Every Kiwi must be glad to have the facilities of the Club at his disposal when in a city where our ideas of living are entirely foreign. There we had a good dinner, helped along with a glass of beer, followed by fruit salad and ice cream (the only thing you can buy that doesn't have a Woggy taste).

Then a round of the "cabarets" or, in other words, the lower dives of the place, where the troops outnumbered the "bints" (young women) by about twenty to one, and the so-called floor shows were of a frightful standard. Having been to three of these and not being very impressed, we had a drink at a Greek place (some mixture of lime juice and water) and toddled off to the place where we picked up the leave truck for home.

So ended my first trip to Cairo, with, I hope, many more to follow, in which to see more of this ancient and fascinating city of Egypt.
Maadi

10 March 1944

Three of us decided to visit the local village and after tea set off - it is about two miles - catching a bus about half a mile away outside the YMCA. The Wog buses that run from there to the station are hard case affairs that only go from force of habit, while the drivers wouldn't be allowed near any respectable bus in NZ. However, for one and a half Piastres (about 3.75 pence) we can go to Maadi station and it saves a long walk.

Maadi itself has some very nice homes, nearly all two storied buildings in stone or brick, with plenty of trees and flowers, the water supply probably the reason for this. It is very pleasant to be under the shade of a tree and to smell flowers and scents again after the barrenness of the desert and the stink of Cairo, while the sight of a bit of green is a relief after the glare of desert sands. The town is only a line of half a dozen shops, all stocking the same things at different prices (all too high) and one store with vegetables etc. The station and the Sporting Club (officers only) are about all the town has to offer in addition to these.

Alex Cunningham, of Tauranga, late Adjutant of our regiment, was one of us and he had been given the address of one of the ladies of the town, Mrs Devonshire, by Major Sutherland, returned from commanding the Div Cav in the desert. So, having seen the town, we enquired for her address to make sure and then strolled round there, finding the place after various adventures with furious dogs and curious Wogs in the darkness. Not being used to continental hours, we disturbed Mrs Devonshire at her dinner, or rather just as she finished, but we were asked to have an orange with her and also a cup of coffee, so with much wondering about how to go about it, and, confronted with one orange, two knives, one fork, one spoon, one plate, finger bowl and d'oyley, we enjoyed a pleasant fruit and drink with our feet under a table laid with a linen cloth - a real novelty.

Now the main part of our night then presented itself - we were invited to look at her library and there we discovered we were the guests of a very talented and highly educated old lady (seventy odd) and one who during her residence in the country of Egypt of thirty eight years, had made a study of the mosques of Egypt and Cairo, written two books on them, as well as taken an active interest in the betterment of the lot of the Egyptians as a race.

Mrs Devonshire is French, very evident in her gestures, shrugs and accent, speaks perfect English and Arabic and probably other languages, writes fluently in French or English, married an Englishman no doubt, now a widow of what we should describe as independent means. She is doing a fine job here by conducting twice a week tours of various mosques and exhibitions of art treasures in Cairo, from Maadi camp. Anyone wishing to see much of this sort of thing can thereby learn a terrific amount about ancient Egypt and the various dynasties through going regularly. A pity we are not to be here long enough to see everything. It is an opportunity that comes but once in a lifetime and we, who can see these things for a few shillings, would do well to think that tourists pay hundreds of pounds and get very little more for it. So we had a very pleasant evening discussing all sorts of things.

We left with a resolve to see more of this lady who could give us so much detail about Egypt that was unobtainable elsewhere except in a very garbled and patched fashion, and to go on some of the trips which she conducts, thus seeing more of old Cairo than we otherwise might, envisaging this as the beginning of a period following our initial settling in, during which we would glean some little knowledge of Egypt and its people.

We paid a visit to Maadi Tent on the way home - a very big recreation place run by the ladies of Maadi, where Kiwis seldom go as it is so far away. It seemed quite a pleasant place and we hoped to return to see some of the shows that were held there.
Egyptian Museum & El Azahr Mosque

11 March 1944

Joining Mrs Devonshire's party at Bab El Luk station, we travelled by gharry to the museum where we saw an exhibition of Turkish carpets. They were set out in order of periods and one of the party told us the names of the various styles. From what I remember, the earliest style was the Yushak, a carpet copied from the Persian style in the days when Turkey was beginning to make carpets, with a central circle in floral design and four corners with a quarter of the same design in each, in dark colours with a dull finish.

The next style was Holbein, a pretty carpet in lighter colours, with a floral design embodying a single motif throughout the whole carpet.

Then the Berges (or Birds - I'm not sure) with a distinct representation of a bird, sort of double headed (can't draw it).

The Geordess or Transylvanian carpet has a single motif, rather like a church door or end view of a temple, giving the carpet an appearance of being properly used when hung on the wall, although for use in a home it would need to be put in a short hall or small passage to fit in with the design. There were many styles of this carpet, some with pillars as though the design was a temple, two, four and six of them probably of some significance but that we were not told. Very much brighter, these carpets appealed to the chap who was telling us - he is Judge Eman of Cairo, a very clever and highly educated man - but for myself I rather liked the Holbein style best of all. It was very interesting and I did learn a bit about designs of Turkish carpets.

The mosque is the University of the Moslem religion in Cairo and apart from details of its architecture was interesting for this fact alone. Built in 970AD, the original mosque consists of a square courtyard surmounted at the entrance by a rather beautiful minaret of stone, with the main building of five naves supported on marble pillars filched from various buildings in Europe, mainly Greek. The floor is covered completely with 15 foot carpet squares, all red with a central medallion and a border, all alike and all fairly new. Any one of these would be worth a fair price and there must have been fifty or sixty in the main part alone with many more in the additional naves and rooms.

In the succeeding centuries additions have been made to the original building; a gallery round the courtyard, two more wings of four and three naves, a smaller mosque at one corner with a very big and ugly minaret. The design of mosques seems to follow the general principle of a minaret at one end and a dome at the other, some of each beautiful and some ugly. It is more than usual to find the domes beautiful, while the minaret has to be stately to attain that standard without taking into account the quality of the carving. There is much that I could write about the designs of the carving and the periods of architecture but could hardly expect to convey much so shall refrain.

One of the interesting features was the educational aspect of the place. All over the courtyard and carpets were the students learning their lessons. They start by learning the Koran or Moslem bible off by heart! They also learn Arabic, English and the three R's as well as many subjects of which I saw biology notes and diagrams only. All the students sit, kneel or stand, muttering away to themselves all the while, learning their lessons off by heart.

All the time we were there we wore slippers over our shoes but I noticed the students carried their shoes in their hands.

Wherever one goes in Egypt one sees, rising above the dwellings the minarets of mosques, many of them of striking beauty and a monument to the workmanship of a people inspired by religion to the erection of these edifices. It is usually in direct contrast with its surroundings, for any village appears to possess a mosque or two. While they are such fine examples of the stone masons and builder's crafts, the dwellings of mud, straw and wooden slats with unfinished flat roofs lying higgeldy piggeldy all over the place, look so squalid and mean that the mosque perhaps imparts an added sense of beauty to the passerby.
The Pyramids

15 March 1944

We later regretted that we wasted so much of the earlier part of the afternoon in Cairo, as by the time we had ended our tram ride to Mena it was lateish. It was not possible to have a really good look at the pyramids in less than half a day. Going out we resisted all the efforts of the dragomen trying to take us there and tell us about the pyramids until we got to Giza. There, one going by the name of "Charlie" sold himself so well that we agreed to go with him, as some sort of guide would be necessary if we were to learn anything of the story of the pyramids.

The Giza or Mena pyramids are 3 in number, one smaller and two larger ones, with the Sphinx making the fourth feature. From our camp at Maadi the pyramids can be seen clearly, rising steeply to the sky, but the Sphinx is built on a lower level and is not silhouetted and thus is not noticeable from that distance. The largest pyramid is 451 feet high and the Sphinx about 30 feet. The pyramid covers 13 acres of ground and is built of sandstone from the hills east of Cairo. At the time of building, before the days of man's interference with the flow of the Nile, in flood time the river covered all the level land from Cairo to the pyramids for four or five months of the year ; the source of fertility for the valley of the Nile. It was possible to take boats right to where the Sphinx now stands. This then was how the stone was brought across and by dint of sheer manual labour the stones were dragged up the causeway and positioned on the foundations of the pyramids one by one. It took half the population of Egypt 13 years to build the Pyramid of Cheops, the biggest one, and looking at it one realises why.

Rising from the foundation it towers steeply to the summit in steps of about four feet, but not evenly all round except in the shape of the whole mass, which is geometrically perfect. We did not have time to climb it and I was disappointed, as the view from the top would have been worth the climb, nor did we go inside as there is supposed to be very little to see there and it involves a walk of 220 feet through a low tunnel to the nearest tomb.

Tombs there are in plenty and in the rock all around the base are to be found the last resting places of all, the people of the king's court in graves dug out of solid rock and ornamented with figures and inscriptions of a nature familiar to all who have seen Egyptian ensigns and writing. Some of the coffins are slabs of Assuan granite, brought down the Nile in the same manner as the stones for the pyramids. All these tombs have been excavated by Egyptologists making a study of Egyptian history. Many of the better discoveries have been removed to various museums, detracting from the interest of the tombs and passages. A necessary evil no doubt, but to my mind it is better to see a statue than a hole in the floor from where it has been removed.

The Sphinx, as I have said, is below the level of the pyramid and is carved out of the rock upon which it stands, with the body of the lion to denote strength, the head of a man to show cleverness and the face of a woman denoting beauty. The sands of time have worn it to such an extent that to preserve it in its present state the front has been bricked up to below the chin, as the prevailing wind blows onto there. In the photo we had taken there of the four of us, a rock obscures all but the head of the Sphinx so that the reinforcing is not visible.

From the Sphinx a stone causeway runs up to the pyramid and it is up this that I believe the stones were dragged. It is also up this that the kings boat and funeral procession went on their way to the last resting place of the monarch who built the pyramid. Beside the pyramid is a deep depression, the resting place of the boat which has been removed, but the place has been reinforced and preserved as an item of interest.

The pyramid is said to have been covered with alabaster when first built, but it has been stripped off leaving the sandstone blocks and a wide strip of foundation round the base exposed. The other large pyramid is capped with alabaster but has been stripped from the base to where this cap begins. It is said to have been used in the building of Mohammed Ali Mosque or the Alabaster Mosque, one of the main features of the city that I have yet to see.

I cannot go into detail about the pyramids as I learnt but little the other afternoon, but for anyone going there on a visit I would recommend reading up a good authority on them first. Then the details as related by the guide will carry more than a bare recital of dynasties, kings, tombs and inscriptions. It is still one of my ambitions to do this and then see the pyramids again, taking the better part of a day to potter about.
Amarich 20 - 22 March 1994

20 March 1944

Our stay in Maadi has ended. Today marks the beginning of our journey to the front lines, for we are leaving for Italy to join the division and once more become part of a unit, thereby attaining the status and obtaining the benefits of a trooper in a fully equipped regiment. The ideal of most reinforcements is to become a member of the unit. We, who have had some experience of life in a unit, know the benefits of that side of soldiering.

Three in the morning and a guard disturbs our slumbers. Getting up, washing, breakfast, packing, dressing, donning equipment and staggering to the trucks takes another

hour and a half. Down to the train; no passenger trucks this time, but steel wagons, roofed, each holding fourteen men and their gear were waiting to take us away.

Followed a day of jerks, jolts, bangs and crashes, monotony of motion, dullness of eternal stopping and waiting, scenery, the green of the Nile delta and the villages, all alike apart from design of minaret rising above the squalor. Canals, camels, cows, the ass and water buffalo jogging along with the fellahin on back or with slow deliberate tread pulling the primitive plough; the ass, small quick and heavily laden, the blue water buffalo slow, almost to imperceptible in movement. But for miles and miles the same scenes are repeated ad nauseum.

Then the disembarkation in the dark, lugging of gear again, mounting trucks, a bewildering ride round and round the mulberry bush style, looking for tents in the dark, eating mess by lamplight under the starts, weariness, cold, sand, dark, losing then finding each other then sleep until morning.

Transit Camp Amarich

21 March 1944

A bleak windswept area by the roadside, with tents erected to accommodate us, a tin shed serving as a cookhouse and that is all. However we soon are comfortable, with benzene fireplace outside, billy, tea, milk, sugar and odd rations. Water can be scrounged from somewhere, benzene the same, wash basin from a kerosene tin and we are established for a day or a week or the length of our stay whatever it may be. Later in the day a shower, regular meals, sand, pictures at night, supper, more sand and best of all, more sleep.

22 March 1944

The same. They say we are to move out tomorrow morning. After lugging our bivouac tents so far, they were handed in and are to be carried by transport. Good, but why not at first?
NZ Advanced Base Italy

28 March 1944

The trip over from Egypt to Italy was accomplished without incident, our embarkation and accommodation on the ship being properly organised. Indeed the staff work there was very good, all proceeding without a hitch. Quarters on board were better than anything we had hoped for. Six of us were in a four berth cabin with two hand basins and running hot and cold water, to which our first reaction was a thorough wash and change and a wash day at the same time. A few strings across the cabin took all the clothes, which dried in a very short time.

My first night's sleep was rather disturbed through having to do a shift on sabotage picket right up in the fore peak, through which I was awake from 1230 to 0400. As this followed an early start to get away on time that morning, it took the next day to recover.

We travelled in convoy, well escorted, and unless it was a practice had but the one sub scare when we all went zigzagging about and the escorts tore around to one flank. The ships blew their sirens like a lot of frightened sheep, increasing their speed to get away from the danger zone. Planes pass continually overhead on their way to and from Italy, and we could not but feel how comforting it was to know that they were all ours. In this respect we are very lucky, as we are entering the war at a time when we are adequately armed and equipped and have sufficient support to render existence in the war zone reasonably safe.

Food, the soldiers first thought, was good and the meals palatable. Small things such as dish washing excellent, so that in all it was a most comfortable trip, not marred by any feelings of sickness on my part either. Perhaps I am one of the lucky ones.

I learnt to play chess on the way over with Brian Vickerman, although in every game I was we'll beaten, and am pleased to have another source of recreation available. Brian has a small pocket chess set, the board folding in half and constituting the box to hold the tiny chessman; extremely handy to carry.

Our introduction to Italy was not too promising, its discomfort increased through our inability to berth throughout the day. Anticipating an early arrival and quick disembarkation we were woken and fed much earlier than usual. At eight we were on deck ready to leave, although the ship at this stage was still outside the harbour. We could not go below as the place was all cleaned up and there was a bitter wind blowing from the north with occasional sleet and rain so that we sought the sheltered places as much as possible, as well as walked round and round the deck to keep warm. Twelve o'clock came and we had lunch aboard, followed by more hours of waiting, until at last we got permission to berth. Then we were quickly ashore, on board the waiting trucks and off for an hour and a bit in the wind till we reached camp. The first chap I met was Fred Francis who used to be in my troop at home from Whakatane.

Later on I met others from the old regiment as well as Bill Donovan and Sam Allen who were officers in the regiment back home and came over with the 10th Reinforcement. They were both wounded but were now awaiting their return to their unit. After talking to them for a couple of hours I went off to bed, but before turning in found four letters waiting for me; two airmail from Noeline, an air graph from sisters Dulcie and Isabel. Morale very high!

This part of Southern Italy is of volcanic origin with very stony and rocky soil, not unlike Maugatapere, Whangarei, where our camp was, but at the same time is fairly level with gently rising slopes and a few higher features. No fences, a few stone walls, very little livestock, but all the land is cultivated and planted with olive trees, almond orchards, and a sort of scrub oak, with very often grape vines between the rows of trees. It is great to see the almond trees in blossom and the green of the grass after barren Egypt, but at the same time the weather seems much too severe yet for blossoms and fresh grass unless they are very hardy over here.

What few cattle there are, are blue, with long horns and pendulous throats, every other one with a collar and bell so that a herd grazing makes a medley of dings and dongs that carries far through the trees. This at first puzzled us, as the cattle themselves were not visible among the oaks. The sheep, too, have bells but only the bell wether in the flock, and like the cows must be constantly herded because of the complete absence of any barrier in the form of fence or stream. There must be plenty of artesian water here, as so far I have observed no running streams anywhere near and the winter rainfall is obviously high.

The cottages are all of stone and their white walls stand out against the green and brown of the surrounding country. They are widely scattered and most of the population appears to live in the villages and towns. The most popular place to build a village seems to be up on the highest places. This is one of the reasons why these towns and villages are so hard for an enemy to take, presenting as they do ideal opportunities for defence, plus a commanding view of the countryside in every direction.
Mottola

30 March 1944

Mottola is a village on a hilltop some six miles away. Leave was granted to a few of us to visit Mottola, so, under the principle of taking all that was offered we went. Hitch hiking is the means of transport unless one prefers to walk and after a wait in the cold wind we picked up a truck which took us right into town. Only a village, but being typical of the Italian community, Mottola is very interesting to anyone making his acquaintance with Italy for the first time. Like country places the world over, it has a population that is more friendly and hospitable than those in larger towns, thus tending to make an afternoon visit even more pleasant.

A walk round the cobbled street soon disclosed that there was very little in the shops that one could buy. In the course of the afternoon I purchased only half a dozen pegs to replace those I left behind at Maadi. The Germans have been here before us and have taken all that appealed to them in their occupation of the district, so that what is left is of only trifling value and poor quality. Perhaps here and there one could find an odd article of quality.

The children appeal to us. There are dozens of them - in fact they seem to be the chief product of the district - and they are very cheerful in spite of their lack of really warm clothing and obvious undernourishment. They gave us every assistance in finding our way around, despite our garbled Italian sign language, in return for which they are very grateful for a cigarette or a few matches. Matches and cigarettes are in very short supply and the gift of a few matches produces a torrent of "grazia, grazia," perhaps more from the older people than the youngsters. In the course of the afternoon we tried the vermouth, the Marsala and a white wine that tasted like cider, and in our wanderings collected a quartet of small boys who stuck to us until we left.

However before this we paid a visit to the church, but unfortunately were not guided by the padre who had already shown several of our sergeants around, and did not get a good look at the altars. They are marvellous pieces of work and must be valuable beyond price nowadays as such work is no longer to be found in modern constructions. The murals on the walls were of sufficient interest to occupy an afternoon. Our visit was so brief that they made no lasting impression and I can describe none of them, which is rather a pity. It appears that, rather like Egypt, each village has a church that is a jewel among pebbles, into which has gone the work of craftsmen long since dead and which still bears evidence of the care lavished on it by a people who can ill afford it. Putting their religion before all else they contribute regularly, even if it entails a few days of semi fasting, for they have so little.

Poverty here is very real and very apparent. There do not appear to be any crops other than olives, almonds, figs and fruit, very free sheep and cattle, and at best the soil around here is rocky and difficult to cultivate. Clothing, boots and furnishings all appear to be three or four years old and it is rarely that one sees even townspeople well dressed in reasonably new clothes. I do not know what the people eat apart from macaroni. Those of us who have tried to get a meal at a civilian restaurant have been charged ten to fifteen shillings for a reasonable meal. We are forbidden to enter public cafes which are placed out of bounds, as we would consume food that local people find hard to get. We have service clubs where arrangements are made to provide us with good meals at normal prices.

For all that sanitation is very primitive here, Motolla is very clean, so I conclude they must sweep the streets occasionally. The streets, paved with stone, are all narrow with very, very narrow connecting alleys that twist and turn around the buildings, often consisting of flights of stone steps where the grade is steep. From the windows, which open onto balconies enclosed by iron grilles, as in Cairo and extending to three or four storeys, all the household refuse is dumped into the streets. One has to keep an eye aloft in case someone should choose the moment one is passing to dump overboard a bucket of dirty water or peelings. Yet, from the glimpses we have had of inside the houses, the Italian housewives seem to keep their places quite clean and only the streets are dirty. The children, bambino, are usually grubby, but probably because the street is necessarily their playground and there they encounter the dirt of all the town.

We came out from a street onto a broad terrace that wound away into the south road and were confronted by a view such as one seldom sees. Mile upon mile of tree dotted landscape fading into the distance. The landscape was dotted with the white houses of farms and lined with white roads and grey stone walls with rows of fruit and olive trees. On the far left the sea and Taranto with a few ships visible even from that distance; the harbour seemingly a busy one.

From the other side of the village a similar view could be obtained of all the country to the north and east. A pity the camera will not record the same impression as then one could take a few shots to illustrate.

Asking a boy where we would get some roasted almonds led to a search all over the village, ending in success, but in the meantime we were given a supply of fresh ones by a man who spoke a little French. He would not take any payment for them but finally accepted a pack of cigarettes.

We had a glass of white wine after going through a door and down a flight of steps to a sort of cellar, opening off the main living quarters of the house. It was served from a dipper that obviously was refilled from the enormous keg lying there. Talk about a queer place to have a drink!

So we bade farewell to our escort of boys, giving them a packet of cigarettes in return for their services, whereupon they shook hands all round, wished us "bono sera" and toddled off back up the hill to home.
Bari

31 March 1944

The leave to Bari takes a full day, the trucks leaving shortly after eight in the morning and returning in the evening. The last one leaves Bari at seven, so one gets a decent leave out of it. With ten percent going every day, everyone gets a turn in rotation.

Perhaps one of the notable features of the city is that the buildings are nearly all of a uniform height of four or five storeys. This makes the streets appear similar to one another though the length of the town. The New Zealand club there is on the first floor of a building directly opposite the Theatre Petruzelli (the local Garrison theatre) said to be the biggest in the world until one larger was erected in America within recent years. It seats 7000 and at the moment is showing The Merry Widow which I hope to attend in due course. The Club is our home while on leave. There we can have a cup of tea and a sandwich at certain hours, have lunch and tea across the road, run by the Club, for which we pay 30 lire and where we can have a wash, shower, rest, eat, read, talk or what have you when not out in town.

Down at the shore the fishermen were selling mussels, sea eggs, squid and herrings. At tables set out on the sand crowds of people were seated with their bottles of vino, guzzling sea eggs etc, eating bread and drinking wine. I tried to take a snap of it but could only get one table in the picture and then a signorina insisted in posing for me so I may have a snap to illustrate this.

