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The Numurkah Mob
The basics for this story were narrated to me by the two surviving members of the Numurkah Mob, Cliff Moss (Mossy)and Reg Cowan (Gangles).
Having been together  with them in the 15th Battery of the Regiment, I lived in close association with members of the Mob and so feel privileged to the few liberties I may have taken in putting their story together.
There were fourteen in the Numurkah Mob, twelve of them born and bred on their parents' farms, the other two leading simple country lives in the Shire of Numurkah.
Their story reflects the nature of this country township before the war and gives an insight into the character of the township as it is today.
Why include the story of a group of country boys in a collection of stories about the experiences of individuals?
It's simply because we anti-tankers always spoke of the Numurkah Mob as though they were one person. Like the sheep they mustered and sheared, they were all tarred with the same brush. They were all born in the frugal 20s, were boys throughout the depressed 30s, and were young men by the time the aggressive 40s and the war came around. They had to grow up quickly, there was a war on the way and someone was going to have to do something about it.
Right from the very start, the Mob had a `unique' common background that was to bond them together for the rest of their lives.
They had that good old country quality of integrity and that inborn sense of ingenuity and versatility, that enabled them to apply themselves sensibly and wholeheartedly to any job that came their way. They were `Jacks of all trades'.
Their toughness developed from caring for and working a team of those wonderful old country horses, the Clydesdales, and from trudging behind them in the fallow dust from sunrise to sunset. They were as tough as old army boots.
They had that sense of honest country humour that came from working hard on the land. They knew how to make their own fun and enjoyed a hearty laugh over simple things. At the end of a hard day's work they loved nothing better than to have a beer together, followed by a bit of country style roughhouse, a friendly bout of fisticuffs, or a rough and tumble in the clean dry country dust. They were as happy as sand boys.
They were part of a society that centred around the church, with its strict code of ethics and stern discipline. The church did much to draw them together, and provided a focal point for their social pleasures. In those days, the church had been designated almost the sole rights to hold the township's dances and concerts.
After church on Sunday, fellowships were further strengthened through invitations to Sunday dinners of roast lamb, tapioca pudding and hot scones, home made apricot jam and scalded cream.
This would be followed by a cleansing ale on the cool verandah, sheltered from the scorching sun.
Their only other source of entertainment was Wirths Circus, which travelled around the countryside visiting Numurkah on its annual pilgrimage. Their life was full of fun and interest.
Through the sports clubs in the surrounding districts, they became kindred spirits. They played in their local football and cricket teams with, and against each other, developing their individual skills and finding out what it was like to be part of a group and work together as a team.
Life on the land was always a battle of survival for them, not only against the harshness of the droughts and floods, but from the devastation caused by the plagues of mice and hordes of grasshoppers which periodically swept unchecked through the countryside and threatened their livelihood. They knew how to eke out an existence from their harsh land.
None of them had any money, everyone was a battler. They could live off the smell of an oily rag.
They learned to shoulder responsibility at an early age, having to decide when to put their crops in, when to harvest them, and when to work like hell to get the grain in before the next rain.
They understood animals and the tactics for rounding up the stray sheep that had wandered off from the mob, with their border collie dogs.
They were familiar with mechanical things and were able to keep their ploughs and harvesters in good working nick. Give them a piece of `cocky's delight' (a bit of old fencing wire) and they could fix pretty well anything.
At an early age they learnt to use firearms and could shoot the odd rabbit or hare sheltering in the shade of a fence post, or go hungry.
They spoke for each other without fear of contradiction. They were intensely loyal, abuse one and you abused them all, take on one and you took on the Mob. On the other hand, be a friend of one and you were a friend of the Mob's.
They acquired their qualities from their life on the countryside around Numurkah, attributes they have since ploughed back into the township to enhance its country town personality.
Army nicknames are generally spot on and closely reflect the character of its owner. The Numurkah Mob was not without its share. Looking at them one can get a pretty good idea of the nature of the beast.