As in Motolla there is very little in the shops and we bought nothing but some figs and almonds all day, although we did finally end up with a terrific bag full to send home.

One of the first sights we saw was a procession of some sort passing down the street just off the Club, and we gathered that it was a funeral. However, later in the day the same procession passed the post office where we had a view from the steps and from where I took a photo of it. We then realised that it was a religious ceremony of some sort, probably connected with Palm Sunday (2nd April). What finally convinced us of this was the sight of a surpliced figure taking up a collection en route.

We really did very little in Bari except wander round and see the town. We paid a visit to the hospital where we found nobody we knew. Gordon Rigger (ex Tauranga) and Brian Vickerman with whom I went on leave, bought quite a few stamps. In fact this took up quite a proportion of the day, as it is a lengthy business when language difficulties have to be overcome.

This language question is more acute over here than in Egypt, where everyone could speak some sort of English. If one wishes to speak to the Italian it is necessary to speak his tongue or, in some cases, French. The latter is more generally spoken here than any other foreign language. We, who learnt it at school and can remember enough to get by with, find it invaluable in our dealings with the Italians. A lot of words and phrases that had slipped from our minds are gradually coming back and I find that provided we both speak slowly it is possible to converse with anyone who knows French. In fact I have been spoken to straight off in French, to my great surprise, as usually they try Italian first.
Taranto

1 April 1944

Having nothing to do today, Brian, Gordon and I decided to visit Taranto by the simple expedient of getting a leave pass and hitch hiking. After walking a few hundred yards we got a lift most of the way, swapped trucks and finished the journey in a Polish one.

After a look round the harbour and a stroll through the narrow and interesting streets that abound in this part of the world, we found a post office. The other two tried to get the stamps to complete collections they are making. They had a lot of fun with the girl, who did her best to give them what they wanted in the stamp line, but didn't have all the ones they were seeking. So we repaired to the main post office and there spent quite a while with two girls this time, who could let them have a few more stamps and to whom they gave, for the trouble they took, a packet of cigarettes. Did their eyes sparkle! A whole packet was a real treat to them and we would have stayed longer only we still had a lot of the town to see.

Taranto consists of the town and harbour, inner and outer harbours connected by a narrow channel that divides the town in two. A bridge that of necessity is light and therefore narrow and can only take one stream of traffic spans this channel. To admit ships to the inner harbour the bridge is swung aside at either end. It is in two halves, each pivoted at the point of balance. The shore end runs on a rail forming an arc of 90 degrees on a concrete foundation, thus making a gap wide enough to admit the largest of ships.

The sign of a stamp dealer attracted the attention of the other two and we ducked under an archway and up a flight of stairs on the far side of a courtyard to a little room, quite a good modern little room. It was just being closed up but at our appearance was hastily thrown open again. There ensued the best two hours of the day. The dealer spoke no English and no French. We spoke practically no Italian but a friend of the dealer who did speak some French came in and we finally got going. After a while Brian and Gordon located the stamps they wanted and found that they would be taking the heart out of the last two sets that the dealer had. There arose a tricky question of relative value and payment, rather than break his sets he wanted to sell them complete. When they took only three of the stamps he charged them eighty percent of the price of the set.

So Gordon produced his "swaps" which included blocks of health stamps, centennial issues and sets of ordinary stamps. There the situation changed as the dealer wanted to have a lot of them, so the price of the others became merely a matter of barter. We were carrying on such a babel of chatter in three languages plus generous gestures on the part of the stamp enthusiasts that half the time we were all convulsed with laughter, accompanied by much back slapping and hand shaking. In the thick of all this, a bottle of wine was produced to keep our throats in working order. Anything Gordon wanted to say we put in French to the dealer's cobber or to a boy who had come in as well. They translated into Italian and back by the same channel, making heavy weather of it, but our efforts to express ourselves in schoolboy French were so funny that we were in fits all the time. I haven't laughed so much for a long time.

However in the end they swapped a lot of stamps and Gordon reckoned he got two pounds worth of stamps for about five bob, without actually spending a penny and came away feeling very pleased with himself.

We were dismayed to find that it was six o'clock and we still had to find our way home, but even then we spent an hour getting some fresh almonds that the other two wanted to send home and then we set off. Well, we crossed the bridges, trying to thumb a lift the whole way. We finally reached a check post past the last fork in the road, about a mile and half from the centre of town, where we borrowed a red lamp to stop trucks with. Our luck was right out as everything that came along was a civilian car and they won't pick us up. So after an hour of waiting in the bitterly cold wind we set out to walk the odd twenty five miles (at a guess) back to camp while a couple of Tommies, two Poles and an Italian sailor waited with the light hoping something would turn up. Many trucks passed us as we plodded along leaning forward against the wind that whipped into our faces and made our eyes run (I had bad eyes for two days afterwards ) covering about four miles before at last a small truck stopped and we clambered thankfully aboard. However that took us only to Mottola, in the course of which ride we picked up the Tommies and then some Poles, the Tommies having been given a lift on one of the trucks that refused to stop for us. Apparently no pickups are made at night as the danger of being held up on the road by vagabonds or even enemies is considerable.

So we walked the five or six miles from Mottola at a cracking pace and staggered into camp at 11.30 rather worn out and definitely hungry. All we had eaten since dinner at 12.30 was an orange each. So supper, a good foot wash and bed followed in quick succession. The very last straw was that the clocks were advanced an hour that night and on top of a heavy day and late night we were diddled out of an hour's sleep.
Still at Advance Base

5 April 1944

So we are to move up to the line tomorrow. Our stay here has been quite a pleasant one, enlivened by the liberal leave last week, stopped on Sunday for all of us due to go forward, and made comfortable by the acquisitive nature of the common soldier. Out tent is capable of holding eight comfortably and has but five of us; Brian Vickerman, a lawyer from Wellington, Terry Minhinnick of the Herald staff, as is his brother the cartoonist, Gordon Rigger, a plasterer of Tauranga, late of the Temporary staff in New Zealand, Alex Cunningham, also a lawyer of Tauranga until lately our adjutant (AECMR) and myself.

A fireplace and billy, several water cans that found their way to the tent, wash tins, a brazier and supply of charcoal purchased from the charcoal burners about a mile from camp, hot water in plenty by the simple expedient of collecting dry twigs from the surrounding country, usually a sackful every night, morning and afternoon tea, supper with toast made over the brazier and good laundry. By combining all these facilities they have all contributed to our comfort.

It is a cheerful scene round about nine at night with the five of us round the brazier in the tent, revelling in the beaut heat it gives out and sipping Bovril drinks, tea, cocoa or coffee and munching toast. Butter doesn't exist over here and even margarine is in fairly short supply but we manage to pinch enough of it with cheese jam and golden syrup from the mess room to do us for supper at night. We shall be sorry to leave it behind but we shall soon belong to units and there life is much better than here, where we are nobody's children.
Italy April 1944 – 8 May 1945

April 1944

Arriving fresh from the warmth of Egypt and after a soft life of sea voyaging in warm waters, I was caught off balance by the inclement weather of the tail end of Italy's winter. As a result I had a most miserable journey from Advanced Base to the division with a good dose of flu that nearly put me in hospital and probably might have altered the whole of my career over this side of the world. As it was it merely made the journey from Bari to Caserta one of the most miserable I have known. We were seated in small compartments where we could just touch the far seat with our knees and had no room to stretch or move about. Sleep was almost out of the question until I managed to get under the seat where there was just room to breathe. One of the things we learned in these train stops was to make tea and cocoa with boiling water from the engine. At every stop there was a wild scramble with billies to the head of the train where they would talk the driver into turning on the tap. Strange to say, the water was quite all right to drink and not tainted in any way, so we had hot drinks with our meals to cheer us up a bit.

Being miserable with the flu I took little notice of the country we passed through, and in any case we travelled most of the way at night, arriving at Caserta at seven in the morning where we changed into goods wagons for the last stages of the journey. For this I was very glad as then it was possible to stretch out on the floor, which I promptly did after a wash and a shave. It meant that I saw very little of Caserta, whereas some of the others did get into town before our train pulled out. After many false alarms and wild scampers to our wagons we finally left, and after a short quick run were at out NZ Reinforcement Unit, a few minutes' walk from the station. I can remember the walk as an eternity as I was by this time running a temperature of 102 degrees and felt like nothing on earth. The only thing I recall was seeing my first sunken road, of which we were later to see many. My first reaction to a proper camp was to seek out the Regimental Aid Post and there the orderly immediately suggested hospital. However I was in no mood to go back to Second General Hospital in Caserta so persuaded him to let me sleep there and see how I was in the morning. Although I had to stay in bed an extra day and night, thus missing the rest of the draft, it made no difference in the long run.

The next stage was to be taken by truck to what was then known as TDT, Tank Delivery Troop, which is part of our 4th brigade, handling all replacements of tanks and reinforcement personnel. From there we were finally posted to units, no choice being given but to join the 20th, who asked for the biggest quota. While there I met a lot of chaps I knew in Div Cav, that regiment having just come out of the line at Cassino for a day or two. Also met some from the 18th Regiment which was at Migano where our B Echelon transport was brigades. Gil Murray came up to see me and I went down to their place one evening, seeing many of the chaps from our Regiment back home, but shall skip details as they won't be of any interest. It rained most of the time we were there and keeping our bivvies waterproof was quiet a contract, but we survived and learnt a bit about living in a pup tent. Also they had some of the best cooks I have known and we fed like fighting cocks.

I sampled my first Marsala out of a 4 gallon water can and have hardly touched Marsala since, as it made me sick; a sad introduction to the wines of Italy. Probably the odd bit of lining off the inside of the can didn't help much either.

12 April 1944

This day saw my entry into the 20th Armoured Regiment which has been my home ever since.

I was posted to Reconnaissance Troop and after a week at Mignano, where I saw my brother Allen, who was camped a bare half mile away, probably as close as we have ever been since, I joined the rest of the troop at Cassino. After hearing and reading so much about Cassino and the Monastery it was quite interesting to be so close to them both. While I was there I took some snaps of it but the film was no good and I have never had any prints taken off the negatives.

April 1944 to 8 May 1945

We were then at what is known as A Echelon, or the part of the Regiment immediately behind the line. The Regiment had six tanks in the town of Cassino itself, the crews of which were relieved every two days. At times the tanks themselves changed over, but this wasn't popular as it drew too much unwelcome attention from Jerry. A Echelon was on the forward slope of the hills on the south side of the valley and we were all camped under the olive trees, which gave us cover from view from the Monastery. Yet when we sat out in the sun in the mornings having a cup of tea, we were in full view of the enemy observers at the Monastery, who, I think, had plenty more to worry about much closer to hand as they worried us very little. We were living in dugouts, Bill Archdall and I in one, and the first night was our introduction to the sound of shell fire. In those days we didn't know the difference between imports and exports except for one Jerry gun that used to regularly do over the roads a couple of hundred yards behind us. We talked for hours that first night and went to sleep with the bangs and whistles in our ears.

After listening to them now for over a year we can tell, almost exactly, what guns are ours and of Jerrys' are firing and know fairly easily when to hit the dirt smartly and when to appear quite unconcerned, but in those days it was more a matter of blissful ignorance.

I was lucky to get no more than a couple of trips in a scout car (in armoured car – Daimler) down to Battalion HQ on the flat and on each occasion it was peaceful. Every evening the artillery put over hundreds of rounds of smoke and in the valley smoke canisters were lit so that by a quarter to eight the screen rose to obscure the Monastery and it was possible to get a fair amount of work and movement over before dark. Once the smoke rose to the Monastery it was a signal for us to go on any trips to the valley in the scout cars. Some days the smoke never lifted but lay obscuring the town, while at other times the whole of the valley, the mountains - Monastery hill on the left with its smaller members, Hangmans Hill and Castle Hill and Mount Cairo to the right, behind Terelle - and the town itself, reduced to utter ruin and desolation, were clearly in view. I have stood with glasses glued on the town and hills for minutes on end but never a sign of life did I see. There was little sign of the hundreds of troops facing each other on that famous battlefield.

It was at Cassino that I learnt to play contract bridge, in a house beside the cook shop that rattled and shook all night to the sound of gunfire, completely blacked out and lit by a couple of candles. Although, as I now realise, our standard of play was low and our bidding unorthodox we had some enjoyable games there, the first of many that were to fill the evenings at Pietramalra later on. Of all the players we had in the circle then, there are but three of us left, the others having either gone home or gone west.

And so I lay claim to being with the Regiment in Cassino, a thing very few of the 11th Reinforcements can do, although my share in it was practically nil.

From Cassino the Regiment withdrew to a rest area at Pietramalra, a little village off Route 6, the Caserta Rome highway. There we had our first taste of the Italian summer, after two days of torrential rain that nearly flooded me out and which confined us to our tents. Was in a bivvy by myself there – not a very sociable way to live, but that's how it turned out and I couldn't help it. I discovered later that I had been lying in a pool of water, luckily under my groundsheet, for two days. We emerged like rabbits from our warren to have our meals and went straight back again. The weather became warm and the long hot summer began.

We visited Speedy Beach on the Mediterranean coast, just below Sessa and in view of the front line smoke.

Here too we discovered the disadvantages of living in malaria country. We were issued with summer clothing and had our first taste of "Mosquito precautions" or malaria precautions, whichever you prefer, including spraying ditches to kill the wrigglers.

I hadn't known before that Italy had malarial mosquitoes, always having associated them with places like the Pacific Islands, Panama and the tropical forest countries of the world. But I am still convinced that the little yellow mepacrine pills we take every day put some sort of pigment into my skin. I found that after a quiet start of a few minutes each day, I was soon able to stay out in the sun for hours wearing only a pair of shorts without suffering from sunburn. Long sleeves, slacks and bush nets became the curses of the warm nights. The only attitude to adopt is that it is better to suffer a little discomfort than have malaria.

Included in the activities of a unit is the control of malaria for two thousand yards all round the camp. I struck one day of spraying that I still remember. In this part of Italy there are many sunken roads that become natural watercourses. Pools form here and there, making ideal breeding grounds for mosquitoes. We had to walk up and down all these roads as well as all the ditches, spraying with kerosene and oil the surface of the water. The pump we had kept blocking at the nozzle. While clearing it I got my face covered with the mixture and by evening was nearly driven crazy by the sting of it, so was thankful not to strike that job again.

Football was still in season, in spite of the hardness of the ground. I had several games, playing for the troop and for the squadron. The skin was taken off my knees and elbows three times a week.

Still in the Recce Troop and there became commander of a cut-down Honey tank with Eric Goodene and Graham Nisbett, driver and operator respectively. Shortly after we got our tank we left for the front, attached to "B" Squadron, and with them moved up to Atina from Cassino. Thence with the Reconnaissance Troop up to Sora, Campole and Pescosolido and nearly to Balsorano. Only did one recce and spent most of the latter part of the time carting ammunition up to the front tanks. (The one recce was useless, as the Regiment was working on regimental frequency and could not get on the air to give information.)

I was transferred to B Squadron after the Sora action and joined No 7 Troop in the Troop Leader's tank as gunner. The crew were Charlie Innes (2/lt) commander, Stuart Bishop "Bish" driver, Shortie Canavan spare driver, Bunny Martin operator. Later Sel Aberhart took Bunny's place.

From Sora in early June we moved to a rest area (Anitrella), between Isola Liri and Fontana Liri, right beside the Liri River, which was much warmer than the Fibreno (beside which we had camped for a fortnight before that) Here we had plenty of swimming in the pool that was part of the power works at Fontana Liri. Very pleasant. Very hot here too, but being summer, could expect little else. Mid July we moved from here on a long trek to the front, which had moved some three hundred miles, and ended by going into action in the Chianti district, below Florence and working up through San Casciano, La Romala, San Michele, to the southern part of Florence, where we had to turn round, and came out of the line to Cerbaia for a while. On the way up we had stopped at many different places that are too numerous to count.

We then moved back to an area a few miles east of Siena and did see a bit of Siena one afternoon, but only a short walk round the town.

I had leave to Rome from here and on the way back passed the tanks moving across to the Adriatic sector, so did that trip in a truck, front seat too! However, it was so bumpy and the seat so springy, I nearly lost all the skin off my back with the rubbing against the back of the seat. Route via Lake Trasimeno where we had stopped before for a while, on the move to Florence, and where we had some swimming in the waters of the lake.

Camped at Jesi for a while, near an aerodrome, and then moved by stages up towards the front. We stopped beside a fighter drome for a while – just across the fence from it. Terribly noisy in the morning when we preferred to sleep.

Thence to Gradana, where I saw Trevor Hill a couple of times. Gradana is notable for a big castle on a hill and a village within its walls, but I didn't get to see it.

From here we had a short action with Greeks – only a day and a half emergency call – and came back to the same area.

I forgot to mention – while at Jesi I was moved to No 5 Troop as corporal, commanding a tank there, with Des Banks driver, Fred Round spare driver, Bob McCready gunner and Cliff Wigzell operator.

Gradana to Rimini and then across the Marecchio River into action again. Crossed the Nao and moved up to 1000 yards from the Rubicon where we were relieved.

We moved back to behind the Uso River and then out to the coast. Here I was moved from 6 Troop to commander of the spare tank in Squadron HQ. Was sent back to Viserba with two short in my crew and the squadron went in again, without me.

Here I met and saw a lot of Gil Murray, Sam Allen, Bill Donovan, Jack Morice and several others. My brother Allen was away at workshops so didn't see anything of him at all. I was just about going crackers for want of something to do and got all mail up to date.

We moved up to below Bellaria, at the orphanage, with four of a crew and took over Lofty Newman's tank for action as sergeant of 6 Troop. Crew was Del Giles, driver, Snow Goodsir, spare driver, Reg Morgan, operator, Eric Maffey, gunner and myself. Alec Cunningham took the Troop, although then still a Sergeant. Moved out in the afternoon en route for Gambettolla, but it came on to rain and we pulled in to a ploughed paddock for the night. I stayed on as Sergeant of Squadron picquet while the rest went back to the Orphanage to billets.

Had an early breakfast and on to Gambettolla where we waited a day for 5 Brigade to establish a bridgehead over the Pisciatello River and next morning started off as reserve troop on a two day action that ended six hundred yards from the Savio River. Pulled out from there and did an indirect shoot that night, using up all our ammunition. Good fun!

Next afternoon pulled back to Gambettolla and loaded on to transporters about ten miles down the road from there, heading south. Slept in the transporter and when we woke at daylight to off-load were among the mountains again. Great feeling to be out of the noise of gunfire again – the first time for six weeks I think.

We ended up in billets at Fabriano, with B Squadron away from the rest on the Foligna road. Very, very weary and glad to get to bed after a very messy day waiting for billets to be arranged.

Had four days' rest at a Sergeant's House at a place Colle Pachinello, up in the hills. Wrote home all about that on the date 30 October 1944:
Holiday at Colle Pachinello

Letter to Noeline 30 October 1944

Just cast your mind back a bit and you'll remember that when you had airmail from me at this date I was nattering about a four day holiday in the hills and promised to tell you all about it in detail, at which you growled to yourself at having to wait so long for it but didn't dare say so and just waited very patiently for the letter to turn up. Well, here it is at last, written in the chill of Italy's early winter and read in the heat of NZ's summer after travelling half way round the world.

This place is, we think, a summer residence and is the property of a bank teller(!) in the nearest town (not to mention names of course) who, with great reluctance, has consented to the use of same as a "rest home" for weary sergeants of our Regiment, wherein ten or a dozen at a time can spend four days away from the madding crowd in real peaceful solitude. We, being the first, have been a little unfortunate in being the guinea pigs and having to discover the best way of doing things - what is wanted to run the place etc – but altogether we have had a pretty good time and can't complain at all.

To start with the house itself: Like all houses in Italy it is built of brick and stone (they vary of course – some stone, some brick and some both) mostly brick, with a plaster finish that has cracked away badly in places. It consists of cellar, ground and first floors and is cold. The cellar I haven't as yet been into – nothing to see anyway or so I am told. The ground floor has two entrances from the road, one of which is, to us, permanently closed and the other leads to the kitchen or back door. On the far side of the place is a double door with inner double glass doors which is the entrance we all use. This opens into the living room containing an oval table and ten wooden chairs with six-inch backs (very disconcerting to anyone trying to relax and lean back), a couple of pieces of furniture that are merely a double drawered cupboard with a drawer above for holding kitchenware or food, linen etc, and a tall china cabinet with plate glass door, very simply designed and not exactly ornamental. The first two flank the only casement window, frosted, as it fronts the roadway and we use them for the wireless and the letter stand. We only eat in this room as it is much too cold for anything else.

Adjoining is the kitchen, fairly well equipped and probably the latest fashion for the Italian village, even to a stone wash-bench and stone basin with plug and drainpipe – ultra modern.

The stove is merely a tiled stone plate with three small square holes, at the bottom of which are small grates. To do cooking, a few embers or burning sticks are dragged from the open fire to the right, and put in these holes, placing the pots and pans over the top. The fires are probably replenished from time to time – I don't know. Very primitive.

The open fire has a wide stone hearth at chair height from the floor, and it is there that I am seated at this moment, with the fire at my back. Hanging from the hook suspended from the chimney is a dixie of water to heat, so that we shan't altogether waste the wood. Firewood is a luxury in Italy and we are most extravagant to have a fire at all in the daytime, or even at night for that matter.

The third room on this floor is the bedroom of the chap whose job it is to supervise the running of the place and arrange the meals etc. Off it open two doors, one to a room wherein the owner has stored his belongings and the other to a grubby looking WC. It has no flushing system and relies on the bucket of water method. It stood up for a day and then gave out, so we have to manage as best we can without it. Probably more sanitary anyway.

Upstairs are five bedrooms and a sitting room, not bad at all either, but the bare stone walls and tiled floors are very cold to the touch at this time of the year. We sleep three or two to a bedroom, on the floor if not in possession of a bed (the LiLo, so scorned by certain people I know, is most useful). We use the sitting room for reading and writing in the mornings when it is warm enough. The walls are painted to imitate wood but deceive nobody, while the ceilings have been decorated in various ways, but cracks that have been recently plastered over spoil the effect.

There is another house adjoining and built directly on to the back wall, so that we appear to occupy half of a big building. From the outside it is imposing enough, with straight sides and gable roof, oblong in shape with no exterior decoration whatsoever. In our end, every window has green double louvre shutters outside, with double casement windows, and inside, solid wooden shutters painted a bright red – heaven knows why they are all wanted but there may be some reason. The green ones look quite attractive from outside.

One side of the house is right on the roadway itself, but the other side might be considered rather attractive in its way. The side of the house is covered with Virginia creeper (which, at this time of the year, is beautiful with autumn colours) Wistaria and a sort of rose that is mostly stem and little leaf. A gravelly lawn runs out to a stone balustrade, through which a set of stone steps leads to a lower terrace, and on this lower level are a bird bath, small rock gardens and odd plots (all in a neglected state now). On the upper lawn are a couple of deciduous trees that would provide welcome shade in summer, and a round summer-house, in the centre of which is a round stone-topped table – ideal for, say, tea of a summer afternoon or an evening game of cards; a quiet rest with a glass of wine, or anything along those lines. Owing to the complete absence of a bathroom in any form, we use it as a shaving table in the mornings. There is another small table there, also stone, which we use for the same purpose. This absence of bathrooms is one of the things that amaze us, as there is plenty of water about and it would be so easy to lay it on to the houses, but the idea just doesn't seem to enter their heads. To find a proper bathroom in a country home in Italy is yet to be one of my experiences. However, we are rather used to doing without them now and it doesn't trouble us much.

I have since discovered that the trees on the lawn are two limes and an ash – information gleaned from one of our company who is a school teacher and made a study of the subject. I should really learn the names of all the trees here, but natural laziness prevents me (besides the difficulty of finding anyone who knows them).

Now we come to the one room that so far I haven't mentioned. Accessible only from the lawn by thick double doors and lit by two pokey little windows on either side, it contains the only decent open fire in the house and is the bake-house when the home is functioning properly. The roof, heavily beamed and reinforced with a stone archway, is black and sooty with the smoke of years. The floor is dirty and the walls stained a dark brownish black with age, smoke and dust. The remaining window is grimy and the floor cluttered up with pot plant stands, old stools, wheelbarrow and broken tools; but unimposing as it looks at first sight, it is by far the most comfortable room in the house. Here we gather round the fire at night, with a big jar of vino handy, and natter away with an occasional glass of vermouth, have our supper of tea and toast made over the coals, and generally spend a pleasant and tranquil evening in the warmth, while outside the wind blows softly and the rain patters on the golden leaves of the lime trees.

Bed time is between nine and twelve and I have slept more soundly than I have for a long time, not waking till nearly nine in the mornings to the sound of a breakfast call – "Ready in ten minutes".

Mornings, when wet, are devoted to letter writing and when fine the afternoon is sure to be wet so we go for a walk instead. Opportunities to get a bit of exercise are many and walks can be as short or long, easy or stiff as one desires. There is one big feature a mile or so back, up which I went one afternoon. I was very pleasantly surprised, after scrambling up a shingly path and over slopes of shale and scrub, to come out on to a grassy slope that led right to the top and formed a cap of soft smooth turf over the whole mountain. The turf would be the delight of golfers anywhere, cropped smooth by the flocks of sheep that must be brought there by the peasants to graze. A grassy surface is so rare here that I was the more delighted to have found it. Looking about me, I now find that a lot of the hills are like that and would be corker to rest on in fine weather. Unfortunately, the call of other duties, letters etc, keeps the days fairly full, but I must try to see more of the hills some day, as more than any other place they remind me of home. Italy is too ordered and intensively cultivated after the wild bush-clad slopes and the steep scrub country we are more used to, so a touch of untamed hill country is very refreshing.

There is little doubt that the scenery here at this time of the year is superb, with mist swirling around the higher peaks and ranges and the neatly trimmed patches of cultivation clinging to the sides of the steepest mountains. These are softened by rain and distance to a gentle blending of greens, browns and greys, merging into the mass of small fields, rows of trees and vines, and plowed strips. Here and there a cluster of small cottages nestles in a saddle in the hills or clings to the slopes and seemingly to each other, for support, their dull grey and brown blending with the grey skies and dark mountains.

The variety here is so noticeable after the monotony of cultivated hills such as we struck in the Chianti district, south of Florence, for which even the Chianti wines could not compensate. That is my biggest complaint about scenery in Italy – it is so much the same everywhere that it tires me. Although there are some very impressive scenes embodying castles on the hills silhouetted against sunsets with the green of trees stretching away on either side, it is this type of country we have here that I like the best. It is natural, I suppose, that, coming from a hilly country, we prefer the hills to anything else Italy has to offer.
In Camp 26 November 1944 – 13 April 1945

Nothing much to do once the tanks were all cleaned up and overhauled, except read, write and play footy. Saw Allen again – first time since Anitrella in June or July. He was on the edge of the town of Fabriano itself. Weather mostly cold, wet and miserable and we were lucky to be inside and not in bivvies as usual. Played football till I sprained or pulled a muscle in my back that had played up on me in July, probably through loading ammunition into the tank, and saw a lot of the regimental games. Had 3 days at D Company, 23 Battalion and met a lot of the NCOs there - some of theirs stayed with us at the same time. A very quiet time.

Weather in mid November not so bad, with several fine days and frosty nights, so our morale was up a bit. I moved into the hospital across the road on 19th November, where our crew had a room to themselves and much more satisfactory. We went into Fabriano only for pictures, showers and haircuts, as unless you go hunting up the works of art in churches etc, there is little else to do there.

Took over the new 17 pounder Sherman that week and put in a lot of work getting it ready for action, especially as there were rumours, later confirmed, of a move at the end of the week. I had the same crew as before with no spare driver and Doug Anderson taking Eric's place as gunner. Was told this week that I and two other sergeants, Lofty Newman and Noel Jenkins, have been recommended for commissions.

26 November 1944

We left on transporters in the afternoon and went as far as Pesaro. It turned wet and we arrived at Pesaro in pouring rain about 8 o'clock, where we spent the night and next day in a house.

27 November 1944

We left at 6 in the evening and arrived at Forli about 1 a.m. where we slept in an unfinished block of flats with no doors or windows. We moved the next day to houses nearby – eight of us to the room and fairly comfortable. The weather is cold, damp and overcast with rain at times. I went for a walk and met Don Bryenton, who is in the 18th. Also saw next day a lot of Div Cav chaps, including Trevor Hill who had sold my shotgun for me and got 6000 lire for it. Very handy.

I spent most of the time playing bridge and 500, walking, reading and sleeping. Rigged up our little stove and got plenty of wood from salvage. A few shells came fairly close one night, wrecking a carrier and a scout car. Forli was bombed by fighter- bombers one evening, just on five o'clock, with heavy casualties. Faenza is a hard nut to crack on account of mud and river crossings.

15 December 1944

We left Forli and moved to a casa just across the second fork of Lamone, where we got in a supply of spuds and saw two squadrons cross a bridge one brick thick – a miracle! From here we moved up to Route 9 with 6 Troop, thence to railway line and consolidated after full-scale attack at night. Thence to casa where we shared the stable with Luigi. We were relieved by A Squadron and moved back to Route 9, where Christmas parcels were delivered and opened.

Back up again after 2 days out on New Year's Day and again with D Company 25 Battalion, the same chaps we had Christmas dinner with at Luigi's casa. On Christmas Eve we could hear Jerry having a party over the paddocks at the Vino Factory. We left him alone that night and he left us alone the next night – very quiet.

We were relieved again in about a week and moved back a mile or two to a good house, where we (the 17-pounder crew) shared with 8 Troop. Notable for the baseness of Thomas, who sold the secret of his host's egg supply for a few cakes of soap etc, after he, his wife and two children had lived there for 7 months following the bombing of their own place in Faenza. These people would cut their grandmother's throat for a cake of soap and a tin of bully beef. We were quite comfortable there, with a good fireplace and did cooking in the kitchen. It was the scene of a great 4-course meal and also of Christmas celebrations. We cut down telephone poles for fuel. Then back to the big casa on Route 9, where we spent New Year's Eve, with troops doing indirect shooting. We were spared this on account of belonging to the 17 pounder which doesn't do that.

1 January 1945

New Year's Day found us back in the line again with the same chaps as were at Luigi's casa, and we had an uneventful spell, though cold. Bill and I slept in the refugio and were about the warmest of all. The 78th went through us here and after that we went to gunline and shooting for a week. From there we moved up in support of 24 Battalion, then the Maoris and then to the right flank where we took up position covering the stop bank of the Senio. The four of us were in the casa and comfortable, with 6 infantry as picket assistance at night, but we got very little sleep there on account of 88's, 75's and rockets, and we were glad to be relieved by the 18th.

9 February 1945

Back to Forli to the same street and the sergeants had their own rooms in the casa where the twin sisters lived. We were here for a few days, when I heard that my commission had come through and shortly afterwards I was transferred to C Squadron. I went to Florence on leave and on my return was sent on a course, leaving March 2nd for RACTO at Rieti.

I went byJeep to Ancona and hitch-hiked the rest of the way, staying at Club on Sunday where I got most of my writing up to date. I am on the water wagon till April and that meant a quiet life.

13 March 1945

I left Rieti for the Range. The weather was perfect and in a day or two we were all sunburnt round the face. The class, under S/Sgt Bishop, consisted of Captain Morley, Lieutenants Perkins, Barker, Crichton, Glenday, Roberts, and 2/Lt Leibich and self. Range up near the snowline and rather like Fabriano, with grass and scrub on the hills and small flocks of sheep. Villages nearby were Ruscio and Monteleoni. The course ended on Thursday and I hitch-hiked to Rome, Friday 23rd. There till Sunday night as I couldn't get back to the unit till Monday morning.

It was a quiet weekend. I saw footy – South Africa vs United Services on the Sunday - and went back on the leave truck. I returned to the unit via Ancona and found them at Cesenatico – Tuesday March 27th. I had a quiet life by the sea – regimental officers' mess – tanks of C Squadron down at Camerino with 5th and 6th Brigades. I stayed behind with the rear party and lived at C Squadron, 18th Regiment for three days and then at FDS for one day. I left on the night of 5th April and rejoined my unit. Tanks went up above on 6th. Still no job.

7 April 1945

I was transferred to A Squadron and moved to a new casa. No job yet and I was living alone in a room upstairs in a farmhouse.

9April 1945

Offensive started.

13 April 1945

I took over Lofty Newman's troop (3 Troop) – he bashed his knee in the recoil of the gun in his tank. Arrived with them on the morning after crossing the Santerno River and remained till Venice and Monfalcone. Here we had nattering sessions at night with the kids – Alma, Anna, Narina, Romano and others.

The political situation in Trieste spoilt the finish of the war – 8th May – as Tito's men tried to run the place and we had to more or less be prepared to go into action at very short notice. Everyone is very annoyed, as otherwise we could have had a good time.
AN INCIDENT DURING WORLD WAR II IN ITALY

Story told by Lieutenant W J Sisam, 20th Armoured Regiment.

At the end of April 1945 the German Army was in retreat and was being pushed back towards the north of Italy by the Eighth Army. There were several rivers for the Eighth Army to cross, the biggest being the river Po. In the New Zealand Division the 20th Armoured Regiment was able to get a few tanks across the river but the rest were held up in crossing until other troops and vehicles had got across on the pontoon bridge erected over the Po by Army engineers.

The tanks that got across were all that the NZEF had to continue the war north of the river Po and these tanks had to stay at the front line, without relief, from the 28th April to 30th April, which may not seem very long but we had no sleep for two nights and were very tired when we reached the town of Padua at midnight on the 28th.. There we were told to carry a platoon of infantry on the tanks and go to a bridge over the river Brenta, several miles north, and prevent the enemy from blowing up the bridge. The Italian Partisan army, fighting on the side of the Allies, were reported to have kept the Germans from destroying the bridge. The partisans had suffered casualties, as we discovered by daylight, but we believe they did keep the bridge safe.

When we got there the tank crew, except for me and the driver were sound asleep, but they quickly woke up when the enemy opened fire. I told the infantry, who were still riding on the tanks when the bullets started flying, to get off smartly and I opened fire with the tank machine gun mounted on the turret to the tank. I was replying to shots coming from two armoured cars. We had driven in the dark right into the middle of a German battalion who had overcome the Partisans and were about to cross the bridge. They had mined the bridge ready to blow it up as soon as they had crossed.

One of my shots put the gun on one armoured car out of action and the crew of the other surrendered when our soldiers banged on the turret and told them to come out with hands up.

Our troops quickly took the rest of the Germans on our side of the bridge prisoner. They probably thought we were far more than 20 or so soldiers with three tanks and gave in to a much inferior number. This was almost certainly because we had driven the tanks right up among them in the first light of dawn and gained the element of surprise.

Then two 105 millimetre guns on the far side of the bridge started firing at us, but luckily the shots went over our heads. My tank gunner put a shell through one enemy gun and the other ceased firing. A horse drawn vehicle tried to gallop across the bridge but I killed the horse with my machine gun (poor thing – I felt sorry for it, having ridden horses all my life).

There was a foot bridge built by the Germans just upstream from the main bridge. At the end of the skirmish a lone German retreated across the bridge in full view of us. He presented a target for my machine gun, but I couldn't shoot him in cold blood and let him escape to his own troops on the other side. He wouldn't have known how close he came to being shot that morning.

The bridge had suffered some structural damage from previous actions and I did not cross it with my three tanks until an army engineer had inspected it and declared it safe for tanks. So we crossed and joined up with the infantry.

We suffered only one casualty. The infantry Platoon Commander was hit by a bullet that passed through both cheeks, without doing major damage.

For this action I was awarded the Military Cross.
Peaceful Advance

Our next task was to follow the instructions of General Freyberg (given personally) and take the road to Venice, there to secure the use of the Hotel Danielli for the New Zealand Club, but that is another story.

I managed to go on some trips round the district and went through Gorizia, Caporetto, and Udine with the troop one day – a pleasant drive and interesting.

We moved up by stages - Sistiana and near Prosecco to Trieste in "peaceful advance" role and finished up with the troop in our own casa in Trieste. The business of being on constant alert is a nuisance, but we survived and later moved to the Idroscalo. For recreation we had yachting, swimming and dancing, with the odd picquets and duties – otherwise we slept.

Thence to barracks at Opicina, where we eventually handed in half the tanks and took over all the tanks in the Brigade, with drivers from the 18th and 19th, for the move down. We were left as the only regiment in Trieste.

Had Venice leave and a four-day trip to Milano and Turino while there.
Six Days in Rome

August 1945

It was a fairly dull day in August 1945 when we left for Rome, twenty of us with our assorted bedding and packs in the back of the truck, but weather wasn't worrying us much. The thought of six days leave was foremost in all our minds. We had a quiet trip down, as, although we all came from the same regiment we didn't all know each other and, in any case there wasn't anything to talk about. The driver turned left instead of right just after we started, so that we took longer to get to Rome than we should have, but it was quite interesting to go back along the way we had come up in the first place. We had moved a fair way at night and in any case it didn't make much difference in the long run. I felt pretty sleepy the whole way, but it was a bit hard to sleep on a bumpy truck and only slept for half an hour or so all told.

I had had a wakeful night before leaving, not on account of any excited anticipation but through the rather less than romantic enteric troubles that are so prevalent in this fly ridden country. It rained a bit on the way down but we just pulled down the canopy and it didn't worry us at all, except for one chap who preferred to ride on the spare tire between the cab and the canopy, perched there on top of his blanket roll.

At about half past six we arrived at 50 Rest Camp on the outskirts of Rome where we were supposed to spend the seven nights of our leave, as no troops other than officers are permitted to stay in Rome overnight. Curfew is at 11.00 p.m., by which time all troops must be off the streets. So, after a dinner and a look round the place, we toddled off to our beds in the room where we were all sleeping, sharing it with a South African and a few hundred mosquitoes. One or two hadn't bothered to bring nets, but they saw the QM smartly the next day and had brand new ones before nightfall.

The Rest Camp is still in its infancy and far from finished, so we didn't expect more than a place to sleep, expecting to make our Headquarters at the New Zealand Club in Rome most of the day. The Camp is a big place, consisting of three main hostels and another building which is the NAAFI canteen restaurant and provides supper in the evenings. They hope to have a stage for concerts etc on a ship's deck affair and a swimming pool when they can get water, but even so couldn't see myself wasting time at a Rest Camp with the whole of Rome to see only a few miles away.

Saturday, 19 August, was our first day in Rome, but a deal of it was taken up by a talk by the CO, who told us all the things we had already read on the notice board, and by an issue of cigarettes for the week. This we normally get, not that they are of much use to me, but they always come in handy for the others who do smoke, so I never miss drawing them. The first truck left for the city at 1010 and we caught the third or fourth which finally dropped us at the Collisseum to find our way about as best we could.

Gordon Rees, known to all as "Shorty" and I, both from the same troop were together. I was very pleased that things had worked out that way, as he and I had the same ideas as to how to spend our leave in Rome and we therefore stuck together the whole time. Anyone who had been in a strange city knows how lonely it can be without someone one knows to talk to etc.

From the Collisseum, which we easily recognised, we set out in search of the New Zealand Club, but, not knowing where it was and having no idea which way to go, we were a bit bushed, so just followed the crowd hoping it was the right way. As it happened it was, and we walked down the street that runs alongside the old Roman Forum (didn't know that at the time) and, meeting another Kiwi, were given vague instructions and a wave of the hand in a general north east direction, which finally landed us at the Club. This was to be the hub of exploration and haven of refuge for the next six days. By this time we found it was lunchtime – a whole morning gone, so we tucked a meal away forthwith.

A bit about the NZ Club in Rome: You will have read in the papers that the Club, first formed and still operating in Cairo, opened up at Bari while the Div was south of Cassino and on the fall of Rome wasted no time in moving to that city, where it had hired or rented the Albergo Quirinal, or in our language the Quirinal Hotel, complete with Italian staff of cooks, waiters etc. Not very prepossessing from the outside, typical of so many of Rome's buildings, it is very comfortable and up to date inside.

The main entrance opens into the foyer, containing Information Office, Post Office, Booking Office (Officers only, needless to say), with the Canteen on one side through another door. From there you enter the men's lounge, a large place with a domed ceiling, well furnished with settees and easy chairs, supplemented by the collapsible canvas variety in times of congestion. A set of steps in each of the far corners leads to the stage and to the Officers dining room, with in the middle a corridor leading to the courtyard in the rear. This is bounded on two sides by the Hotel, on the third by the Opera House, while the fourth opens on to a side street to admit the odd car or truck. It is set out with tables shaded with big umbrellas, where the Kiwis sit to drink morning and afternoon tea, wine or water, eat ice cream in the afternoon or the grapes and peaches. These are sold on the spot by some chappie who evidently has the fruit selling rights of the Club. He makes the most of his having the grapes on the spot by charging twice as much as the market down the street. It is out here that the inevitable cuppa is served by those untiring and hard worked girls to whom the Kiwis owe a lot for the cheerful assistance so readily given. They do a great job of work and seem to be there all day for seven days a week.

Meals are army rations well disguised by the good cooking they get and are therefore much more respectable than usual. There are two dining rooms, one in the main part of the building and the other with big windows opening into the courtyard, probably cooler and certainly the most popular. However, for all the time we were there, Shorty and I ate at the inner room as it was handiest and less rushed. The Italian waiters are not so hot – they tear around like mad things and natter all the time, but get very little done. They didn't have the quiet efficiency of the celebrated continental waiters we had been led to expect. However, it was very pleasant indeed to sit at a table with a clean white cloth and to eat from china plates with a knife and fork after many months of squatting in the shade of a tree (if available) on the grass, digging the tucker out of a mess tin with a spoon only, and often using the same dixie for both courses without the usual washing up in between.

Then after lunch or dinner, a pleasant hour relaxed in an easy chair listening to excellent music and singing by the orchestra hired by the Club to provide this entertainment. An excellent violinist and two girls who sang made the show a first class one, which, barring the Opera, was as good as any show on in Rome available to the troops. And, what most Kiwis did appreciate - no swing. We heard a sprinkling of modern songs and tunes, with the inevitable Lili Marlene in both German and Italian, but some very fine classical music that drew most of the applause. t seems to be very definite that the average Kiwi prefers good music to the awful crash bang stuff that America tells us is the style of the day. The Kiwi Concert Party, who have just come out with a new number, come in for a lot of criticism through including more "swing" and "boogie woogie" than usual, most chaps preferring their efforts at light opera and the folk song style of entertainment. While I am on the subject, the theory that the soldier prefers vulgar or crude humour is rather disproved by the comments that follow shows that make it a main feature. We rather pride ourselves on the Kiwi Concert Party making its shows so popular without resorting to that side of humour - in other words, keeping it clean.

In the afternoon of that first day we set out to find our way round Rome, starting in the Club in the Via Nationale (see map) and making a big circle all round the northern end of the city inside the old Roman Wall. This was rather tiring but we did learn a lot of Rome as far as getting about goes, and that is always handy if one wishes to get to places without becoming bushed. Later on we made a practice of always taking a new route to any place we had to go to twice or more. By the end of our leave we knew inner Rome pretty thoroughly. We discovered a laundry that afternoon which wasn't far from the Club and left our washing with them, as we had to have a change after a couple of days in that hot weather. Returning to the Club by four o'clock and had afternoon tea, after which we went for a stroll round the shops, which close during the heat of the day and open from four to seven or so. More about that and the shops later.

One thing we did was to locate a place to have a bath. That is one thing the Club has slipped on. When we arrived there in the morning, hot and dusty still from the trip the day before, we had hoped for at least a shower, but were sadly disillusioned. The girl didn't know where the bathhouse was.

However, after getting vague instructions from a guide, we found this place and had a beautiful warm bath in a porcelain bath full up with water. I let mine out before I left rather than let the girl see how dirty I had been. After all, the first bath for eight months is likely to take off a bit of the lower layers of grime that showering doesn't quite get at. We were to patronise the place pretty well before the week was out.

Dinner followed, with the usual music and singing, ending at eight when the orchestra probably ate their own meal.