Frank Christie was a bullocky built, ginger headed farmer and was one of the Mob's natural leaders. Consequently he was seen in many different lights and accordingly was bestowed many different nicknames.
Befitting his build and colour, he was often known as the `Red roan'. Because of his ruggedness and general toughness, he was sometimes called `Pans', short for pansy. On account of his good nature, he was sometimes called `Strawb', (everyone had a friendly old cow at home called `Strawberry'.) Not satisfied with that bunch, he was called `Vic' by the boys in his own troop, after a well known wrestler of the time, Vic Christie.
Reg Cowan was a good natured, tall, lean, long legged fellow, whose legs looked as though he had been riding horses far too long. He walked with a slight roll and had a laconic manner. He had to be called `Gangles'.
Les Venables was long and slim like a ramrod, so much so, that the boys thought he would make a good pull through for our gun barrels. `Pull thro', suited him very nicely.
Then there was Alan Miller, everyone intuitively knew that his nickname `Wiggy', fitted him perfectly, but not everybody knew that he was called `Wiggy' because his short curly hair sat on his head like a judge's wig. He was also pretty good at passing on the occasional learned opinion.
George Dickie's nickname was much more straight forward. He always had a big happy smiling shiny face. They simply called him `Skull'. It suited him fine.
Keith Tyers? well everyone would know that the only name he could be given by his army mates, would have to be `Flat'.
Gerrard Shannon? How could anyone go through army life being called Gerrard! It would be impossible. It became Jerry.( A name, reminiscent of that friendly little item that went under the bed and saved one from having to stumble out into the dark in the middle of the night to the distant outhouse, frequented by the odd frightening barn owl.)
Johnny Gray just stayed as Johnny, because, like his near namesake Johnny Ray, he could sing `The Soldier's Farewell' from `White Horse Inn', `Goodbye, goodbye, I wish you all a last goodbye', rolling his eyes and throwing his head back with a quavering voice, half singing - half crying. Yes, plain Johnny, suited him perfectly.
Then there was Cliff Moss. Naturally he became Mossy. It well befitted the great red haired hulk of a man, whose face and huge farmer's hands were covered with masses of red brown freckles, like the moss on an old tiled roof.
The other members were called by an extension or contraction of their surnames. The Mob had got a bit lazy.
Stan Gainey became `Gainey'.
Ron Haynes became ` Hainsey'.
Col McPherson became `Mac', not an unusual abbreviation for a Scot.
In the early stages there were a few fuzzy edges to the Mob. Two of its original members, Jack Thornton and Jack Laidlaw attended officer training schools and on receiving their commissions were posted to other regiments.
Another of the originals, Jimmy Sharp was `claimed out' by his father to be with him and became a driver in the Field Ambulance Corps. He was later killed in Singapore in a Jap air raid on Victoria Hall which had been converted into a military hospital and was supposedly under the protection of the Red Cross.
For all us anti-tankers it was fun knowing the Mob; we always used their nicknames and in fact many of the boys would never have known their Christian names.
As Prawn Hennebury would say, "They were a happy bunch of golliwogs."
In 1936, trouble was looming in Europe and the threat of invasion by the `Yellow Peril' became much more real. The powers that be, decided to strengthen the armed forces and expand the militia. To make sure they netted in some of the country lads, a troop of the 20th Light Horse Regiment was formed in Numurkah.
The boys were quick to see this as a pleasant diversion from their normal routines on the farm, and Frank Christie, George Dickie, Johnny Gray and Cliff Moss, didn't waste any time before joining up. They were quickly followed by Reg Cowan, Ron Haynes, Alan Miller, Gerry Shannon, Keith Tyers, Les Venables and Stan Gainey.
Col McPherson, who was working with his dad as a tailor, joined the PBI, the 59th Battalion of footsloggers, which was formed at the same time, to mop up those not so keen on riding horses into battle.
All of a sudden the boys were rich and famous, with five shillings in their pockets for attending parades and bivouacs and another five shillings for providing their own horses, they could now join the town's elite at the local cafe for a feed of steak and eggs and chipped potatoes.