So we set off for the homeward trip, making for the one landmark we knew and which was to be our beacon for all direction finding in Rome, the Collisseum. There we luckily picked up a truck on its way to the vehicle park and so were carried safely home to the Rest Camp.

We had taken our haversacks into town with us, with the washing and Shorty's slacks to wear after mosquito zero hour, and time and time again were stopped by Ities thinking we had food inside to sell. This gave us our first impression of the food situation in Rome. Like the shops, more about that later. After such a day of walking around bed was very welcome and we were shortly sound asleep.

On Sunday 20th August we decided that we would go on the morning trip conducted by the Club. As this meant being in town by 9.30 we had an early breakfast and set off to hitch hike a ride into Rome. Luckily we struck some Yanks picking up a few other Kiwis on the same game, and they dropped us at the Collisseum. A brisk walk brought us to the Club in time for a cup of tea and a breather before setting out.

The truck took us to the top of Capitol Hill. Rome, as most of us have read at some time or other, is built on seven hills – Capitoline, Palatine, Aventine, Esquiline, Caelian, Quirinale, and Viminal. The first three are the only ones easily picked out, but even so they are only very low ones. On Capitol Hill are three main buildings, the Museum, Art Gallery and the old Town Hall, all of which we saw only from the outside. As I have said before, the outsides of many buildings are not very imposing to anyone not versed in architecture. Apparently, it is only possible to obtain permission to see inside if you have influence or are a very important personage. From Capitol Hill we looked down on the old Roman Forum where the Caesars used to address the citizens. We walked through the ruins as far as the Collisseum, seeing the remains of temples, daises, houses and monuments, the spot where Mark Anthony made his speech at Caesar's funeral and many other places famous in Roman history that I'm afraid I can't remember. The whole of the Forum is completely ruined, as I saw somewhere the other day, we are so used to seeing ruins that in themselves they fail to impress. However, it was interesting to walk through and realise that one was walking over the same stones as were trodden by the famous characters of old Rome, of whom we learn so much at school and from literature. Attempts have been made to restore some of the buildings, which do give more of an idea of what they looked like. At the same time, a lot of the more interesting objects have been covered over as protection against bomb damage and not yet opened for exhibition.

The Collisseum I have mentioned before is a prominent landmark – an immense structure of stone that looks just like the photos but only the main walls are still well preserved. Inside, where once the seats rose row upon row from the arena to the top of the outer walls, it is badly crumbled, mainly because different kings and conquerors have ratted the marble for their homes and churches. Where the arena used to be, the place where the great gladiator contests were fought and where the good old sport of Christian versus lion was held, as well as water sports (the arena filled from a special aqueduct built for the purpose), there have since been other buildings erected which spoil the appearance of the whole inner part of the place. It is supposed that the Collisseum had been at one time turned into a fort, of which these buildings, now in ruins, formed part.

Alongside the Coliseum is the Arch of Constantine, through which returning triumphant armies marched on their way to the Forum. According to the book, this is the most famous of the triumphal arches in Rome. Very well preserved, it is an impressive sight standing in the middle of the road leading to the Palatine Hill and past the Circus Maximus. The Circus was where the chariot races were held and is now practically unrecognisable except as an oval natural arena, which could even now be turned into a good sports ground and running or racing track. We also saw from the roadway the ruins of the baths of Caracalla, which must have been very posh, judging by their present size, but as we didn't go into them, or into any other of the old Roman bath buildings, cannot describe them at all.

And so back to the Club for lunch. In the morning we met a chap from Div Cav who had found a place to stay nearer the Club than the Rest Camps. He took us to a Pensione nearby that had a room and three beds vacant. So, with another chap who came up the stairs with us, we decided we would rather be handy and save the trip night and morning. So we took the room for four nights, deciding to spend this the last night at the Rest Camp. I have an idea that it is a common practice and as long as the chaps are quiet about it and keep off the streets after curfew (which is the main reason for having rest camps out of the city) nobody takes any notice. It certainly made our holiday much more pleasant and gave us all the mornings in town that otherwise we should have wasted in travelling and waiting for trucks, as well as saving a couple of miles of walking each day. The place was well conducted and respectable, the proprietor speaking quite good English and his wife one of the most pleasant and decent Italian women I have yet met, so we were well off and enjoyed the comfort of sheets and a spring mattress immensely. No mosquitoes also helped a lot. So that afternoon we went out to Camp and collected our haversacks with shaving gear etc and installed ourselves for the remainder of our stay.

Afternoon tea, a letter or two written, followed by dinner and music, ended a quiet afternoon.

Rome is just as busy on a Sunday as on any other day of the week, many shops and stalls being open then and crowds of people in the streets. Every evening the people come out and sit in the cool, beside the fountains in the squares, by monuments, in parks and other odd places, or stroll round, arm in arm, enjoying the best part of the day. We circled the big fountain in Piazza Esedra near the Club, but couldn't get sitting room, so wandered under the trees that shade the bare earth and park seats that are Rome's parks, finishing up on the steps of a nearby monument. There we were talking to a young married couple and fooled around with their six months old bambino, Sergio by name, a corker little boy too. His mother was dead keen for us to get some biscuits from our canteen for him to eat, such foods being unobtainable in Rome. However, although we couldn't help but feel sorry for the kid, our canteen didn't have biscuits at all, so we couldn't get any for them. So as night fell they took the youngster off to bed and we too went, as the day had been tiring enough. In spite of that the three of us talked until nearly midnight before dropping off to sleep, so didn't get as much rest as we had expected.

The trip on Monday morning was to St Peters Church, so we made sure of catching the truck, St Peters being the one spot that nobody in Rome for even the shortest time, should miss. The largest Christian church in the world, built on the site of the tomb of St Peter at the edge of the Vatican City, it is the only part of the Vatican open to the public. The Basilica of San Pietro is the most imposing building in all Rome, with its dome visible from all parts of the city, and contains within its walls works of all the greatest artists since the 16th century, as well as being a wonderful work in itself. Entering from the left of the colonnade into the square, we were first shown the spacing of the colonnade. This reaches out from the front of the church like two embracing arms, each arm supported on four rows of columns set in an arc of a circle, the centre of which is at a point on either side of the central obelisk. From there one can stand and see but one column in four, just those of the inner arc, so perfect is the spacing. The obelisk in the centre of the square was brought over from Egypt and, after various adventures, now occupies that position in the largest square in Rome. The only other objects in the square are two identical fountains, one designed by Bernini and the other an exact copy built later, but the water does not fount so high now that the Rome supply is so small. Surmounting the colonnade are statues of all the saints, one hundred and sixty two all told, the whole of the work, colonnade and statuary, by the man who has given Rome so many fine statues, Bernini.

Turning our attention to the church itself, we walked across the square, several hundred yards, up a long flight of broad steps stretching the width of the church into the loggia. From here on we saw so many wonderful works of art that it is quite impossible for me to remember them all or recall details of everything. We saw but a portion of the work inside the church, but I shall do my best in spite of the lack of knowledge of art that I began to regret when I entered there. At the left end of the loggia as you face the church, is a beautiful statue of a mounted figure. For the life of me I cannot remember who it represents, although I should do so – a really striking piece of sculpture and an arresting picture, seen through the grille of two immense iron doors.

The Sistine Chapel is reached from the right hand end of this loggia, which opens on to the long flight of stairs that actually commences at the near end of the right hand arm of the colonnade (facing the church) known as the Royal Stairs, beautiful in their simplicity of design. The greater part of the work in the Sistine Chapel is by Michaelangelo. First let me say that it is in here that the Pope is elected to office by the representatives of the Roman Catholic Church throughout the world. There is quite a bit about the chapel in the books I am sending home and they might explain it better. The paintings are done on to the walls themselves, not in oils but in a special mixture that will adhere to stone, and the whole of the Chapel is covered, walls and ceiling with masterpieces by the greatest painters of that time. There is a story from the Bible behind each painting, with the whole fitted in to the spacing and the architecture, the perspective and proportion maintained throughout. This in itself leaves one amazed that one man could do such a tremendous work, retaining beauty of form and colour and the appearance of a third dimension (which makes several figures look like sculpture) and creating a work of art that stands as a monument to the artist who conceived it.

Round the walls are frescoes by the great Florentine artists, among them Botticelli and Perugino, each picture representing on the one side stories from the life of Moses and on the other of Christ, and each one, were it on canvas, would have no value that other than multi-millionaires could afford. The end wall consists of one picture – Michaelangelo's "Last Judgment". This represents, on the left the figures of the chosen rising up to Heaven, in the centre Our Lord, a stern figure seated like a judge with the Virgin Mary on his right, looking down at the figures that are moving up. On the right side the damned are descending to Hell, with Charon rowing them across the Styx, their expressions most real and despairing. I doubt that anybody is ever likely to conceive and execute a piece of painting that can equal this or the work on the vault – even I can realise the marvel of it all.

The individual figures in all these paintings are works of art in themselves, so that the study of the painting of the Chapel must inevitably begin with an appreciation of the whole project, followed by a careful dissection of each picture. Any such attempt would take weeks of time. The only satisfactory way to see the roof paintings is on the back, lying on the forms on the floor, as otherwise a terrible crick in the neck results. It will be a long time before the impression the Chapel made on me fades, and I would go back again should I get the chance. It is a pity that I cannot get on to paper the detail that should go with a description of such a place, but that is quite beyond me. There must be many others who have written of it and whose words are well worth reading.

Passing into the Stanzae Rafael, or the rooms of Rafael, by a further long stairway, we saw many other great works of art and were shown the paintings done by Rafael in several of the rooms there. One that interested me to a certain extent was the picture of the School of Athens depicting the characters Plato, Socrates, Archimedes, Pythagorus, Diogenes (sitting altogether alone and, unlike the other characters, not talking or listening) and many others whose names were familiar but now escape me. It was mainly the names that interested me.

What I did like was the Loggia Rafael, one of the loggia running the width of the church (I think) on the same floor as the rooks painted by him. All the main work is on the ceiling – must have been tough on the artists' backs in those days – and this is divided into numerous four-sided domes, each side curved to a point at the top. On each of the four sides is a painting of a scene from the bible, beginning at the far end with the Creation of Man, the Temptation, expulsion from the Garden of Eden, and so on through the Old Testament. Many of the scenes I recognised but I am afraid there were many more I did not, although perhaps a little explanation would have jogged my memory. The roof project in the Sistine Chapel is on a similar subject but has but the nine large paintings of bold figures, different from the lighter tones and daintiness of Rafael's smaller pictures here. Again, the only way to see this ceiling is to lie down, although very few go to the trouble. I prefer it to a stiff neck myself.

Back into the Church itself, where, in spite of the heat and glare of the sun-baked square, it is beautifully cool and quiet. Quiet, in spite of the fact that hundreds upon hundreds of soldiers of all races – English, French, Polish, Canadian, American, South African, Australian, New Zealand, Brazilian, Indian (very rare), Basuto and many odds and ends that I can't think of – were in there gazing at the beauties of the place. The architecture alone is a marvel. The supporting arches are tremendous in size but beautiful in symmetry and design and are remarkably few in number for the size of the floor and the weight of the building they support. The great dome, designed by Michaelangelo is quite beyond my description and is a wonderful work of art, apart from being a great feat of construction, rising to a height of 434 feet. No wonder it can be seen from all over Rome.

Set round the walls are numerous carvings, statuary and paintings, many statues representing the Popes and many of historical characters. So well are they done and so aptly situated, they do not interfere in the least with the general design of the interior of the church and do not seem out of place in a church as some might imagine. The many beautiful altars I cannot remember in detail. It would take me several visits to be able to form a mental picture of the inside of the church.

So out into the sunlight and the midday heat, the clamour of hawkers at the gate selling rosaries, post cards, soft drinks etc just like Cairo – they received the same treatment as we had learnt to give to the Wogs – completely ignored. The Italian hawker hasn't anything on the Wog and gets little change from the Kiwi or Eighth Army soldiers who had their initiation in Cairo. Aboard the truck and back to the Club for lunch.

The afternoon trip covered a lot of ground. We visited the Mussolini Stadium, built for this year's Olympic games but never finished and now used as a rest camp, so that we could only look at it. One outstanding feature was the great oval field, banked with stone seat/steps all round, and on the walls fifty two statues in marble, representing athletes and sportsmen, each in the attitude of some sport, from football to water polo. I was about to say "dress" but forgot they hadn't any. Each statue was a gift from one of the provinces in Italy.

We visited two more famous churches, Santa Maria Maggiore and San Giovanni in Laterano, the latter the oldest of the Christian churches, and the Cathedral of Rome, the Pope being its Bishop. There the Pope lived until the Papal seat was removed to the present site, and, like St Peters, is a store of famous works of art, paintings, sculpture and mosaics, but I cannot describe any of them in detail. The big square, bounded on one side by the old wall, was once the place where the people assembled to listen to the Pope, who spoke from one of the balconies at the front of the church, just as nowadays such public appearances are from a balcony of St Peters on one of the loggia of the façade.

On the side of the square opposite the wall is the building wherein are the holy stairs, the stairway leading up to the roof from which Pilate declared himself and on which the crown of thorns and other indignities took place. Down these stairs Jesus descended on his way to be crucified and they were probably moved to Rome later on. They are now sheathed in wood so that nobody can actually step on to the surface of the stairs. To them come many people, for it is said that to walk up the stairs on one's knees and saying a prayer on each step ensures forgiveness of sins for three hundred and sixty five days. While we were there we saw one girl go up and then start all over again. Without meaning to be blasphemous, we wondered if she was working out the past or storing up for the future.

A cold bath was a pleasant relief after all the sightseeing and after dinner we were content to sit in the lounge listening to the music, toddling off to bed about nine thirty.

Tuesday, 22nd August, found us again on our way in the trucks, this morning to St Peters again, on the way calling at the Pantheon. This is a great dome about the same size as the dome of St Peters. It is open at the top through which falling rain is collected in the empluvium (a regular feature of early Roman buildings apparently) so that meant the floor sloped gently into the centre of the building. I cannot recall much about the Pantheon as we were there only a few minutes, but there will be something in the booklets that I am sending and details can probably be found there. As I have already wrapped them up I can't look things up for myself as I have done earlier in this effort.

At St Peters Shorty and I wasted no time in getting to the stairway leading to the dome, only waiting till the photos had been taken as we wanted them. Entrance to the dome costs 15 lire, so they make a commercial affair of the sightseeing. We set out on the climb nice and cool and prepared for a bit of exercise. At first the stairs, circular to save space, are wide and not too steep but we seemed to go round and round a long way before we reached the roof of the church, where we emerged into sunlight again. We found ourselves on the same level as the statues of the saints that are on the top of the façade, among a mass of odd domes and smaller raised roofs. A short walk then led to the foot of the great dome itself and, as we didn't have much time to waste we immediately tackled these stairs. A short flight of steps led to the doorway into the dome itself. A further series of straight flights took us some way up before we started to circle again, and on one of the landings a doorway opened on to a balcony running round the inside of the dome itself. This was not so very far up, but looking down, the body of the church seemed a hang of a long way away, with tiny people moving about on the floor. Much higher up in the dome was a second balcony and I had hoped to get a further look from there, but the door to it was closed. So on and up by a narrow circular stairway, only wide enough for two to pass each other with a squeeze, along a corridor where the outer wall leaned in so far as to remind me of a ship in a beam sea. One had to watch not to bump one's head on the wall. Up a long zigzag of steps, laid over a more difficult series of stone ones that circled the dome and would mean clambering from step (or ledge) to step like a mountaineer. Hundreds and hundreds of steps we must have climbed till at last after so much effort we arrived at the near-top, just where the come itself ends and the upright pillars start. Undoubtedly the view obtainable from this vantagepoint is the finest in all of Rome, as one can see for many miles in every direction. My first impression was one of insecurity due to coming out at so unexpectedly at such a height. After a few minutes this feeling passed and I was able to appreciate what was the best moment of the day. I wished then that I had with me a movie camera and could take a panorama of the surrounding city and the open grassland to the south and east. It was pleasant, too, to sit in the shade there and rest after the climb, as we had done the four hundred odd feet in ten minutes and were a bit weary and hot. However I wasn't satisfied until I had gone as high as possible, so set out on my own to go into the brass ball that is right at the top and looks so tiny from below but which will hold up to sixteen men at one time. The ascent was by a narrow steel circular stairway, with nothing in front except the next lot of steps a few inches away. As before I went round and round and round up to a small room in the middle of which was an iron ladder. All this was regulated by a couple of chaps who yelled to each other details as to how many could come up or go down, and we had to wait our turn to ascend.Then, on the floor below the ladder we waited till the ball was empty and climbed up there. The hole was just big enough to squeeze through as long as you didn't bend your knees too far, as that meant bumping your stern on the wall behind. While we were waiting an English major came down from above absolutely dripping wet. He was a big chap and said that in another five years he wouldn't be able to make it through the hole. No sooner were we up there than we were clamouring to come down again but had to wait till the whole lot were up before setting off down. Talk about hot – it was midday and the sun had been at work on that ball for seven hours.It was just a bronze ball with four slits to peer out of and no ornament inside, the whole thrill being able to say "I climbed up into that!" Dripping wet and fairly late I started off down, caught up to Shorty on the way and reached the floor from the ball in nine minutes flat, considered very good time.

In the afternoon I went on the trip to St Paul's church outside Rome proper, a beautiful church that has been burnt once and restored in the eighteenth century, sited over the grave of St Paul, and from the outside looking more like a railway station than a church, so that its beauty inside is all the more striking. Yet of all the objects in there, I can remember most clearly a beautiful marble pillar standing all by itself against one wall carved from top to bottom and so smooth and polished that it looked like old ivory. It is a lovely piece of work.

From St Paul's we went along the Appian Way (towards the end of the trip) to the Catacombs, of which there are many in this area but of which we saw but one. We were all supplied with little wax candles and a monk took us round, telling the history of the caves and pointing out the main features in a singsong monotone in a language that was a horrible travesty of English, barely intelligible. Poor chap, he was doing his best but had learnt it all by rote and just recited the same thing over and over again all day long, probably not understanding what he was saying himself. These catacombs, apart from their historical importance, are very intriguing and I could quite imagine the adventures people must have had exploring them. They are just like the caves and tunnels featured in the tales wherein people lose themselves in a maze of openings and turnings. The sightseers get but a glimpse of the whole, following a beaten track and keeping together all the time. Quite a few have been lost in there through wandering down some side tunnel and not being able to find the way back. On each side these mysterious passages lead off. Peering into them gives no clue to their secrets as they are pitch black and just lead away into other passages in the vast honeycomb. It would be great to go armed with torch, batteries and a length of string to mark the way and explore the miles of passages, but we probably wouldn't be permitted to do so.

Apart from being a tomb for many Christians, these places were used in the early days of Christianity in Rome for meetings and services of the Christians who practised their religion in spite of the Roman ban. Here they were fairly safe from interference. As a result several chambers became chapels and, like many of the more ornate tombs are decorated with the mosaics and paintings of that period, but are very hard to see. With only a dim candle to light them instead of the electricity that is now out of commission, details could not be discerned from the small openings through which we peered.

And so back to the Club via the old Appian Way which leads into the new one known to us as Route 7, through the gates of the wall and by the shortest route to where the afternoon tea was ready for us. As always, that cup of tea after the hot sun and tiring stair climbing, was very welcome. That evening we went to the pictures not far from the Club, but the picture was so terrible and the heat so stifling that we left early and went back to the Club.

As we were going to see the opera "Tosca" on the evening of Wednesday 23rd, one of the guides who I had seen quite a bit of in the course of the different trips advised me to go on the trip of Wednesday morning, which included the Castel San Angelo, the scene of the third act of the play. As the latter part of the morning meant seeing St Peters again, I set off in the truck once again. Shorty didn't come, nor had he been out the afternoon before as he had a crook leg and didn't want to do too much walking. The Castel San Angelo is just like the real storybook castles of ancient days, with its high walls battlemented and turreted and part of the castle itself, stairways and short bridges, passages that led from one room to another, often with steps that were so close to their roof that, although going up wasn't bad, it was hard to go down without leaning well back or banging the poor old head at every step. Featuring as showpieces are many old weapons. Included are cannon that were fired from the turrets and must have been nearly as dangerous to the firers as to the enemy, great slings for hurling rocks or cannon balls, a crossbow that fired a metal tipped spear about six feet long and over an inch thick, and sundry other weapons used in the good old days.

Then there were natty little cells and dungeons wherein the prisoners were confined, some quite comfortable and better than our own army quarters, but others of dog kennel size, with no windows, sanitation etc and must have been lovely!

Through sheer laziness I have missed seeing some of the ancient castles, which are dotted all over Italy. Or perhaps this one may not have been so interesting, as other chaps bring back reports of proper torture chambers, complete with implements such as iron prongs to be heated and poled into the eyes of the victim, thumb screws etc. Then too were the usual works of art, mosaics and paintings by famous artists, rooms with historical importance, the Pope's bath, a rather elementary affair probably very posh in its day, and other items of interest too numerous to remember in detail.

From near the top one has a very good view of St Peters and can see the corridor that runs along the top of the wall from St Peters to Castel San Angelo. Along this wall the Pope and his court could make their way to the castle when the Vatican was threatened by the enemies of Rome, and is known as the Pope's Corridor. The castle must have been a great fortress in its day, as the River Tiber, now walled in on either side with stone, once lapped around the walls, so it is little wonder that it still stands today. It is on the roof of this castle that the third act of "Tosca" takes place, wherein the hero is shot at dawn and the heroine leaps overboard into the Tiber. As with all these places we saw, time did not permit of a really good look round and after climbing all the way up to the roof and back again, we set off for St Peters.

The visit was again to the Sistine Chapel, Loggia and Stanza di Raphael and so I could spend a bit more time studying the details of the paintings, having already had them explained by the guide.