With their Light Horse rig, their slouch hats and puggarees, and their plumes of emu feathers, they provided the town with a rare touch of glamour.
Each month they would ride in to town for a dress rehearsal and parade down the main street in full regalia. The townsfolk, especially the kids, revelled in the excitement of it all and lined the main street to cheer them on. They were the town's pride and joy and they loved every minute of it.
Their life in the Light Horse provided a great escape from the normal hum drum life on the farm and gave them all a great uplift. The bonds of comradeship were by now, becoming quite strong. Where one went, the others had to go too. No one wanted to miss out on any of the fun his mates might be enjoying.
Shortly before one of the camps at Seymour, George Dickie's two sisters both contracted a serious attack of measles. In those days measles was a serious epidemic, necessitating immediate and absolute isolation. It was highly infectious.
Well, there was just no way George was going to let a little misfortune like this prevent him from going to Seymour with his mates, so he crammed into the dog box of the local train with them and off they went. The inevitable happened, the whole Mob contracted measles and spent the following fortnight confined in isolation in the Infectious Diseases Hospital in Fairfield. George had achieved his wish to stay with his mates.
When war broke out in 1939, the Mob had high hopes that the Light Horse Regiment would be called up for overseas service. There was no way now they would break up as a group.
However, it soon become apparent that the Light Horse Regiment was not destined for overseas service, so at the end of their three month camp in Torquay, Jack Thornton got the boys together to thrash out whether or not, the whole of the Numurkah Troop would volunteer for overseas service.
They unanimously agreed to join up, but with an overwhelming sense of commitment to their farms, they decided that they must first sow their crops. With their crops in, there was no trouble getting full agreement from the Mob to enrol for overseas service. They decided to enlist en masse and off they went in their light horse regalia - emu feathers and all, to the recruitment centre at the Melbourne Town Hall.
It was a very impressive event for all concerned. The daily press turned up in full force. They posed for photos with the Lady Mayoress, and they were given the whole works. The Mob had its first taste of notoriety and loved it all.
No sooner had they all signed on the dotted line, than as one, they asked for two weeks' leave of absence. It happened to be Jack Thornton's wedding, and the wedding of one of their mates was an event not to be missed. The recruitment officer, at first taken aback by their audacity, sensed that he had a bonanza anyway; 14 in one swoop wasn't to be sneezed at, and besides the war was probably going to go on for quite some time yet. Leave was granted.
At their camp in Benalla there was more togetherness; they billeted in the same tents and worked, trained and played together. They covered for each other whenever any one of the Mob was out on the tear and absent from roll call. They took their leave together, either jumping the rattler on the empty wheat trucks headed back to Numurkah, or hitch-hiking their way home on trucks loaded with hay. At Benalla they were dubbed `The Numurkah Mob'
From Benalla the Mob went to Wangaratta and on to the Artillery Training Regiment at Puckapunyal. Col McPherson had by now, caught up with them, no longer having to fear that he might one day have to prove his prowess as a horseman.
It just so happened that out of the blue the `Boss Man' of the newly formed 4th Anti-Tank Regiment visited Pucka in search of suitable recruits for his outfit. The men were called on parade and listened to the colonel extol the virtues of joining the Anti-Tank Regiment and the kudos of becoming gentlemen of The Royal Australian Artillery. It failed to turn the Mob on. When the colonel called for volunteers to step forward, remembering the first rule they had learnt in the army, the Mob stayed very still and very silent.
Not to be deterred, the colonel walked down the ranks picking out men he thought might be suited for his regiment. The first of the Mob he came to happened to be Gerry Shannon; no doubt, in his mind's eye, the colonel saw him as having the right qualities for a gunlayer. He asked him to step forward with the other men he had coaxed out.
Responding automatically to his deeply ingrained army discipline, Gerry stepped forward, but when the colonel had moved a pace further along the line, he tried to unobtrusively step back into the ranks.
The colonel caught his move, "What's the matter, gunner? Don't you think you'd like it in the Anti-Tank Regiment?"
There was dead silence. All Gerry's instincts told him that he was going to be separated from the Mob. The security of being back in the ranks with them was pulling hard at him. He madly wanted to slip back into the obscurity the ranks offered and stay with his mates. Then it happened, it just slipped out, unconsciously his voice stammered, "I got 12 mates here sir." Quick to seize on the opportunity, the colonel said, "Good, then we'll have them too."
Frank Christie quickly resolved the stalemate and called out, "One in, all in." The Mob stepped forward as one, their fate was sealed, they were now members of the 4th Anti-Tank Regiment.
Insisting that they all be kept together, they were allocated to `George' `Henry' and `Ink ' Troops of 15th Battery. A few loose ends had still to be tidied up. Gangles Cowan was in the camp hospital and was absent from the line up. They wanted the colonel's assurance that Gangles would also be included in the regiment. The colonel, basking in the success he had just achieved was in genial mood and willingly consented. The Mob could now report "All present and correct sir. Ready to move out."
With or without their emu feathers, they were still the idols of the Numurkah townsfolk, particularly the mums and their pretty sun-tanned daughters. Whenever a church dance was to be held in the local Mechanics Institute, as soon as they had finished their training for the day, the Mob would straightaway break off, hire a bus and head for home.
On their arrival at Numurkah, they would receive a hero's welcome, have themselves a ball, and head off back to camp in the wee small hours of the morning, arriving just in time for reveille. A little jaded and worse for wear perhaps, but well worth every minute of it. Happily for the rest of us, they always came back laden with homemade strawberry sponges, cream puffs and lamingtons.
A birthday was always a cause for celebration, and it just so happened that Frank Christie's birthday fell on the day before our final embarkation. Not to be deterred, the Mob arranged for a nine gallon keg of beer to be provided to each of our three huts. The beer flowed freely and we drank Strawb's jolly good health rather too frequently. The party was going great guns, when suddenly. through the crisp morning air, the call rang out "Prepare to Move."
Time had passed so quickly and so enjoyably, that we had all overlooked the fact that the hour of our embarkation was drawing near. We scurried around, collecting our gear and belongings, and bunked each other onto the waiting trucks. Disorderly perhaps, but effective and certainly, painless.
The troop train chuffed off on its way, rocking most of the boys into deep oblivion. As they neared Melbourne they stirred themselves enough to sing lustily,
"Goodbye Melbourne Town, Melbourne town goodbye,
I am leaving you today, for a country far away,
Though today I'm stony broke without a single crown.
If I make a fortune I'll come back and spend it
In dear old Melbourne town."
It seemed to fit our mood, very nicely. Lumping our gear along Princess Pier, we caught our first glance of the troopship `Zealandia', a small 7000 ton ex-horse transport ship, that was to take us to Malaya. After one disdainful look, Frank Christie remarked, "Christ, I could piss over it." We all believed he could have too.
If anyone had ever wanted to find a weakness with the Mob, they would have found it on the voyage from Melbourne across the Great Australian Bight to Fremantle.
Slumped in their hammocks, slung from the upper structure of the open decks, they were a sorry sight, leaving their hammocks just in time to make it to rails on the side of the ship, and then scurrying back to their hammocks as fast as they could, only to remain there in misery until it was time to make the next dash to the rails.
Land lubbers they were and they all would have sold out cheaply to get back to the security of their beloved farms in Numurkah. "To hell with God and country, bravery and all that stuff and nonsense." It wasn't until they set foot on Singapore soil that they really began to perk up again.
War and the period of internment as POWs that followed made it impossible for the Mob to stay together as a group. Each member was going to have to play his role on his own as best he could, knowing that his mates were somewhere around, but never quite sure where.
In the meantime, in their early days in Malaya, the Mob stuck together and continued to have their fun.