At twelve, to be able to say I had done so, I followed the crowd to the room wherein the Pope speaks to the people who come to see him. After waiting there for the best part of half an hour in a room full of hot and perspiring soldiers I had had enough and started for the door when there was a stir at the entrance heralding the arrival of the Pope. Preceded by men of his Swiss Guards in full dress, with red plumed helmets and costumes such as were worn in the days of Drake, Raleigh and Frobisher, and carrying what were probably halberds, the Pope entered seated in a chair borne by four men. He slowly proceeded up the middle of the aisle, bestowing his blessing on either side, blessing rosaries held up to him and speaking here and there with odd people as he went. He looked older than I had expected and, contrasting with the tanned faces of the troops, was very pale and looked tired somehow. I suppose he leads a very busy life and would naturally get very little exercise out in the sun. I did not wait to hear him speak but found my way out into the sunshine and back to the Club on the first truck. No doubt to one of the Roman Catholic church, to see the Pope would convey much more than it did to me, as I'm afraid it was no great thrill. I was merely a tourist "doing" Rome. Incidentally, we had seen Mr Churchill arrive on his visit to the Pope that morning, but just a glimpse.

That afternoon Shorty and I strolled round the town in a sector we hadn't seen before, returning early to the Club and to our room, where we changed into slacks early to see the Opera, which, to suit the regulations that governed the times that troops could stay in Rome, commences at 5.30 and ends shortly after eight. The opera house was full to capacity and it was quite a pleasant sight, with the lighting effects in the tiers of boxes that ran, six high, round the walls. I need not say that the singing was marvellous – little else could be expected at the Royal Opera House, Rome – and in spite of it all being in Italian we could follow the story by reading the programme before each act, as well as picking a word here and there from our limited knowledge of Italian. I have sent the programme in a parcel, which should arrive at the same time as this letter. The whole story of "Tosca" is outlined there, so I shan't go into details. Enough to say that it was a great treat to be able to see it and to hear such singing here in the home of opera.

Supper in the Club afterwards was more like a delayed dinner and naturally went down well as we were pretty hungry by then and, with nothing further to do or see, we toddled off to bed.

On our last morning we decided to have a look round the shops and to buy any small presents we could, so set off after breakfast to follow our plans, but we were to be sadly disillusioned by the prices and qualities of the goods offered for sale. Anything really worth buying was so terrifically dear that we had no hope of getting it with the cash we had left. Actually there is very little _to_ buy in Rome, as we are well behind our allies, who first overran the city and snapped up anything of quality that was offering. An instance of the price of materials, none of which are rationed, price being the governing factor in sales, is the cost of a small silk (artificial) scarf or handkerchief (whichever you prefer to call it) between 15 and 18 inches square – never less than 500 lire (or 25/-) so we naturally weren't buying much at that scale. There were a few good lengths of dress material, but to buy some would take several weeks' wages for us and we reckoned it safer to let our womenfolk to choose their own. There are any amount of trumpery souvenirs on display, things I detest heartily and wouldn't be seen dead with. There were plenty of shoddy fountain pens and a few good watches at the usual prices for Rome, some silver and copper dishes and trays that didn't stand up to close inspection of their finish and workmanship, the price again too high for me. As a general rule Rome is bare of those things one can send as gifts and what is left is beyond the means of the average soldier on leave there.

Food is another thing that is scarce in Rome and the Black Market flourishes there as the normal ration allowed by the Quartermaster Genera is definitely insufficient, being about one third of the ration in Britain and covering a narrower field of available foodstuffs. People spend all their money on food, up to one pound for a kilo (2.2 lbs) of sugar on the black market, while the supply of vegetables in the markets seems ridiculous for such an intensely cultivated country. This is caused to some degree by refusing permission to outside farmers to haul their wares to the city and peddle them there for the highest prices obtainable. I have mentioned before how hungry the people of Italy are, and how even the peasants who have land on which to grow food have so little to eat. This I personally attribute in great measure to their lack of gardens and vegetables such as we at home can make do for practically all the year round. Also they are utterly dependent on the wheat crop for bread, which seems to be the staple diet. A lack of livestock apart from the two working oxen, is another factor, although I grant they have no grazing land as we know it. Also there is a wasteful policy on the part of many sheep farmers of killing lambs for mutton when only a month or so old, down to the last one in the flock. The hunger in the cities hits hardest at the babies and little kiddies who cannot get a diet suitable for them and in consequence are likely to grow up a weakened, disease ridden and undernourished generation. It is indeed a grave problem for Italy and a poor advertisement for Fascism, as well as being the most difficult hurdle for the new rulers of this country to overcome. We New Zealanders cannot but feel how well off we are to have such a land of plenty where nobody should be without food or clothing while the country is reasonably governed.

The afternoon we spent in having our photos taken by a street photographer, taking a last look round the town, a final bath – the last for many months no doubt – and listening to the Club's orchestra, generally tasting all the pleasures of civilisation before returning to the outdoor life under canvas again.

So it was with genuine sorrow that we wended our way back to the vehicle park, to go to the Rest Camp for the last night, as we had enjoyed to the full our six days of leave. We could have stayed on indefinitely had duty not called us back, for there is no doubt that Rome can offer the greatest variety of entertainment of any place I have been in yet. It was overwhelming in its volume and diversity and, for troops who have been campaigning for many months, the little spell of luxury and quiet life provides a really welcome and delightful holiday.
20 September 1945

To anyone who wishes for a peaceful holiday among the mountains, with their pine clad slopes and snow capped peaks, living in comfort at a first class hotel and breathing the clean air five thousand feet above the sea, I would recommend Madonna di Campiglia, in the Dolomites to the north of Lake Garda, as an ideal spot, offering everything a holiday maker could desire.

A two day trip from Bastia, near Assisi in the Province of Umbria, was the prelude to our holiday. We left early and passed through Arezzo and Florence to Bologna, with a brief halt at Florence for lunch. The route over the Appenines was interesting, as we passed through the winter line where the Fifth Army sat through the rain and snow while we were on the Senio River. The German positions were unmistakable, as they had held a series of high features that dominated every road and track, with steep slopes towards our lines and more gradual slopes on their side. From these they must have had wonderful observation as well as being well sited for defence.

From there to Bologna there is not a house left standing, whole villages being completely demolished by shells and bombs. The ground is pock marked for miles, with thousands upon thousands of shell holes, one every two to three yards. They are the only sign of the constant shelling all winter and of the barrage of the break-through, except for huts built from the empty tarred paper cartons that had held the 75 mm and 105 mm shells fired from tanks and other self-propelled guns that had been static for so long. One hut was quite big and was probably a sort of rest room and lounge for the troops there. These cartons are cylindrical, each one holding a shell to protect it. They come in handy in winter for paths, roads and firewood, as well as making containers for tea, sugar, flour etc for the tank "munga" box. There were still a few Italians packing about among the ruins of the houses, looking for salvage of any sort. I could not help thinking of how it must be to return after the tide of war has passed, to find one's home merely a pile of bricks and mortar, with a few shattered beams pointing to the sky.

Bologna is an important road and rail junction, an old city with narrow streets and heavily arched verandahs over the footpaths, with many old buildings – notably the Cathedral in the centre of the town and several towers. Most of these are several degrees out of the perpendicular, yet receive very little publicity such as does the Leaning Tower of Pisa. One of them is the tallest tower I have seen I think. Like so many of these cities and towns of Lombardy, it has been encircled by main roads to avoid having traffic going through town. Being well sign-posted by the army, towns are easily by-passed or traversed as you wish. However, roundabouts can be very confusing unless you watch the signs. It is easy to lose yourself in any Italian town. I don't know how people got on before we sign-posted these places.

We were trapped the next morning through the clocks having been put back one hour over night and consequently were early and not late, as we had feared. We were ready for the road again by eight and away towards Modena by nine, after collecting petrol at the army petrol supply point. From Modena our route led straight to Verona, thence to Lake Garda and up on the east side of the lake.

The southern end of Lake Garda is uninteresting and the first beauty spot is the town of Garda itself, sited on a little bay on the lake. With many tall cyprus trees everywhere among the other trees and the very nice homes and villas on the slopes, it is a gem in a setting of blue water and blue hills. The water is clear as crystal and looks lovely near the shore, with a sheer drop about ten yards out, to what depth I do not know. From Garda onward, the mountains flank the lake on either side, with nice homes, all with flower gardens (a novelty in Italy, strange as it may seem) along the road, and villages wherever there is room enough for one to grow. Near the top, the steep rocky mountains come right to the water's edge and in many places the road becomes a series of bridges and tunnels cut in solid rock. Bailey bridges replace several of the older structures demolished by Jerry, but no doubt within a year or so, new ones will be built. Poor old Italy has a big bridge building programme on her hands.

For the trip the three of us – Bill Heptinstall, Bob Guthrie and I - had a White Scout Car and driver – had had a good run to as far as the top of the lake.Then queer noises started underneath and after they had persisted on and off for some time, they finally became very bad on a Bailey bridge at the village of Dro and when we examined the works found it to be well and truly out of action. I shall spare you the technical details, but anyway we were most fortunate to have an empty garage not five yards away, with an English-speaking owner, who let us put the bus there and lock it up. Here we were again being looked after, as about ten minutes behind us was a truck load of nursing sisters bound for Campiglio. They nobly picked us up, bag and baggage and brought us the rest of the way We were fifty miles from Campiglio and at least sixty or seventy from Verona where the nearest help was available, so we really were being looked after that day.

The first evening was merely the process of settling in and looking around the place, having a lovely hot bath and a good night's sleep in preparation for the Monday's activities. The Alpine Leave Centre is run internally by the YMCA, and the hotel staff, while the Alpine side is conducted by guides and army personnel. For the accommodation of some two hundred Kiwis, they have requisitioned the Grand Hotel, a first class place. The hotel is just as it was in peace time, probably a fourteen-guinea-a-week touch where we pay thirty five bob, with good rooms, many with bathroom attached, and a big lounge and dance floor, writing rooms etc. Also, outside, are tennis courts, deck tennis nets, bowling alleys and further up the road, a golf course; or if you prefer a cold dip, there is a swimming pool (summer time) below a series of pools that are trout hatcheries (I think) and a pool that serves as a skating rink in winter. Nobody has been in the pool since we have been here, as far as I know – the nip in the air doesn't call for swimming at five thousand feet.

They tell us that for those who want to ride the local baker has a couple of horses for hire, but rumour puts one horse's age at seventeen while the other horse is said to be a mule. It wouldn't be exciting riding apart from saving our legs a bit in getting to and from places of interest. I haven't seen them to verify the strength of the rumour. The fishing rights are held locally and fishing is available for any who desire it, but the fish are said to be very small, poachers having got the best of them long ago.

The view from our window on the third floor, first thing in the morning (eight thirty in case you get a wrong impression) is marvellous. In the foreground is the swimming pool, with the little pools nearer the hotel set in green grass and fringed with tall pines. A dark line of firs behind the pool rises to right and left, in a wide horseshoe, to the tops of the lower hills that are covered with the dark pines. Set in the frame of this horseshoe are the mountains, stark, rocky peaks on the left rising sheer into the heavens. The more attractive pine-clad ones are in the middle, the whole picture lit up with sunshine from the left, the shadows on the peaks above and the sparkling water below making a marvellous picture. I tried to capture the effect with a photo, but have to wait till it is printed to see how successful I have been. There is no snow now, except that the caps of some mountains are still ice-covered, giving the appearance of snow, with glaciers in some of the higher valleys.

A mountain stream tumbles over boulders at the head of the valley, to flow finally into Lake Garda. I can hear it from my room, the last sound before I go to sleep and the first to greet me in the morning. On the first morning I thought it was rain and was very relieved to see the sunlit peak of a nearby mountain reflected in the bedroom mirror.

On its way down through the village – if you can call a collection of hotels and pensions a village – it drives a power generating plant and two sawmills that I know of, as well as supplying water to several buildings in the town. The water is clear as crystal and icy cold.

The first morning we spent in looking about us and viewing the local scenery till morning tea time, after which we set out for the nearest peak, Spinale, in a burst of enthusiasm. Being fresh, we set off at a great pace up the well-marked path and before long were feeling our legs and wind – the altitude has quite an effect on the lungs. I soon found that if I went too fast I couldn't get enough air into my lungs, so had to slow down. But it was great to sit down at the top and view the scenery. I cannot now recall just what can be seen from there, except that behind us was the valley with the highest peak in the district. It was visible below a line of clouds that soon came down and hid it. In front of us were the Tuckett Pass and Hut and the Brentei Pass with the rocky peaks and pinnacles that provide some of the best (or worst, depending on how you look at it) rock climbs in Europe. Most of the peaks are just towering pinnacles, rising sheer to the sky, and how people climb them is a mystery, unless they are easier to scale when you can get close up to see the crevices and chimneys that provide stairways to the summits.There is a disused cableway to Spinale, up which pre-war skiers could be carried, to go down again on their skis to where the green of the golf course marks the end of the run. It looks a bit steep and I shouldn't like to attempt it myself. We sat around, took snaps and peered into the only building there, before coming home. Bob and I ran down most of the way and arrived a good half-hour ahead of the others, to have a bath before lunch.

There was no hot water in our part of the building after the first night due to supply difficulties, but, not to be outdone, we had a cold bath.

Now, if you ever have had the pleasure of a bath in cold spring water at five thousand feet, you will appreciate that we did not linger over it. I boldly ran a lot of water into the bath and stepped in – for about ten seconds. By then my ankles were so numb that I leapt out smartly and bathed by fits and starts, hopping in to soap up and wash, then out again to thaw until the job was finished. The aching of my ankles reminded me of the days when I was a kid, crossing the creek at home in winter, the agony of the first half and the frantic hopping and leaping to get out the far side, followed by a glorious warmth as circulation came back again; of the first two periods at school in winter, with the feet getting colder and colder as playtime drew near and the agony of standing and trying to force numbed ankles to bear my weight till they warmed up – often I had to sit down again a few times before I could walk; and of the hours spent typing in the bank at Taneatua, where I had to go outside and chop wood to warm my fingers enough to manipulate the keys. I had the same trouble with my ankles when lunch time came around. I have had cold baths since, but that first one was the worst, though the lovely warm and fresh feeling afterwards made it well worthwhile.

In the afternoon I sat in the sun and read a book, resting after the morning's efforts, till I was inveigled into a game of deck tennis after tea and had to have another cold bath, as the weather is still warm here in the daytime, with lovely cold nights that are still not too cold to be enjoyed. The evening was spent in comfort beside a wood fire, reading and writing letters. And so ended our first day at Madonna di Campiglio in the Land of Telegraph Poles.

Tuesday morning saw us armed with sticks setting off bravely to climb to the Tucket hut, which is the abode of the keen alpinists while they are here, but which we expected to visit for lunch only. The first leg of the journey is by jeep, along a narrow mule track that has been widened and surfaced by our engineers, but once they stop, the track leads up through the pines to a small half-way house, where we took a much needed rest. Then on up a reasonably easy path that wound up the mountainside, except for the last lap which was a bit tougher, but to greet us at the hut was plenty of good hot tea, which we drank sitting out in the warm sunshine, admiring the scenery and resting our legs at the same time. The Hut is a three-storey building with a smaller one behind it, and is just a miniature hotel minus a few of the creature comforts such as hot baths and electric light. It is administered by the Leave Centre as part of the accommodation. It is possible to stay there overnight for one, two or three nights as you may wish, going out climbing every morning. However, as we wished to operate from the main hotel, and in any case none of us is keen on rock climbing, having no head for heights, we merely stayed for lunch. And were we hungry? There is nothing like a climb of three or four thousand feet to make you hungry and we were well and truly ready for the excellent lunch provided and served by the staff of girls who live there and do the work.

Very foolishly (as we realised later) Bill and I decided to return via the Brentei Hut, which is below the pass of the same name in the "valley" next to Tuckett. We went down this valley and up the hill to the right to the jeep track, where we were to be met and driven home. We reached the Brentei Hut after an hour's walk over a path skirting the steeper peaks and were refreshed with a glass of water before the descent. All the paths are marked with a splash of paint on occasional rocks and trees, but for all that, we lost the way at one stage and had to skirt the top of an impassable (to us) precipice before finding it again. By the time we reached the bottom and crossed the stream before climbing to the jeep track we had had enough. It was then nearly four thirty and we had left Tuckett Hut at one fifteen, so the next hour of climbing straight up the mountainside just about finished us off. It was a relief to find the jeep track and I was alone on it till the jeep came along, when the others struggled up from a lower track. We then discovered we were only about ten minutes from the hotel and had gone well beyond the point where we should have struck the road home. So, after a cold bath, we were ready for tea and an evening beside the fire.

On Wednesday we promised to go to Merano in the truck with some of the nursing sisters, and set off just after nine on the road to the north, winding down the track through the forest of tall firs that so impressed me on my first trip through here, and turning right on the road that leads over the Mendola Pass to Bolzano.

We were unfortunate in that it rained and all the best views were obscured by clouds, especially descending the long hill on the far side of the pass.There the road could be seen almost straight below, looping back and forth in dozens of hairpin bends, disappearing into the clouds below us. It also meant we had to close down the front and therefore only those at the back could see anything of the scenery. However, we arrived at Merano as the weather broke and had our lunch in a park surrounded by hospitals, with mountains in the background, under the shade of big leafy trees lining the roadway.

The sisters were very keen on shopping and bought a variety of things, mainly quaint wooden carvings, both useful and ornamental, but I am afraid of these things and left well alone. Bill and I found a little corner bar open, where we sat down and had a couple of good big handles of beer – Merano has its own brewery I believe. After much discussion as to what we should do, we decided to call at Bolzano to see if we could get dinner there. After the driver had lost us twice trying to get out of the town, we finally reached Bolzano just after six and found we could all get dinner at the Transit Hotel at a quarter to seven. After a wash and clean up and another terrific handle of beer, we dined on cold roast chicken, spuds, cabbage (chopped raw), lettuce, tomato and onion salad, followed by ice cream and preceded by chicken soup. Coffee and fruit completed one of the best meals we had had for a long time, and the Leave Centre takes a bit of beating too. The trip home was uneventful. I was fortunate in that I knew the road and got a seat in the front to direct the driver, so I had a comfortable trip. Midnight saw us back safely at Campiglio.

On the Thursday morning Bill and I went for a quiet stroll up the stream that runs through the village, after Bob and I had spent an hour and a half unsuccessfully looking for a good scene to photograph. We had a look at a little sawmill run by waterpower. It is very simple. The water runs down a chute, driving a two foot wheel that operates a crank, while a vertical beam from the crank pushes a frame up and down. The saw is fixed in the frame and the logs are pushed through slowly by an ingenious device that is too complicated to explain. To stop the machinery the old man pulls a wooden lever that diverts the water into a chute that pivots above the wheel and cuts off the power - simple, but very effective, though very slow.

We wandered up the stream, taking a few odd snaps, and one of them I think might be a good picture, as the air was very clear and the mountains showed up, perfect in every detail, to form a background. We had thought of going up to a little lake, but were late for lunch and left it till the afternoon. Then, the three of us went up to the lake, which is little more than a clear pond, and thence up the hillside behind it and down again by another track. Although it takes only a few seconds to write, the afternoon was gone by the time we reached the lake and the valley was chilly in the shade as we walked home.

However, we were lucky enough to get a hot bath after asking why we had no hot water in our own rooms, as we were allowed to use a bath in another part of the hotel where the water was nearly boiling. The evenings so far I had spent in reading and writing and so to bed for a short read before sleeping soundly till morning, when we are woken with a cup of coffee at seven. The height of luxury!

Friday, the last day, dawned clear and bright. Shortly after breakfast Bill and I set off up the ridge to the east of the village to see what the view was like from there. After an hour and a half of fairly stiff climbing we reached the top, where it was very narrow, and we lay down in the sun to rest after our labours and to admire the view. I must admit the view was great, but the steepness of the slopes on either side gave me the jimjams. I fear I shall never be a mountaineer. We descended on the far side, almost straight down it seemed, to Lake Nambina which we had visited the previous day. We were back in time for lunch, not a

little leg-weary after our efforts, but pleased to have been up this peak which we saw every morning above its belt of dark pine trees.

A lazy afternoon was spent on the balcony in the sun, with a book, a bit of a snooze, a cup of tea and a further read till the sun went down. This was followed by a short session in the "beer garden" where they had a couple of kegs of the light Italian beer. Dinner ended our stay here for in the morning we were due for an early start on our way back to camp, after a really glorious holiday in the sunshine and the clear mountain air.
Italy January 1946

I shall make the most of the first free evening that I have for a week to write a bit of a letter.

**Editors note** ; As Walter's trip Book was full, he kept all his notes and records of events from this time on in the form of letters to Noeline, his fiancée.

First of all an account of some sort about the trip. We set sail in fairly good time on Thursday morning and picked up all the sisters and nurses at their hotel about half past seven, making good time on the trip across the mountains to Bologna, but we messed about there through two of the trucks coming into town on a different route from the first two, while the second truck was waiting for them at the gates of the town for nearly an hour to guide them in. However, we all managed to be aboard at quarter past one. The next stop was Padova for afternoon tea at the Officers Club, while I rushed round to the brewery there and disposed of half a dozen or so barrels, drinking down three cups of tea in between stops. We wasted more time there owing to the drivers and sisters not sticking to the instructions that I had been so careful in giving them. Therefore it was well after dark when we arrived at Venice, which is only three -quarters of an hour from Padova. By the time the trucks were garaged and the gear stowed away safely, instructions issued for the following day and appointments made for the evening with the chap who handled the business at that end, it was well after eight. I finally reached my hotel at five to nine, just in time to have a quick wash and get to dinner before nine o'clock. I had an appointment at the Hotel Danielli at half past nine and was not finished the business of the evening before ten thirty, so went straight to bed and had a good night's sleep.

To reach the trucks at a reasonable hour in the morning I had to get up pretty early – early for the usual time for arising when travelling – and we were unloading beer barrels at ten o'clock. We then discovered that there were two barrels that should have been dropped at Padova still on board. They had to be taken there on a flying trip, which set me back over an hour. At three in the afternoon we loaded up with empty barrels for Trieste, and with five of the nurses who wanted to see Trieste, we set off about twenty past four. We made a record trip of three hours to Trieste, where, after visiting several hotels I managed to get accommodation for the nurses at a place that was opening up some time this week. The drivers all slept in the trucks.

I went to the hotel where we had stayed when we were up with the football team. We ate at the place on the waterfront where the squadron had been when we were fighting "the Battle of Trieste" against Tito. But by the time I had contacted all the drivers, made the arrangements for the morrow, seen that all the nurses were safely settled for the night and had my dinner, it was a quarter past ten. When I called on the people I knew there, they were all out.