At Tampin they trained together, developing their skills in handling and firing their new two pounder anti-tank guns. At the end of a day's toil, they would join up at the local cafe `The Oasis', and talk about their experiences and the folks back home, over a `few' gin and grapefruits. On payday they would visit the Tampin Rest House where they would dine in style and live it up a bit.
With 14 of them, birthdays were always coming up to provide another good reason for some fun. Nothing like a homemade boiled fruit cake from one of the Numurkah mums and a couple of bottles of warm Tiger beer to get the spirits riding high.
When the Japs attacked, the Mob dispersed, each to his own corner to perform the job he had been prepared for.
Members of the Mob lived through many of the experiences recounted in the stories told here by their fellow anti-tankers. They most certainly will have shared with all of us, our two greatest needs at the time - mateship and survival.
The experiences recounted here, are just a few of those endured by members of the Mob during the battle for Singapore and their lives thereafter.
Mossy, Gangles, and Gerry were all allotted to guns that had been mounted in that controversial style - Porte. As Clarrie Thornton had predicted "They were sitting ducks." It just so happened that these guns came under heavy fire, one of them receiving a direct hit, killing one of our sergeants. Fortunately the members of the Mob, came out unscathed.
Gerry, who fulfilled the C.O's intuition and became a darned good gunlayer, had a very lucky brush with fate. Some of the gun layers had found that they could sight their gun easier by leaving the small hinged, upper section of the guard down. Gerry found it was better to leave the shield up and sight through the narrow slot provided. Covering the Bukit Timah Road against possible tank attacks, a sniper's bullet hit the shield right in the centre of where Gerry's head would have been. The bullet stuck in the shield.
After fighting a hasty, action packed retreat down the mainland of Malaya and on Singapore Island, they were ordered to re-group with the regiment at the Botanical Gardens. Here to their great dismay, they were told that Singapore had capitulated and they were now prisoners of war.
The one bright spot for them was that a quick tally of the boys showed that they had all survived. The Mob was still intact. To celebrate their survival and to deaden their remorse, they drowned their mixed feelings of happiness and sorrow with a few pannikins of condensed milk and gin which they had discreetly scrounged from the nearby officer's barracks in Tanglin.
Then on to Changi Prison where they gathered together for a short while and shared their arduous introduction to POW life.
In a line up for a work party in Singapore, the cut off for the quota stopped in the very middle of the Mob, who always lined up together. Mossy, Venables, Gerry, Dicky, Hainsey, Gainey and Col Mac became wharfies and truckies at the Great World camp in Singapore and found, to their great delight, this was to be the best assignment they were to ever have in their lives as POWs.
Working on food dumps, they were quick to see the enormous potential for scrounging. But it was dangerous. Caught pilfering, and your comfortable livelihood became seriously threatened. However, they soon devised intricate and cunning ways to beat the system and upgrade their living standards.
Three course dinners became the norm. Bully beef and baked spuds, pancakes and powder custard, with coffee, tea, or bonox to follow, was a great improvement on a small serve of tasteless claggy rice. With a bit of luck, they could down their meal with a bottle or two of ABC lager they had scrounged.
Horakoshi, the Jap Transport Officer in charge of their work party, had wide powers of authority. He labelled all their trucks with Japanese characters, indicating that they were not to be stopped by Jap troops. The drivers were free to drive around Singapore unhampered by the Japs, provided they stayed within the boundaries of Singapore and kept within the time limits set for them.
On one occasion, driving around the godowns, one of the drivers ran over an unwary Jap soldier and killed him outright. Horakoshi rushed over to the petrified driver. It had to be the end for him. In a cold sweat, the driver waited for the inevitable.
When Horakoshi reached him, he raised his finger in a `Tut Tut' motion and said, "Driver, don't you do that again." Such was the relationship between the Jap officer and his team of POW drivers.