At nine o'clock in the morning again we were unloading at the brewery. Luckily, we had no load to pick up there so were free to leave at one in the afternoon. I was able to replace all the gear I had lost in Naples and bought a pair of decent black shoes, tan ones not being available in my size in Italy as far as I can make out, so I can at least have decent footwear of an evening. There is another pair of shoes in my kit, but they are New Zealand ones and they squeak. I am told that the New Zealand shoes squeak all their lives. Mine are nearly ten months old now and haven't stopped squeaking yet, so are probably true to type. I saw one or two people I knew in Trieste and was given one packet to bring down for Bill Foley who used to be in the Squadron and is now in 22 Bn Jayforce, a Company Commander. He is still in England on the leave that was granted to those of the Jayforce who were regular force personnel or who had volunteered and were ninth reinforcements or lower. We Johnny-come-latelies didn't get a chance to see England at all, but they tell us we shall be allowed to see Japan in the months to come, which will be very nice of them!

Venice again on Saturday night and one of the trucks had to go to the workshops there, so although I tried to make a start on the afternoon of the Sunday, the ASC corporal wouldn't let the vehicles separate. We had to go back to the hotel and wait till Monday. It isn't such an easy thing to get from the hotel in Venice to the car park because they are at opposite sides of the town. It takes at least half an hour by gondola and the gondoliers want you to pay anything up to fifteen shillings for the trip. It is three quarters of an hour by ferry at sixpence a time, so we chose the ferry and therefore had to suffer in time or leave earlier.

So the getting to the car park and then having to go back again, as well as having got all the nurses on board the trucks in the meantime, took from one thirty to five o'clock for me. I then had a cup of tea and started on the telephone to see if I could get permission to send off the three good trucks the following day, without waiting for the one at the workshops. To ring Florence and then to get hold of the right person at this end took over an hour. As well as that I had to arrange accommodation for everyone at Bologna for last night, because it is not possible to make the trip in one day unless you leave about seven o'clock in the morning. It isn't possible to do that from Venice.

Also, I tried to get the Club at Padova to tell them we should be there for lunch on the Monday, but couldn't get an answer. By the time it was all over it was after eight. I then had to go and tell all the nurses that they would be leaving at eleven in the morning and that the gondolas would be there at such and such a time etc, so there wasn't much left to do in that evening.

There was a dental officer with us and we had dinner together and sat talking over a couple of beers for the rest of the evening, having no desire, either of us, to go dancing, picturing or anything else in the entertainment line. We finally left at eleven o'clock the next day, getting about five miles out before I discovered that the trucks that were to pick up the passengers had left the poor old dental officer sitting at the car park and had just driven past him. So I had to go back and get him, and we all joined up at Padova for lunch.

We reached Bologna that night to find that there was no accommodation for other than the nurses, so we two, with two British officers had to sleep on mattresses put down on the floor of the Manager's office. That was the best possible place for the night, having the use of the bathroom of an Air Force Squadron Leader for washing and shaving. t was really rather funny, as we walked into this office, still with the books out on the desk and nothing in the way of a bed in it, and promptly set about trying to find a better room. The British officers were the ones who did all the complaining while we sat down and drank four bottles of beer to cheer us up, making a pretty good joke of the whole affair. Although it sounds pretty lame when I put it down on paper, it really was very funny and made the stay much more harmonious than if we had been given the most stately apartment in the whole hotel.

I spent most of the evening waiting for the corporal to come in and see me so I could work out plans for to-day, as it had snowed in Bologna and on the mountains that afternoon and by morning we knew the road would be frozen over. Apparently they didn't make any attempt to find me in the hotel, apart from ringing the room, so I waited till half past eleven, while the chap arrived at ten o'clock and left a message which I got at breakfast this morning. We finally left Bologna this morning at twenty to eleven, and with chains on the trucks, negotiated the frozen mountain road rather easily and without any of the incidents that I had feared. We were back here at three o'clock in time for a cup of afternoon tea. However, we lost the three trucks that were following just as we reached the plains again at Pistoia, and if the nurses reached home safely I do not know. I presume I should have heard of it if they hadn't. We thought that perhaps they had taken a different turning from us and had got ahead of us while we were taking the chains off the truck, but they weren't in sight on the road to Florence, so I have no idea where they got to. I was a bit tired of dealing with such a large party of females by this time and can't say that I cared very much.

It is a terrible handicap to travelling when you have to have women in numbers aboard, as the timetable has to be watched so carefully so as to make sure that they get their cuppa at the right time and the right place, at the same time allowing for the time they take to get aboard, time taken in the delays that occur on the best of roads and all the odds and ends that we take for granted through having done so much travelling but which they don't seem to realise have to be accounted for. However, I got my pair of shoes, which was the main reason why I asked to be sent on that trip and therefore must take the rest as a necessary evil.

The girls were very good and put up with atrocious conditions of travel. It is not a pleasant means of travel in the back of a three ton truck, sitting on tarpaulins spread out on the floor or on a board across a couple of beer barrels such as they had going up. However they did have a few rugs and cushions and some even had hot water bottles and took their shoes off for the journey, so perhaps they weren't so very cold. However, there was a strong north wind blowing today that must have been coming straight in the back. They would have noticed that. At the same time it was snowing. I saw the petrol cans in the back of our truck had quite a coating on them, so there must have been a fair bit blowing in the backs of all the trucks as they climbed up the far side of the hills. However, they wouldn't have seen Venice if they hadn't chosen to go this time, so perhaps it was worth it to them.

It was a pity that the weather was so atrocious, because all the time we were away till Monday morning it was damp and foggy and it was impossible to get any sort of impression of such a place as Venice. The girls who went to Trieste, hoping to see it as we had described it to them, were also disappointed, as, although they went up on the hill to Oppicina, there was so much fog that they just didn't see anything at all of the city. However, that didn't worry me much, as I have seen all of the sights to be seen and wasn't caring what sort of weather we had so long as it didn't hold me up too much. I was very worried last night though when I found all the snow at Bologna and heard the reports on the road that evening and this morning, but it wasn't half as bad as I had anticipated, though I don't regret the precautions we took just in case.

There don't appear to be any trips in the offing. The only job I have been on since I got back this afternoon was to take a letter in to the General in town, which was a half-hour job in all and only made me late for my dinner.

It shouldn't be very long before we have a bit of mail in. The Post Office chap at 27 Bn tells me that he sent some parcels over here for me, but I haven't been able to trace them as yet. A Christmas cake from sister Dulcie was there though, and I have that to open yet. We shall probably eat it with a bottle of beer one of these evenings when we have a nattering session, or I shall nobly give it to the Mess for the benefit of all of us. After all, if everyone does that we all get just as much cake in the long run as if we had eaten it all very greedily by ourselves.
Capri 16 February 46

Your expected mail arrived yesterday and as soon as I got back from my trip I read it by the fire and went to bed, being pretty tired for once.

We had been to Capri, which I think is about twenty-five miles out from the coast. In order to have three hours over there we were up shortly after seven in the morning. We didn't arrive back on shore till seven o'clock, after which we had to have dinner and find our way back to camp.

The island itself is merely a rocky and nearly barren island, rising almost sheer out of the sea for the greater part of its coastline, with two beaches of a sort, one on the north side and one on the south, each consisting solely of a short rocky and boulder strewn foreshore and not at all what we should call a beach at home. In fact, such an island in New Zealand would hardly be noticed and probably would be settled by a few goats and mutton-birds. There are some nine thousand people living on Capri, most of whom must live on the tourist trade or by looking after the houses of the few people who are rich enough to afford to have a house there. We were pointed out the homes of Ginger Rogers and Gracie Fields and no doubt there are others. Edda Ciano was another celebrity who had built there, hers being an unornamental building erected on one of the higher spots on the island and exposed to every wind that blows. She is now a POW so hasn't much opportunity of enjoying any more of this summer there.

We were eagerly greeted by guides when we landed, who offered us a trip round the island by car, quite reasonable too. We gladly accepted, as it was a bit too much to expect to see the place on foot in the time available. The car went quite well for an Itie machine and we saw the island as any other tourist would have seen it in the same time. I should have liked to have had a few days in which to have taken a more leisurely course over the hills to see what living there really is like, only that is never likely to be.

We were taken to the house of Munthe, who wrote "The Story of San Michele", the story of the building of the house which he has called "San Michele" and of his life at that time. Apparently I should have read it, as most of the other members of the party had done so. I must read it at the first opportunity.

The house itself is now more of a museum, as he no longer lives there and a woman caretaker showed us round. It is perched on the edge of a cliff, reached by a rocky zig-zag path from the beach and by a winding road cut out of the solid rock of the hillside, leading to the town of Anacapri on the western end of the island. A visit to the small beach on the south side and a few minutes in the town of Capri itself completed our tour. The guide told us that the rocks on the southern beach were those on which the sirens sat and sang to the crews of boats that passed, luring them from their ship, and whose wiles Ulysses defeated by stuffing his men's ears with wax and tying himself to the mast. I am not sure if this is true to fable or whether it is made up from the desire of guides to please visitors.

We went across in a launch, with a fair sort of breeze blowing, making the sea roughish for such a small craft and a bit too rough for some of the chaps, but not badly so. I still retain my record of not being sea-sick since I left home and hope to continue to do so. The trip back was pretty cold. Most of us were frozen when we landed and having had only a couple of small rolls of bread since leaving, were starving hungry and ready for our dinner. We all piled across the tramlines and stopped the first tram, which we climbed aboard, and for the price of one cigarette each to driver, conductor and ticket seller were conveyed into town. It was amusing to see the crowd of Kiwis on the line, wildly waving arms till the tram stopped. We were quite amazed that it did so, as the proper stop was a long way ahead. It just shows you what can be done if you are cold and hungry.
Italy to Japan

24 Feb 1946

I have been trapped a little by the fact that we were to have stopped for discharge of mails at Port Tewfik and I had delayed writing my first letters. Now there is only an hour left before the mail closes and the next chance that I may get will be at our next port of call and where that will be we don't know. At the moment we are lying at anchor in the harbour of Port Said, where we arrived at lunch time today, after a little over three days at sea. Although I came on board last Monday (today being Sunday) we did not leave Naples till the Thursday morning. We had plenty of time to become settled into our new quarters before hitting the open sea. I have been fairly busy most of this time, but not so busy that I haven't had time to write. However, after my usual style, I had put it off till some time when I could devote a full day to giving you a fuller description of things than I can do in this letter. One thing I have had is plenty of leisure time in which to read and have finished four books already and not played more than one game of bridge.

The three of who were living together in Florence are together in the same cabin on the boat, with one other chap of whom you are not likely to hear more from me and whose name won't interest you. We are fairly happy in our cabin and at our table in the dining room, for we sit and eat at the same table for every meal. More of the detail of life aboard and the things we are doing later in the trip. I hope to write you a fairly full description, commencing this afternoon, once I have written a short note to Mum to catch this mail.

I have your photo alongside me in the cabin on top of one of the little side cupboards on the dressing table, and it is there just beside my head at night. When the ship gives a bit of extra rolling at night, I have a quick look to see if it has moved at all, as I should hate to see the only frame that I have for it busted on the floor because I was too careless to put it into a safe place.

From this you will gather that we have had a smooth crossing of the Mediterranean, fortunately for those people who are subject to seasickness. So far, not a qualm from my old tum, of which I am becoming justly proud. I have a job on board, ship's armoury officer, which means that I have had the job of collecting all the rifles and having them stored in a room below decks. In a few more days I shall be finished there and have nothing to do but enjoy the voyage. This is a lucky break for me and so I am making the most of the trip.

As you may guess, it is vastly different from the conditions under which we travelled in the old "Mooltan" and all of us who came over in her cannot help but compare her with the "Strathmore", though no doubt the officers on the "Mooltan" lived as well as we are doing here. Still, the comparison between the two makes us thankful for the benefits that we get through having a commission to come home with, even if our route is a little roundabout. Weather has been fairly fine, with a strong wind on deck making the sheltered side the only one popular. However, I have had no time so far to spend on deck, most of my days having been spent away down in the bowels of the ship, below the waterline, supervising the handing in of rifles and working on the ones that are in there.

This is just a letter to let you know that I am still alive and kicking, because you will probably be hearing that there is a mail in and I should not like you to think that there wasn't one from me in it.

I can still borrow this typewriter from time to time and am becoming so accustomed now to typing my letters that I feel it a disadvantage to have to write them. So I am inclined to put off writing till I can use the typewriter, merely because it is so much easier. So, you see, I am becoming decidedly lazy in my ways and must change them smartly.

About the strongest impression so far is having real money to jingle in my pocket, for we are paid in English currency, and this morning, to see the advertisements at Port Said printed in English and not in Italian. I am only just beginning to realise that it is nearly two years since I have seen anything remotely resembling an English establishment. It is indeed a pleasure to be able to read our own language again. Also, several of us find it rather strange to be able to speak to a waiter at table in normal English and have him understand properly. Several made the mistake in the first couple of days of speaking to them in Italian, at which they were probably taken aback a little. Habit is a hard thing to break we find.

2 March 1946

It is a mistake not to write or to begin writing as soon as the voyage starts, as now I find that having delayed nearly a fortnight, what was quite an event and would have filled a page is now only a small incident and not worth a paragraph. For all that, I shall try to cover the beginning of the trip as thoroughly as I hope to describe what is yet to come.

For a start, it is much the same trip as I have told you about in my Trip Book, written just two years ago, only in reverse and in vastly different circumstances. Then we were sailing off to war. Now there is a form of peace in the world. There was danger, submarines lurked and guns were efficiently manned; the enemy could still reach us from the air, though less likely than earlier in the war, while the convoy through the Mediterranean towed balloons from their sterns to counter in some measure the dive-bombers. The ship zigzagged all the way, incessantly day and night, or was it only by day? I cannot remember. Boat station drill was taken much more seriously. All moves were shrouded in secrecy and security was stressed over and over again, so that it comes as a surprise to find our daily position given and an announcement made about the names of the places we passed, even the names of ships passed being broadcasted. There was a general rush to the rails when it was announced that we were passing the aircraft carrier "Indomitable", but I had only a few seconds to spare and but barely glimpsed her across our stern.

The biggest difference of all, this a personal one: Last trip was made as a mere temporary sergeant and we lived under exactly the same conditions as the men in our troops, hanging our hammocks to the ceiling above the mess tables and suffering the inconveniences of cramped quarters, with no experience of anything better. But this trip I have a cabin, shared with three others, but still a cabin, with a steward to make the bed in the morning – memories of rolling blankets and hammocks so neatly that the edges matched to a fraction of an inch, and the stacking of them before breakfast on a bench to one side of the space that was our share of the deck.

Along with the cabin goes dining first class and the use of the first class lounge, walking up the gangway, nose in air, to the top deck, labeled clearly "Officers only" and the privilege of sleeping in till nearly time for breakfast in the morning. I am making the most of it all too, I can assure you.

We came on board after a very early breakfast (0615) and our next meal was at one o'clock, so you can just imagine how joyfully we greeted a menu card quoting four courses, with a choice of three main meat dishes.We ate right through that menu and with six and a half hours to wait for dinner, were so hungry again that we did the same that night. The joy of again eating fresh butter, real butter too, drinking good tea and proper coffee, made from first quality tea leaves and coffee grounds, and being able to eat as much as was reasonably required, after two years of nothing but army rations! We really disgraced ourselves, but it was good! We still eat a lot but have calmed down quite a bit on our first efforts.

Although it was Monday morning when I came on board, it was not till six on Thursday morning that we left our berth in Naples harbour and headed out past the Isle of Capri. The intervening time was spent in embarking the brigade, taking on supplies and checking rolls before departure.

So the trip started on the 21st February. Just what happened on the different days I cannot recall, nor do I remember when we arrived at Port Said, but I wrote letters then and you can check up. I have a job on board. It is looking after the armoury. That means taking in all the rifles, tommy guns, machine guns etc on board, a job that lasted two full days and has since provided employment for myself and my assistant, George Easson (who is nominally my batman).We have worked fairly consistently ever since, adjusting labels, sorting and listening, so that I have seen very little of the sea except for short periods in the afternoon. I shall be busy for some time to come yet.

When I first started I thought it would be a good easy job but have found it otherwise, though I am not sorry to have some work to occupy my time. I use it as an excuse for not writing sooner, but as I have read several books, I can hardly lay much claim to that. I am forced to write now as my eyes have refused to read for long periods and this is more restful for them than anything else but sheer idleness or sleep.

The "Strathmore" is, I believe, fairly new as ships go, and certainly is modern in her furnishings and appointments. She is of the P & O Line, as is the "Mooltan", but different in many respects, being higher and with much more deck space and I think, more decks. Cabins begin on "C" deck with lounge and recreation rooms on "B" deck. The boat deck is free for sports except for the bridge and ship's officers' quarters. I was on the first troop deck of the "Mooltan", "C" deck, but am on "D" deck of the Strathmore and feel higher up, so by that I gather she is the higher of the two. However, I think the "Mooltan" is preferable in bad weather, as the slightest sea sets the "Strathmore" rocking. I wonder what she will be like when we strike bad weather? Up to date we have had calm seas and sunny skies, the strongest wind being yesterday, though the Indian Ocean hasn't become at all as rough as I expected. (We are a little over twenty four hours from Cape Guardafui, which is the extreme north east tip of Africa.) In every respect, other than this, this ship is far and away better, being clean and free from swarms of cockroaches. And free also of that horrid smell of bilge water that permeates through most ships. The troop decks go no further down than the tourist class passenger cabins once did. The lowest of them is still just at water level, though well aft and right near the screws. Those of us who came over together rejoice in the difference and, as I remarked before, are making the most of the trip as a reward for past discomfort.

It takes twelve hours, almost exactly, to go from Port Said to Port Tewfik. Suez is near Port Tewfik, but not on the canal itself, being visible to the south as we neared the end of the canal.

The displacement of water by the ship caused a peculiar current on either side. The level of the water at the edge of the canal was much higher opposite the bow than it was amidships and a very strong current flowed from front to rear, as fast as a swiftly flowing stream. In addition, there was a reverse current flowing towards the bow and opposite the stern, foaming high along the banks in a curling wave. This had a most amusing effect on the odd barge and boat tied to the bank. The first to strike trouble was an old Wog, sitting peacefully in one of two barges, tied side by side and secured fore and aft to the shore. The down current from our bows snapped the ropes that held the bows of the barges to the bank, swinging them broadside to the canal. Then the following aft wave wrenched the sterns out and the ropes holding them parted, setting the two barges adrift in the canal. What happened to the poor old Wog nobody knows or cares. He looked rather comical gazing forlornly at the shore.

The prize effort was a bit later on when we passed four Wogs in a loaded boat, tied fore and aft to a small jetty. Whether they were trying to let go or to secure the boat more firmly, I don't know, but as we came up to them they were frantically struggling with the aft mooring rope. When the current hit them they were still tied by long ropes at both ends. Well, the current swung their boat round till it was broadside on and heeling dangerously. The following wave completed the job, tumbling the whole box of tricks into the canal. We thought it a huge joke and I wondered at the time how cold the water was. Serve them right for tying up so foolishly when they must have known the habits of the canal.

That evening I stood by the rail until we reached the end of the canal and Port Tewfik just at six with a bitterly cold wind blowing, so, although I didn't see the Port Said entrance, I can at least say I saw the other. The cold soon drove me indoors and when we woke the next morning we were in the Red Sea, heading for Ceylon, with the weather noticeably warmer. All thoughts were turning to warmer days and summer wear. On the Wednesday we were able to put away battledress and appear once more in shorts and shirts, a very pleasant sensation after the winter months so recently endured. And no mosquitoes to dictate the hour for changing into slacks, only the necessity to be dressed in them for dinner at seven thirty. Soft drinks in the lounge gained in popularity and the rails were lined at night, sleeping on deck permitted and awnings rigged on the boat deck.
Visitors to the "Strathmore"

If you are a good girl and promise never, never, never to tell a single soul, I shall tell you a story that nobody here believes, because you take for gospel every word I write and there is some point in telling you.

Until the night before last, Arthur and I had a visit to our cabin every night, in the wee small hours, always at the same time and always for only a short time, but most constant. At first we really didn't believe it was true, but one night he really spoke to us and then we knew what it was all about. He said his name was Cyril. He is a seagull. Really and truly. He told us he always called on the occupants of Cabin 261 when the "Strathmore" passed by Italy and Sicily. He used to fly straight in the open porthole in a dive with his wings closed and land with brakes on upon the ledge of an iron girder just above my bunk. He didn't talk the first night and we thought he was an intruder, so Arthur was all for trapping him and stopping any further nocturnal disturbances. However, Arthur was asleep the next night he came, so he only spoke to me, so Arthur forgot about traps when I told him in the morning.

Cyril told me that before the "Strathmore" took to carrying troops, our cabin had had just two beds in it and he never talked to anyone in those days but just flew to the ledge for a rest and left again shortly afterwards. It was only when he saw soldiers travelling that he took to starting conversations. He was most interesting and told me a lot about life at sea and the way he lived, though I have forgotten most of it now. He also said that he only came one night past Sicily and then would be leaving us, but his friend Cecil would be calling later – in fact the very next night as he flew out from Malta to meet us. Cyril cried when he said goodbye. It was a heartrending scene. I believe he had grown quite fond of us in the short time we had known him. He cried so much he could hardly get out the porthole. He always had trouble getting out because there is a long corridor running from the main part of the cabin to the washbasin under the porthole and he couldn't get up speed to fly down it with wings folded the same as when he came in. He used to hop along the floor, flutter on to the edge of the washbasin, then to the ledge below the porthole and so out to the open air.

Of course Cecil was expected. He told us all about Malta, Egypt and Somaliland because he stayed with us till we were one night out from the north eastern tip of Africa, which he told us was Cape Guardifui. He wasn't quite such a nice bird as Cyril, but entertaining, and we had a lot of fun talking to him.

Only when we tried to tell the others at our table all about him we were laughed at, at first, and now they shake their heads and look at us in such a queer way that we only mention our visitors on rare occasions. So I know you will understand and I have told you all about them.

In our lounge, against one wall, are six long mirrors joined edge to edge with a gap in the middle, with gold figures painted on them. On one side are a hound and a boar, and on the other is a figure mounted on a charger. When I first saw the latter from a distance, I thought him to be a valiant knight, clad in armour, with his lance in hand and mounted on his trusty steed. I had imagined him doing all manner of doughty deeds, fighting and slaying cruel barons who held in subjection and slavery the peoples under their care; freeing the thankful slaves who heaped upon him honour and riches, though, being a trusty knight, he took the honour and spurned the riches. I saw him charge the keeper of the drawbridge, a savage double-headed dragon breathing smoke and fire, freeing a beautiful princess from durance vile, carrying her off in traditional manner fainting in his arms to make her his bride. And then I looked closer and was bitterly disappointed to find only a hunter, armed with lance indeed, but wearing a turban and an enormous moustache. By making the two scenes into one it became clear that he was hunting pigs in India, pig sticking being a favourite sport in parts of that country. I had thought up such an interesting letter too.

Then there are the blower goblins, really mischievous little devils, who lurk in the ventilator corridors on your way to dinner or to the lounge. In one place there are two of them, one ready to pounce and the other turning the funnel round to catch you wherever you may walk and no matter how much you try to avoid it. The ones that leap out grab me by the hair and drag it backwards, forwards and every way but the right way. All the trouble I have been to to get it nicely brushed for mealtimes is gone for nought and I look like Topsy for the rest of the evening. All sorts of demons lurk on the ship, catching your toes as you climb the stairs, pushing you off balance when you aren't prepared, running off with the lifebelt you have just put down beside you and generally making life a misery for everyone. I think a lot of them must have come down from where they used to annoy the Air Force, because there aren't so many planes in the sky now. Or perhaps the ship carried some Air Force chaps and a few of the gremlins liked it so much they stayed. I am not sure which.

Well, love, herewith the first pages of my story of travel so far. More some day soon.
Japan 20 March – 26 May 1946

Here we are at last tied up to a buoy in the harbour of Kure, after a four weeks' voyage. The ship is slowly discharging cargo and passengers on a sunny but cold day, surrounded by the hills and mountains of the islands and mainland of Japan.

I last wrote just before we reached Hong Kong. We all rose early to see our entrance to that harbour, but were disappointed to find a fog and low clouds that hid the town and shore until we were very close. The passage to the harbour was past a lot of small islands, very rocky, but most of them with green grass covering their slopes and little sign of habitation. We entered the harbour through a narrow channel and dropped anchor just inside, some two miles from Hong Kong. We didn't know which of the various towns visible ashore was Hong Kong and I'm still not sure. Nobody got shore leave and only a few went ashore to collect mail, stationery etc. There were the usual small boats alongside, supplying oil and water, with still smaller ones with cargoes of camphor wood chests of all sizes and shapes, sandals, scarves, trinkets and souvenirs to barter for cigarettes. Bartering is forbidden on the ship, but that did not prevent some people from attempting it. The reason is because the supply of cigarettes is rationed, and is being paid for at rates unheard of ashore, because of being tax free for use by troops and not intended as a form of currency. Usually the ones who barter are the first to complain of a shortage of smokes and cause all the trouble over cigarette supplies. I seem to have explained that rather badly, but perhaps you will see the point.

We left Hong Kong that same day and since then have had an uneventful voyage. No typhoons, hurricanes, storms or pirates in the China Seas. Just a bit of a thunderstorm as we entered the straits approaching the Inland Sea. My last impressions before going to sleep were the noise of a rising sea, with flash after flash of blue sheet lightning seen through the porthole.

The trip through the Inland Sea was probably one of the most interesting parts of the voyage, but, unfortunately, all day Sunday and Monday I spent below, and all Tuesday morning as well, my only impressions of this part of the trip being the occasional glimpses over the side as I came up for meals. The Inland Sea is a mass of islands, the channel clearly marked by buoys and lighthouses. Arthur was able to satisfy his passion for looking at lighthouses. His first act on waking, as a rule, was to rush to the porthole muttering "Perhaps there is a lighthouse" and he eagerly awaited any remarks by Sam or me if we happened to see one. Perhaps, just as well not to go into details of our conversation or you may be imagining our reason is slightly affected by the war, or else that we are silly with the occupation. Certainly the cabin sounds like a loony bin at times, but we have a lot of fun.

I had my first sight of Japanese dwellings yesterday when we passed an island near Kure. They were all wooden houses with lots of windows and grey slate roofs. The villages are in valleys and rise up the hills, looking very like a mass of boulders at the foot of a steep slope or a cliff, no streets being visible and, from that distance, no sign of life. We also had a brief glimpse of Hiroshima as we passed it, but I had no binoculars on me at the time, so couldn't see what it looked like.

I managed to be on deck for an hour after lunch yesterday and took a few snaps. I saw our entrance into Kure harbour. The whole of the Inland Sea appears to me to be one big harbour, ideal waters for naval bases and suchlike. The place must be a mass of defensive works and one instance will illustrate this point...As we entered the harbour, we passed a small island with a tunnel right through it and a ramp with rails leading to it from the water. Hidden in the tunnel were three submarines, quite secure from aerial observation, ready no doubt for launching at a moment's notice. They looked to be burnt out now though. As I went below from two thirty to seven thirty last night, I haven't really seen the place properly but shall do so after lunch.

There are all the usual wild rumours and conflicting reports going round. One definite thing we have heard is that we carry nothing ashore – apparently we should "lose face" terribly should we stoop to such a menial task. It is rather amusing. It suits me though. I'm never too proud to let somebody else handle my luggage.

We have heard that Japan is mountainous but I wasn't quite prepared for so much hill and mountain and so little level ground. The towns seem to be clinging to a narrow foothold under the mountains behind them, while the line of steep, rocky hills has been almost unbroken since we sighted this country. That, however, is only a first impression and may change as we get ashore and see the place properly. All the hill faces are terraced, as were the hills of Italy, but the slopes, being steeper, the terraces are probably smaller. There is plenty of natural growth, lots of small trees and shrubs covering the hills where there are no terraces, so that there is plenty of wood for fires and for making odd scraps of furniture for our home to be. However, it may be that we shall be more comfortable than we think, as the position of the conqueror may be a bit more lordly than that of a co-belligerent, and the rewards, if they can be called such for us who have done no fighting, proportionately greater.

From what I can gather, I go ashore to-morrow morning. So far I have not been any special job but may land one at any time. I have just completed my job here a few minutes ago and am free at last to do as I like with the little time left on board.

There was mail for me last night from you and my sister Joan. I haven't had a letter from Mum for a long time, but her letters are probably in the bags that missed us at the ports of call and I should get them this week I hope.

I shall be quite sorry to leave the ship. It has been a pleasant, if uneventful voyage, and I have had good company all the way. The meals have been a very pleasant change and the change back to tinned rations will be a bit hard at first, but no doubt within a day or two I shall have forgotten there is anything else.

From now on there should be plenty of news for letters and plenty of time in which to write them. We are told the mail service is very good but dependent to a large extent on weather conditions, so we hope that the delay in getting a reply to a letter is much less than previously.

23 March 1946

There is plenty for me to write about now, so shall do a little bit each letter and thus try to tell you about Japan as I find it and how we are all progressing in our new job of occupation.

First of all you will want to know just where I am and mark it on your map. Chofu is the name of the town, about six miles north-east of Shimonoseki, which is at the extreme southern tip of the island of Honshu on which are also Hiroshima and Kure. I hope it is marked on your map.

We arrived here two days ago by train. It meant getting up early in the morning, just after five, in order to have breakfast at six and begin disembarking at seven on to an LST. This took all 27 Bn and HQ to the shore, the "Strathmore" still lying at anchor in the stream. We had our first proper look at the "Strathmore" as we left her and I thought she looked quite small from a little distance away, but she was a fair size when you were on board. The LST was delayed in bringing us to the wharf and, once ashore, we had a couple of miles to march to the railway station.

Kure is a big naval base and all the docks have been knocked about by bombing and shelling, but there is still a lot of it not damaged and there are some mighty engineering works and huge cranes, hoists and scaffoldings. The whole perimeter of the harbour consists of docks and workshops. All the way to the station we passed these, and saw nothing else of interest except a few people. I shall be able to devote a whole letter to the people, so shall not remark on them here. The train was waiting for us (we were actually an hour and a half late, and no sooner were we aboard than it left. That was the first amazing thing in this amazing country. Never have I seen a troop train do that. We are told that their railways are efficient through necessity.

The carriages were reasonably comfortable, with green felt seats back to back and rigid, but there was a lot of grit and dirt about before the journey was over. Seeing I had my billy and primus, we were able to have a cup of tea for lunch and another about four, for which we were duly grateful. As we were carrying bread, butter and bully for two meals we didn't starve. The train made up over half an hour and we reached Chofu just before six in the evening.

The camp is about a mile and a half from the station and we had to walk it, the men with packs up and some carrying kit-bags, though they were supposed to have sent most of their gear by the baggage train. It was just getting dark when we arrived and the evening soon went, what with settling people in and arranging for a meal to be cooked for them. All the troops were issued with camp stretchers, supplied by the Australians. Their living quarters, instead of being tents pitched wherever there was a level place, are steam heated wooden, two storied buildings, the warmth hitting us in the face as we walked in the door. Our mess and the living quarters above it are also steam heated and are lovely and warm all the time, so you need no longer wonder whether we are roughing it or not. Definitely NOT.

When we had located our gear from among the rest of the luggage stacked in a shed, the three of us, Sam, Arthur and self went with Bill Archdall in a jeep to a place he had taken over from the Yanks. It is there that the four of us live and where I am writing at the moment, but that is quite a big subject and will take a letter almost to itself.

We greatly fear that our present happy state of affairs may not last, so shall tell you about our home while we are still here. It can be reached only by jeep or on foot, the road not being wide enough for anything else. It has been an American Officers' Club, so is now vacant but for us. And it is a real storybook Japanese house, built of wood and paper, and we are really living in it all by ourselves.

To get inside there is a front door. You give a latticework wall a push to one side and it slides open smoothly, showing a step and a blank wall in front of you. Then, if you have another quick look, you see that the wall is in vertical sections. To get inside you slide one section, any section, to the right or left as you please. It reveals a small lobby with a hall leading off straight in front. A few feet down this hall you push aside a section of the wall and enter a lovely comfortable room, the sitting room. As this is absolutely typical, except that it is furnished in European style I shall try to describe it.

There is one fixed wall behind me as I sit here at the table, facing the back of the house. At one end of this is a high cupboard, high for Japan, the height of all the doors and most of the windows about my height – five feet eight inches. There are double sliding doors to the cupboard, with round metal grips let into the doors. These doors are like the doors at the entrance, made of wood and paper, the framework being of one inch square wood with several thicknesses of paper stretched in between, presenting a solid looking appearance. They are fitted top and bottom into grooves in which they slide, with no metal parts to be seen except the handles. Next to the cupboard comes an alcove, with a raised floor covered with straw matting let in below the level of the wooden skirting board. I believe they hang pictures in such places in normal houses. Then comes a wide shelf with cupboards below and two smaller cupboards up near the top. At one end of the wall and in another alcove, the Yanks have had built a bar, luckily not so as to spoil the appearance of the room, except that the wood is raw and not lightly stained as is the rest of the room. The bar has a metal top, there being plenty of sheets of a light alloy available.

The other two walls are hardly walls at all. They consist of eleven panels, each made of wood, glass and paper, all sliding in grooves. Through any of them you can leave the room just by pushing aside a section and walking through the gap. Each panel is in a frame of inch square wood, the bottom foot paneled in light timber, about the thickness of three-ply, then nine inches of wooden lattice with strips of lath half an inch wide and a quarter inch thick, set six inches apart lengthwise, the horizontal laths being four inches apart. On the outside of this is pasted a sheet of paper, stretched taut over the latticework. Next comes eighteen inches of glass pane and the top two feet of lattice and paper.

The room can be divided into two by inserting panels in the slots that run across the middle, but there is linoleum on the floors now covering the bottom grooves. The ceiling is about eight feet high, the top couple of feet or so being solid (apparently) with four double, sliding, lattice and paper windows to admit more light. All the panels can be lifted out and whole rooms altered by moving a few sections of wall from one set of grooves to another.

On the two sides of the room that have the paneled walls there is a verandah, a little over two feet wide, walled in with sliding glass panels that are the same height as all the others. These two all open anywhere at all, with steps here and there to get you down to ground level without jumping. These sections are slightly more substantial than the inner ones, but nobody at home would consider them a sufficient outer wall.

Whether it is the effect of the double walls, or whether the locality is naturally quiet, I am not sure, but the one really noticeable feature of this room is the silence. You can almost hear the silence that reigns if you sit still here and make no move. There is no echo of voices or sounds when you do speak. It is necessary only to speak very quietly, unlike the Italian stone rooms that ring and echo to every word and blur the clarity of speech, so that one had to raise the voice to overcome it. Utter and complete peace is the only way to describe the atmosphere of this room. We find it simply unbelievable for such a frail affair to be so isolated.

There is a round Japanese stove in one corner, put in by the Yanks, that warms the place nicely, while two good strong electric lamps, with white frosted bowls to diffuse the light, supply illumination. Furnishings are a plain dark varnished table in the centre of the room, with a wide, shallow, white bowl in which stand a few sprays of peach blossom and some twigs of dark green leaves, rather like the glossy green privet that grows at home. Round the table are set five plush covered chairs. Round the walls are seven easy chairs and a settee, a smaller double table like a foreshortened tea wagon without wheels and one or two little Japanese chairs of medium height but with very low backs. A fairly good carpet square completes the furnishing of one of the nicest rooms I have been into for a long time.

It is this room that makes the place what it is and it is the same thing that may lose it to us as a home, but we rather hope not. The first time we came in we just gaped and were thrilled to bits at the thought of actually living here, so different was it from our earlier conception of bivvy tents and misery. It is so good to think that our stay in this country is not to be one of physical discomfort.

3 April 1946

We came through Hiroshima on the way from Kure and, although our only impressions were obtained from the view we had from the carriage windows, we saw enough to realise that the atomic bomb was the ideal weapon to use on the flimsy structures that constitute the main areas of Japanese towns. It must have been as terrifying as we have read in papers and articles. The whole of the town has been razed to the ground except for the reinforced concrete structures. Some of these that I saw had been cracked at the foundations and shifted up to two feet to one side, the reinforcing rods twisted and broken by the force of the blast. Apart from these burnt out structures, there are dozens of raw wooden hovels, newly erected and worse homes of sheets of burnt iron roughly fashioned into the shape of a dwelling. All this you will have read in the papers. The site of the town is level, ideal for a blast of destruction, and it certainly was destroyed! However, I don't think the effect would be the same on a solidly built town, except for the heat, which we are told, melted the iron reinforcing inside the concrete of buildings near the centre of the explosion. What wasn't blown down was therefore burnt to ashes and we could expect something similar in New Zealand, with our wooden buildings in most of our city areas.

We could not help speculating as to whether or not the bomb was meant for Kure. At that stage it must have been an excellent target with its big naval installations and dockyards, but was dropped on Hiroshima with the typical Yank disregard for accuracy as long as there was some result down below. However, I may be doing the man an injustice. All down the line we saw evidence of the incendiary bombing of this country, an ideal destructive method of warfare, but hardly justifiable under the Geneva Convention or rules of war, as the civilian homes suffered the most severely of all.

The Japanese house is usually wooden, single storied or double storied, seldom more, the outside done with creosote, presenting a black or dingy appearance. The roofing is of black glazed tiles, so that the whole aspect of an ordinary town is sombre and grey, not relieved by any splashes of colour like our own red and green roofs at home. That was disappointing to me, after seeing the sketches and pictures of Japanese buildings. However, the traditional style of building exists with curly eaves at the corners and three or more shelved roofs, one above the other. The lower roof, as a rule, is at the floor level of the top storey, but not necessarily so, as there are often a couple of roofs on a single storied building. The place to see old style Japanese architecture is at their shrines, which are many and as yet appear to me to be all alike. However, I shall be able to give you more detail about them later in my stay.

When you hear of buildings of bamboo, it is not noticeably bamboo but a wall made of strips of bamboo closely together, criss-crossed, and covered with a thin plaster of some sort. There are quite a few being built round here and I shall try to get a scrap of one to illustrate this. Their paper and lath panels I have already described, and on those lines they could easily pre-fabricate their houses, making sets of grooves and the frames to slide in them by the hundred. In fact they appeared to be doing so at the building sites we saw near Hiroshima and I dare say the same system operates in some of the pre-fabs in England.

So far, I haven't mentioned our two house-girls, and seeing that they do so much for us, it is time I gave them their share of the letters. The two of them are sisters, Asae and Toshika by name.More commonly called Soon and Gladys, as their names are a bit harder for us to pronounce. Soon is the elder and quieter of the two, does the sewing and the odd small jobs as well as what an ordinary batman would be expected to do. Gladys is a real giggler and does all the button polishing and general work. There are thirteen of us in the house now and up to today the two girls did all the work. Now there is a house-boy as well to help them and their work should be a bit easier. Japanese girls are terrible gigglers, their whole existence seemingly is punctuated by a constant giggling, either a symptom of embarrassment or just a habit, which of the two I don't know. When I first saw these two they just about giggled themselves to death, but they are a bit better now, and Soon is quite placid and quiet most of the time. They live in a little room at the back of the house with their mother. They look after the whole house as well as doing all our work, making beds, washing, cleaning and sewing. It is quite comical in the mornings when we leave, as they do their best to get us off in time. One morning Soon rushed out ahead of me with my hat and stick while I put on my boots (we were riding to camp).

When we go to breakfast we are farewelled for the day by two smiling faces, as they stand one on either side of the door in the morning sunshine. I hope to have them both in their kimonos one morning, when I shall take a snap – the setting is ideal for a photo and you would be interested in seeing it I'm sure. The same thing often happens in the evening when we go to dinner, but they also practically dress us then , fixing up our buttons and seeing that there are no ends of thread hanging – glamour suits are always a bit of a nuisance.

We all get a cup of tea in the mornings at about seven o'clock. We then get up to find hot shaving water all ready for us, though, lately the water in the boiler has been heated too early for the purpose. Then follows the little pantomime at the front door, where we enter our limousine to go to work, It is a bit grim really. We drive to work in a straight eight black Buick sedan, with the Japanese driver known to us as "Speed-boy". He is ready for us just before a quarter to eight and delivers us to the door of the mess room for breakfast, taking us home after work and back to dinner again before seven. Yesterday I was setting off to walk home when there came a toot on the horn and up drives the Buick, door opens and I recline comfortably in the back, to be driven in state through the town of Chofu to our residence – quite the conquering hero.

We get quite a kick out of it and lord it over the majors, who arrive from another area in an army truck. The car is supplied by the Japanese government, the local branch being the Police Station, and the driver is one of the best workers we have. So, when you think of me roughing it in Japan, it might alter your opinion to know that we are waited on hand and foot and don't have to walk a yard if we all move together. Moreover, the Buick is a real posh car and the best vehicle round here, so the subalterns have got a bit on the others for once.

15 April 1946

In case you are thinking that I am living a life of slothful ease, here is a resume of my day's work:

When we alight from the limousines all go in to mess but I start work. Being labour officer for the area, I have all the daily labourers arriving between a quarter to eight and eight o'clock. They have to be allocated to the various units requiring labour. The day before, each unit has requisitioned for labour. The Japs supply the number asked for (with a few discrepancies from time to time) and these Japs arrive from Shimonoseki and Chofu in trucks, loaded to overflowing. The trucks unload in the square behind the office building and all these beautiful specimens parade like a rafferty battalion, to be sorted out into bunches of twenty, thirty, fifty or suchlike numbers. And this is my parade.

Of all the villainous characters, I reckon this daily collection takes the biscuit. I am getting used to it now, but it appalled me at first. They come in all shapes and sizes, from what appear to be children to old men. I am wondering if I am not a child slaver with some of the little rats that come along. I have upward of two hundred and fifty assorted Japs each morning to sort out. They parade in groups – carpenters, plumbers, electricians, painters etc and labourers. The Jap Labour Department officials line them up in column of fours or fives and count off the required number. Great commotion when we try to send the carpenters who work for Headquarters down the road to one of the battalions. There is usually a bit of muddling, through the interpreters not understanding fully what I have said, but I can get rid of most of them in ten minutes. I want to get a photo of the morning parade, but the official photographer doesn't have breakfast, so he isn't up at that hour of the day.

I have breakfast at about half past eight and get to work just before nine. Then there are all the figures to juggle with, returns to fill in and the next day's labour requisition to get ready, odd bodies to find, problems to settle, more special Japs to jack up for the next day. Before I know where I am it is nearly six o'clock and time to go home, bath and change for dinner at seven. This is a seven days a week job. On Sundays I have most work of all, as then the weekly returns have to be done. Also, I am secretary of the Mess and the accounts have to be made up on Saturday night and Sunday morning, so there is little time to rest. The only time off I have had so far has been after eight at night, so I have hardly been having a lazy time. I need somebody to look after my room and clothes, so am rather fortunate to have struck such good quarters.

So life in Japan is pretty hectic as yet. I am supposed to have a clerk to help me but clerks are as scarce as hens' teeth and I am keeping on top of the work still. However, I should like to be able to get outside some afternoon and look round the place. walked through town for the first time this afternoon on the way back after work. That was the first look I have had at any place other than home, the mess or camp, but didn't have time to linger. he cherry blossom is nearly over now and all the petals are falling on the road. I haven't had a chance to see much of the countryside at all when they were still out. Such a pity, as, after all, the cherry blossom _is_ traditional Japan.

18 April 1946

I am writing this on the door of one of the cupboards of the room, but not as it normally fits, as I have removed it for use as a table across the arms of the chair. Handy houses these – if a wall is in the way it can be removed in a twinkling. Bill Archdall and I were saying how remarkable this life is, the novelty not yet having worn off – being driven home in style in the Buick and having our persons waited on hand and foot. The driver of the Buick, Speed-boy, is a cracker. He goes from early morning till after eight at night and cannot do enough for us, especially Bill, who was here by himself for a fair while. He was the real cock of the walk until the rest of us arrived, thereby earning a bit extra prestige with the locals than most of us carry. But it is novel to be driven home in state, to find our slippers ready for us at the front door, a fire going, the kettle on, with probably one of the girls keeping an eye on things, darning socks, mending or altering clothes, drying the washing and doing the various odd jobs so much neglected by most of us in the past. To have a home of our own is just the job.