The good life could not go on forever and the boys were soon back in Changi awaiting assignment to work parties on the Burma Rail. Under Jap control, there was absolutely no way the Mob could contrive to stay together. Each had to roll with the punches and accept his fate, whatever it happened to be. Gerry was broken away from the Mob early in the piece and, assigned to `S' Force to work in camps, near the Burma border. Keith Tyers was sent off to Borneo - never to be heard of again. Gainey and Hainsey were laid up with dysentery and malaria at the time the work parties were being set up, and so were destined to spend the rest of their POW days in Changi.
The remainder of the Mob were assigned to `Don' Force, and hustled into small steel rice trucks where they spent the next five days in stifling heat and discomfort, until they reached Kamburi, in Thailand. They worked on the Wampo embankment, where they got their first taste of what it was like to be driven to limits of their endurance, drilling rocks, dynamiting and clearing away the heavy rocks. They worked harder than they had ever worked in their lives, until the embankment and the bridge across it had been completed.
Arriving at their new camp at Kenyu (K.3) on Anzac day in 1943, they set up their tents, with bamboo slats to sleep on and share with the bed bugs. For the next three months, they sweated and slaved on the `Hellfire Pass' during the exhausting `Speedo speedo' purge.
Mossy and Les Venables worked at South Tonchin and were lucky to survive the cholera epidemic that claimed the lives of hundreds of our men there.
While working on `Hellfire Pass' at Kenyu, Johnny Gray was struck down with malaria and beri beri and was fighting valiantly for his life. Weak as he was, his eyes were bright with fire, and he would gasp, "There's no bloody way I'm going to die here. The bloody Japs are not going to get me. I'm going home to Numurkah to die of old age." Later on, at Tarso, the jungle diseases and malnutrition took their strong hold over Johnny and squeezed out his life. However, he was not alone when he died. One of the Mob, Frank Christie was with him the very moment he was taken.
George Dickie had a serious attack of malaria and dysentery, and was sent down the river to the hospital camp at Tarso. When looking for George in the dysentery ward, Mossy walked up and down the benches of impoverished men several times before he ultimately recognised him. On seeing his old mate Mossy, Skull's eyes lit up and he gained new heart.
"Christ, he was like a drought stricken horse," said Mossy when passing the good news of George's survival on to the Mob. Later on Reg Cowan, who had been allotted cookhouse duties, was able to scrounge a little extra rice and goula malacca for George each night. Back home in Numurkah, George would say, "If it hadn't been for Gangles, I'd never have made it."
There being no rest for the wicked, Christie, Wiggy, Dickie and Mossy were soon back on the rice trucks headed for Changi. A little more world worn and case hardened, the boys took the crammed, stifling, five day trip back to Changi in their stride. They cajoled the engine driver to allow them to shower under the water hydrant when the engine's tanks were being filled, and were able to neutralise their cabin guard's natural aggressive tendencies and keep him in a happy mood by singing `Hi yi yippy yippy hi'.
Arriving at Singapore, Wiggy, Strawb, Mossie, and Skull were unceremoniously loaded on to the Bioke Maru, a broken down old cargo steamer, and shipped off to Japan. Packed tightly together, and battened down in one of its hot steamy holds for the next seventy days, they were to endure one of the most distressing and hazardous experiences of their lives. If there was any consolation for them in the trip, it was being with one's mates. Being crammed together with sweaty smelly bodies and touchy bad tempers, it was better to have a mate beside you, than have to put up with the annoying habits of a stranger.
The old Bioke took them through the torrid tropics, the raging winds of the notorious typhoons of the South China Seas, and the hazards of allied submarine attacks. As their luck would have it, they arrived safely in Japan.
Berthing at Moji, they boarded the train and travelled in luxury as third class passengers, to Nagasaki. There, they began their work in the Mitsubishi Dockyards, building cargo ships. Mossy with his big strong hands, became a riveter, Strawb, a driller, Skull, a caulker, and Wiggy a plater. They had to face up to the incredibly strict layers of dockyard supervision as well as the bitterly cold wintry winds that swept across the dockyards.