We have a bathroom with a bath and shower and an inexhaustible supply of hot water. I have a bath or shower every night. Of late I have been having one in the morning too, shaving, washing and cleaning my teeth, all under the shower, after having had a cup of tea in bed. The other night I was feeling a bit weary, so had a cuppa delivered to the bathroom and drank it while I was under the shower – the height of luxury.

I have acquired a reputation as a tea drinker with the girls, who giggle every time I touch a cup, but, as I haven't been touching the beer the others drink, I consider myself entitled to something. They boil the kettle over a cunning brazier-type of stove that doesn't appear to smoke at all but burns coal. They do all their cooking on the same affair. I have no idea what they eat, but they should do all right as they have plenty of ground here to grow food in. We are not permitted to give them anything extra but I guess they will get the odd spot of food from time to time.

They are good workers and just _make_ this place. As I read in a "Weekly News" today, they are charming people, but owe none of it to their looks. couldn't help thinking when I first arrived how depressingly ugly everything was – in Italy they did have their beauties in some shape or form. Where it wasn't shape such as a staircase, there was usually form that was not hard on the eyes, but here they are such shambling people. Short! They make everything low and I have to bend my knees to wash my hands at one of their basins. Nearly everyone but me carries a bump or two on the forehead through hitting the tops of doorways and partitions.

They walk terribly, probably due to wearing such stupid footwear. The commonest type of this is a plain flat piece of wood, shaped roughly to conform to the shape of a foot, with two cross pieces fixed beneath it, about two inches high and half an inch wide. A couple of cords lead from between the big toe and the next one, to either side about as far back as the ankle. And they actually walk on these, about two inches off the ground, picking them up by the grip between the toes and dragging them along. This type of footwear causes them to bend their knees all the time, so they have got that shuffling sort of walk because of it. Then they all bend over as well. I suppose we are more prone to notice it after Italy, where the people, and especially the women, all walked so beautifully. This is far from attractive in any way, and yet we are getting used to them a little and can appreciate their better qualities once we have learned not to take much notice of looks.

It is a pity you cannot trust them. We have very few illusions about them.I see all sorts during a day, from horrible looking specimens about four feet high with no nose or squint eyes, to University professors just returned from China and wanting a job as interpreter. An amazing number speak English and you never know how much some of them understand. They have their peculiarities, one of them being that they understand written English better than spoken, probably due to having learnt it at school and have had very little practice at speaking it. I have found it advisable, at times, to write things down and thus make sure it is translated correctly. It is amusing when they don't properly understand you but it has queer results.

Yesterday morning I asked the little chiefs of the Labour Department to find a couple of girls to look after a house somewhat similar to this, where some others are living. We tried to tell them that we preferred it if the girls could make the place their home and look after it. Broad grins all round made me check the interpretation and found they had the impression I wanted the girls to _live_ with the occupants of the house. Hastily corrected this, successfully apparently, as this morning two houseboys turned up for the job. One has already been sacked once by us for loafing on another job, so I doubt that he will last long, but I think they thought we wouldn't notice it.

But they do wear kimonos and they are brightly coloured, bright splashes of colour in the drab streets, much more suitable to their looks, of course. I should like to see the women all in their best one day, but usually there is just the handful of them, the others wearing their "zoot suits" like ankle depth bloomers. These make them look a bit like a double-ended pear with a bend in the middle. Under the kimono they wear a board sort of thing on their back, which is part of the get-up but makes them look even more round-shouldered than they are already. What purpose it serves I do not know, but I suspect the baby sits on it. They carry the kids on their backs. Little girls run round with kids half their size on their backs – but they probably young and some of the girls may be mothers for all I can tell. Anyway they darn socks properly and don't cobble them the way Italian washerwomen used to do. Gladys is busy on socks at the moment, using an old electric light bulb inside the sock.

It has been pleasantly quiet to-night, rather like the first few nights here, with just half a dozen of us home. The two nights before this we have had visitors and I was very sleepy last night so shall be off to bed in a few minutes. There is a gusty wind blowing, so possibly there will be rain before morning. As I think I have said before, the climate is like New Zealand. We live right beside the sea, yet I have hardly seen it in all this time, not that the sea front is all that attractive. It is just a brick or stone wall, with the sea right up to it all the time and fouled with rubbish floating inshore. We shall need to go well out if we are to be able to get any swimming in the summer and there are still mines out there.

22 April 1946

We were saying as we walked home after dinner tonight that there is a great difference between the way the Japs treat us and the manner in which the Ities behaved in the latter part of our stay in their country. This was so much more surprising, as we had expected to be in the midst of a dangerous, hostile people, with our lives at stake after dark. They are hostile certainly, but at the same time reserved and polite, and though that is merely an attitude, it is much easier to put up with than the furious chatter of the gesticulating Italian. They tend to keep to themselves. There are no crowds of clamouring women and children near the messrooms begging for scraps. They do not hang around the gates trying to get in, nor do they operate a black market through the cracks in the wall, as did our Latin friends. They are an unprepossessing race in appearance, badly clothed in bits and pieces of military uniforms, poorly shod and probably miserably fed, but they have a fairly high standard of education and there is order in the community.

I haven't mentioned their Police at all so far but it is a very big and important branch of their civil government, operating efficiently and with a firm grip on the civil population. If we tell them to throw an offender into gaol, he gets thrown in and stays there till dealt with or released. The policeman gets a most respectful bow from all and sundry and we have to return their salutes (worse luck). Luckily they toss a military salute and we don't have to do any foolish bowing. The big shot of the town is the Chief of Police. He is the source of everything. If the electric power fails in our house, the girls ring up the Chief of Police. If there is anything to be done round the town, he is the man to go for. If you want to throw a party and need some girls to do the waiting – ring the Chief of Police and he will supply them. If the roof leaks – ring the Chief of Police, and so on. He has his finger on everything.

Now the Japs have not grasped fully the value of sanitation and although they have a drainage system in Chofu, it is primitive and all the drains are open. Just in front of our barracks runs a big open sewer that is some two feet deep in slime and filth at the bottom, and which will be delightfully odorous in summer. Bill Archdall has set out to have it cleaned. He has the Chief of Police on the carpet regularly, to tell him to get more done in the matter. He has succeeded in getting all the smaller drains round the town cleaned out, but so far the big drain is not touched. Bill says it will be done in a fortnight or there will be a corpse in Chofu! Unfortunately the Chief is sick and the Assistant Chief hasn't the same grasp of things, so there is a bit of a hitch in the cleaning programme. Another eyesore is the stream that borders the road we pass along on our way to work. The people have got a bad habit of throwing their refuse into it, and as it contains but a trickle of water, the heaps of rotting rubbish remain, banked up at the sides, filling the night with their perfume. That, too, must be cleaned up and a rubbish collection for the town instituted, all part of the job of the Chief of Police.

I think the local mayor is reclining in gaol, where he was thrown by the former ruler of Chofu, a US Marine lieutenant, and until he (the Lieutenant) says so, the Mayor cannot be released. The Marines have gone to Kyushu, so it looks as if the Mayor will be there for a little while yet. I must ask about him. Anyway, if we do let him out, he will probably have lost so much face that hara-kiri is the only thing left for him. Interesting to see what happens.

Life here is a bit like comic opera, with the Chief of Police running things so efficiently, and until the Army demanded so much paper warfare, we were rulers in chief with a vengeance. However, BCOF HQ has given no power whatsoever to the component forces, such as ours, and we are faced with the ridiculous position of having carpenters sitting down in idleness because we cannot get nails. Kegs and kegs of nails are lying waiting for us down the street because we have to send forms in quadruplicate to BCOF for authorisation before we can lay a finger on the nails. So far, things we asked for two weeks ago are still not taken because we have not received the authority. The trouble is that the Japs know this and they realise that the Brigadier has no power whatsoever. The 2NZEF has completely lost face in their eyes. Here are we, representing the victorious nations in the country of the defeated enemy, unable to do a thing to help ourselves. We cannot even lay drains in some areas because we are not permitted to take the things needed for the job until authority is granted.

When Bill Archdall came here in the Advance Party, he didn't have these worries and so got more work done in the eight days he had in which to do it, than the whole Brigade had done since it arrived a month ago. As a result, Bill commands more respect from the local population than the Brigadier himself. We are all furious about having our hands tied, but even the Brigadier cannot get things altered. The worst feature, of course, is that the Japs realise it and they play up to our helplessness as much as possible. The only branch of the civil supply that is working is mine – the labour department. I have practically a free hand to requisition labour – I am answerable to HQ but they don't worry me at all. If I want a man to mend a bathroom tap he is supplied and no questions asked. There is a general guide laid down as to what labour can be employed and that is fairly generous, so you can be sure we are taking a little of the reparations due to us in services rendered to the tune of some ten thousand yen per day. I got quite a shock the first time I reckoned it up, but I dare say it is only a drop in the ocean and will not be as much as that once the demand for local clearing and leveling is satisfied. They are pitifully weak though, and any one Kiwi could do as much in an hour as many of them do in a day. However, they are there to do our work and we employ them, only we have so many men looking after them that that they are a real nuisance.

29 April 1946

There was a letter from you today, not numbered but probably 172. Of late there hasn't been much mail for anyone, so this one is a very welcome one. As my sister Isabel hasn't written for a fortnight, it must be the first for two weeks, but the days fly by so quickly I cannot really remember when I had mail last.

You will be interested to hear that I am leaving my job here at the beginning of next week and am going to 27 Battalion at Yamaguchi, not altogether without regret, as it is most pleasant here and we have an excellent set-up. It is a pity to have to leave just when the job was becoming more interesting and less exacting, but that cannot be helped I'm afraid and no doubt there will be much of interest in Yamaguchi. At least you should benefit from it because I should have more time to write letters and tell you about Japan.

I was up there on Wednesday, a pouring wet day, paying a flying visit, and saw a little of the country through the rain. This is a good time of the year to see any land north of the equator, with everything in its new spring clothes. The rice fields look fresh and green with their neat orderly rows of young green rice just starting to seed, with between them the furrows with water lying several inches deep and more rain falling every minute. There is no inch of ground wasted, rice growing right up to the edge of the road, vegetables or flowers on every square foot of land near the houses.

It is a pleasant change from Italy to find so many flowers about the place. We had a formal mess on Saturday night with several vases of nicely arranged flowers on the tables to make the place bright, arranged by one of the interpreters who knows something about it. We are also getting several small trees and shrubs in pots for the mess and round the office to brighten it up a bit – they are very cheap and do make a difference.

You will be pleased to hear that I am now being assisted in my duties by a Jap girl, who is both chief factotum and interpreter. This is most useful, as she is an American born girl who came over here with her father at the beginning of this year and speaks English (or American) naturally as well as Japanese. She understands me fully and can convey the proper meaning of what I say to my many callers.

As I may have mentioned before, I get all sorts of people in to see me, from decrepit old men who can't get glass to carry on with putting in windows, to elegantly dressed females in kimonos, who bow deeply and request a job as house-girl with us. Then, today I had a couple who lived in Australia all their lives, but have been sent back here looking for an officer they know – quite nice old biddies too. One day I had a visit from a well-dressed American/Jap woman, who wanted to get a job for a friend of hers – still don't know who she is but shall probably find out one day.

The women look quite nice in their bright kimonos. They are a lot more presentable in them than in anything else. You get used to their faces after a while and can tell the better ones at a glance, but for all that, it is surprising the talent you find under the surface. The two girls who work for us at the house are actually pretty highly educated and a better type of female than I had suspected at first. Lately they have been wearing their kimonos every evening – you would love to see them in their nice silk things. They would make a tremendous fuss of you if you ever came here. They are both most displeased that I am leaving and Toshika has offered to travel up in my pocket to be my house-girl up there. Johnny Higgins is here to take my place and, though he thought they were pretty comfortable at Yamaguchi, we have opened his eyes a bit today, showing him how you can live in Japan.

This will probably make you all jealous, but you have far less than ever before to worry about, if you ever had any worries, because it is just not possible to more than get used to these people. The two girls here both say that they were pleasantly surprised at the sort of people we are, apparently a definitely opposite reaction to what they had expected. I must say my opinion of them has changed a lot since we first arrived. It is not unlike having a couple of sisters waiting at home for us, the way they look after us. We have re-christened Soon as "Anna Maria" as she didn't like the name "Soon" which the Yanks gave her apparently. She is like a mother to us all. We all offered to marry her the other night, but she wouldn't have any of us, saying, with her smiling face and broken English, that she wanted us all as friends. They do have a little genuine, pleasantly smiling, appearance. Although their smiles can be turned off and on at will, they do actually smile sincerely over things every normal person finds funny. They are much more natural now that they know us better. Toshiba still giggles all night, but when she dances she is most serious.

There were four of our nursing sisters staying here over the weekend at the Brigadier's house and last night they paid our house a visit, but we were all away at the pictures (the first time I have been anywhere of an evening) and the girls entertained them with music and dancing. The gramophone supplied the music and Toshika did the dancing. When we came home she did a couple of dances especially for us (the nursing sisters had gone). She is most graceful with her gaily kimono-ed figure, normally rather round and dumpy. It was quite a surprise to find she could dance. Their dancing is like a slow ballet, done with a solemn face and intricate patterns of steps, with waving of arms, using fans and graceful poses. Toshika also dances in our style, quite well too, but one needs a proper floor to tell how well she does, as dancing on a carpet in socks is not a very good way to test someone's ability with the light, fantastic.

They have some marvellous lacquered trays here that will take hot cups of tea, glasses with wet rims and anything you like to put on them, even to a boiling kettle just off the stove. If I can get some of them I shall do so, but I believe the best place is Hiroshima and Hiroshima is not up to much these days. The girls brought the ones here from Korea with them when they came back from there last year and I don't know where to find some more. If you are interested in a silk kimono, you might like to know that E15 pounds will buy one here, but it seems a fair bit of cash to me. There is so much more to a kimono than just the outside that I wonder if they are any use without the fittings that go with them. I make no promises concerning a nice one for you, but you never know.

10 May 1946

Now that I am back with the Battalion again there should be a little bit more mail forthcoming. There has been a sad lapse, but I really have been working and only now am realising what it is like to have spare time. To-day is Friday and I finally wound up my work on Wednesday at midday, coming up to Yamaguchi after lunch yesterday. I am now installed, if not as comfortably, at least as securely as I was down below. I am lamenting the loss of the lesser creature comforts but appreciate them all the more for losing them. And yet, I fear the life there was not good for the folk at home, as my mail suffered badly, so you should welcome a change.

The two house-girls seemed most genuinely sorry to see me go and gave me a "presento" of some sprays and a flower made by Toshika for me – you shall see them some day. They are made of a thin covered wire material and are probably quite effective when arranged properly. I don't expect to be looked after so well until I get back home again, so you should be thankful to hear that I have been well cared for. I took a snap of them before I left, but neither was in a kimono – they look much more presentable in their national dress – so you won't think much of them, even if the photo is good. All my talk of taking photos came to nought. I never took time off to do any on the fine days and there haven't been so many clear sunny ones lately.

According to the Japs, this is unseasonable weather. Usually at this time of year they get good fine days to ripen the wheat crop. All the fields are in wheat at this time of the year, rice being grown in the autumn and winter. All the green turns slowly brown now that the ears have set, but one of the interpreters was saying that there is a danger that the crop will rot on the stem unless the weather clears – a major calamity in a country so close to the margin of starvation. But even if they are near to the bottom of the rice bowl, they do not parade their hunger or wretchedness, maintaining an impassive front and not clamouring for attention as the poor do in Italy and the middle eastern countries. For this, they can only be admired.

The road from Chofu to Yamaguchi is no pleasure seeker's route. For half the distance there are just pot-holes strung together, with a semi-gravelled surface, enough to shake you to pieces. So it is with intense relief that the better road is reached at Ogori, a sealed surface from there making a pleasant contrast. No doubt the view is quite good, but the first time I came up it was teeming with rain and this time, in a closed jeep, sitting in the back, I saw even less, so I can tell you very little about it. There is a sameness about Jap scenery that becomes rather monotonous. Acre upon acre of green wheat grows in neat orderly rows, raised above the water lying in the furrows, right up to and almost on the road itself, unrelieved by anything save the odd house of wood and a few trees. Houses are creosoted to a black shade and roofed with grey tiles. Out of the fields rise the hills, covered with small trees to the summit, and, for a fair way up their slopes, terraced and growing wheat or barley. They waste none of the land – here in Yamaguchi sections of the footpath bloom forth with crops of peas, beans and wheat, the paving stones having been removed and set on edge to form a wall for the garden. It must be an honest sort of country, as everyone seems to have a garden on the street. In Chofu, on the way to our house, even the edges of the creek were raised a little and planted with vegetables, while wheat grew on the outer two feet of the already very narrow roadway.

As a general rule, roads are very poor, the streets of the smaller towns being but dirt tracks, barely wide enough for a car, with no such thing as a footpath anywhere. The surface is rough and uncared for and the pedestrians seldom bother to look out for traffic, even when a horn is blaring right behind them. The main transport system is the railway, efficient and fast, providing a quicker means of travel than the roadways of Japan. So, if you ever come to this part of the world, don't bring your Rolls Royce but leave it for the kids to drive at home. Bill Archdall still has the big ditch cleaning and rubbish drive in full swing down in Chofu. The narrow roads were almost blocked for a while with the accumulation of rubbish piled up in readiness for carting away. There seemed to be no end to it.

The only colourful things in Japan seem to be the flowers and the women's clothes. There are plenty of flowers just now, with the bushes of azaleas all out. At one spot near Chofu I saw a whole slope in rows of white and rows of red azaleas alternately, just blooming by the roadside. Even here in the camp area at Yamaguchi there are lots of plants if you take the trouble to look for them. The kimonos, of course, are beyond description. Only people such as these, with black hair and dark skins can get away with such bold colours and still appear to be normally dressed. On the way to here yesterday we passed a village that was holding some sort of fete. All the womenfolk from little girls upwards were out in their gaily coloured silk kimonos, of all colours and combinations, dozens and dozens of them, looking like butterflies along the edge of the road. This was a pleasing contrast to the drab and khaki of their menfolk, who seem to wear nothing but bits and pieces of army uniforms. Very few kimonos are seen in Chofu, mostly pantaloons and a few skirts, probably because most of the workers there used to work in the factory and have plenty of serviceable working clothes. Kimonos we see now are up to fifteen and twenty years old, as they are far too high a price for the average person to afford nowadays. Certainly much more than I am prepared to pay, even for you, as they are not really worth it.

26 May 1946

Since last I wrote I have had a really busy time. It is about ten days I think and in that time I have had to organise and build a rest camp for a hundred troops on the beach. There are only seven tents to go up now and the job will be finished. The spot is on the west coast, north of Hagi, which in turn is north of Yamaguchi, near the fishing village of Kiyo. We have named it Golden Bay Rest Camp.

What happened was that on the Friday night, when I came back from the patrol that the platoon did to a couple of villages over the hills, the CO sent me off on this job the next morning. He gave me a free hand to get the place ready in as few days as possible. He spoke to me for about five minutes altogether before I left.

The Japs have done all the work, of course, but the collecting of materials (and there are a thousand and one things wanted for a rest camp) has been my main job. All day spent on the site and the evenings organising, plus a trip to Yamaguchi and a second trip to Chofu for odds and ends, and with my headquarters at Hagi, half an hour away by fast jeep, there hasn't been an idle moment since I left. There has been no mail – the mail was tossed overboard this trip, so I am a bit out of touch with things, but there is tons of news really, if I had time to record it all. It is already nearly nine o'clock and I have to drive back to the camp, where I sleep, so as to be on deck at eight in the morning to set people working.

I must get the War Correspondent out here to write up the camp for the papers at home. I shall also take some photos of it too before I leave to show you when I get home. When I get time again I shall tell you all about Hagi and the village of Nago and of Kiyo, and all the little things that make interesting reading. This is just to let you know that I haven't actually forgotten you, even if I am not writing very often. Anyway, I am getting plenty of fresh air and sunshine, exercise and work, so it is a pleasant change from the office life of my earlier days here.

I received a warm welcome at Chofu when I went there on Thursday night – it was a little bit like coming home. The luxury of a hot bath and having a cup of tea in bed in the morning was fully appreciated. Since I left there I have begun to realise how well off I was – better than most people in our army, and a good thing too. I am not ashamed to get a few rewards after all these years, when they affect my comfort. hope to be able to have this rest camp properly organised regarding employment of local labour to look after the troops, but, once it is built, I shall have nothing to do. It should be completed on Tuesday night, just eight days from the beginning of actual work and including one wet day with only a quarter of the work done.

So you must be satisfied with this little bit of news and be thankful it is work and not pleasure that occupies my time so fully in Japan. After all, it may not be so very long now that we are apart, and I can fill in the details when I get back.
Postscript

Walter Sisam was discharged from active duty on 29th September 1946.

He returned to New Zealand and 3 weeks later married Noeline, to whom he was happily married until his death on 19th January 2008.
Official Citation for Walter Sisam's Military Cross

At Padova (Padua) on the morning of April 2, 1945, a troop commanded by Second Lieutenant Sisam was ordered to seize the north bridge across the Brenta River against unknown enemy strength.

In the half light of the early morning Second Lieutenant Sisam led his troop and the supporting infantry forward from Padova for several miles until he came under enemy fire.

Second Lieutenant Sisam then pressed home his attack in such a vigorous and bold manner that he overran two enemy armoured vehicles, the enemy infantry and several tracked and wheeled vehicles and finally at point blank range engaged and put out of action two enemy 105mm guns, thereby forcing 300 enemy with their equipment and vehicles to surrender to our infantry.

Through his bold action Second Lieutenant Sisam prevented the enemy demolishing a very valuable bridge which was afterwards used as the "axis" for the whole division. His complete disregard of personal safety and his exemplary leadership and courage was an inspiration to the whole squadron at all times.