Then fate smiled on them. A few months before the atom bomb was destined to demolish Nagasaki and all who lived there, it so happened that, as a result of the allied blockade, the dockyards ran out of steel and closed down. The Japs soon found other work for the Mob, and hustled them inland to Nakama to toil in the coalmines.
Work in the mines was extremely hazardous, there were constant rock falls and the Jap miners were always fiery and toey. They took great pains to ensure that POWs adhered strictly to the rules. The boys worked on a coal face some 1400 feet underground. One of their crew had been killed by a rock fall and they were under constant fear that it could easily happen again. Entrance to the mine was down an inclined shaft and as it so happened, just as the boys were coming up the shaft to change shifts, the coalface collapsed and the mine was shut down.
The High Command of the Imperial Japanese Army ordered the
massacre of all allied POWs to take place before 15 August 1945. Once again, the boys were just one jump ahead of fate. Atom bombs were dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and the war was over before it could happen.
Before leaving Nakama they had a visit from Gerry Shannon who had arrived in Japan on an earlier convoy and had also been working in the coal mines. Gerry heard that other Aussies were in a camp nearby and twigged that some of his mates might be there.
And so, slowly but surely the boys rejoined the rest of the Mob.
They had all endured hardship and deprivation. They had survived experiences they never had thought possible. They had endured mental stresses and strains that they were going to have to live with for the rest of their lives. In all, they had been through a unique experience which bound them closer together than ever before. There was no way now, they could ever be anything other than `The Numurkah Mob. '
On their arrival home, the boys were given a tumultuous welcome by the Numurkah townsfolk. The Shire Band turned out, mums, dads and children, the whole population lined the main street. The Shire President presented each of them with a gold watch and bestowed on them the rare honour of The Freedom Of The Town. The town's pride and joy in the Mob now matched the Mob's pride and joy in their town.
Marching in the parade of honour, caught in the euphoria of his homecoming, our learned friend, Wiggy found himself being hugged, embraced and more than affectionately kissed by one of the over-excited lasses lining the street. Moving back into the parade, he turned to Mossy and said, "What a good looker she is." To which Mossy replied, "Well so she ought to be, she's your little sister." Surprised and embarrassed, Wiggy quickly turned and went back to her.
A tally of the anti-tank statistics showed that the Mob had fared well for their numbers. Twelve had returned home. Two out of the original 14, Johnny Gray and Keith Tyers died as prisoners. Johnny Gray died fighting off malaria and malnutrition in a hospital camp in Tarso. Keith died in unknown ways in an unknown place, somewhere in Borneo. The impact of these two deaths on the town-folk was profound. Johnny and Keith are the first to come into everyone's minds during the two minutes silence on Armistice Remembrance day. They are unlikely ever to be forgotten in Numurkah.
The joy of being back home was tremendous. In their absence, their farms had taken on an exalted quality and they revelled at being back on their own earth. How the mums and dads had changed, and how other mums' and dads' little sun-tanned daughters had suddenly grown up to become such lovely country lasses.
Settling back to their normal lives was not without its problems, both body and mind had to be restored to normal standards and this was going to take quite some time. Nevertheless, they supported each other and continued as ever, to give each other strength. They enjoyed getting together to quench their hard earned thirsts and to talk about the future. Not that the past hadn't left its permanent scars, it had, but there wasn't much sense in talking about it, they'd heard it all before. "Been there. Done that," was their philosophy. Let's get on with the business of living.
Most of the Mob married those mums' pretty little sun-tanned daughters. As always, a wedding was something not to be missed, offering the chance for some good country fun. So the members of the Mob intertwined with the families of the townsfolk and the qualities of the Mob merged with the character of the town.
For well over 40 years now, the Numurkah folk have continued to welcome the POW friends of the Mob. An annual reunion is held in July of each year and the whole town gets into the act, The civic leaders, The shire president, The Numurkah brass band and its talented band master and bugler, the town's police force, members of the militia, all of whom seem to be getting younger each year, but are probably about the same age as the members of the Mob when they enlisted as boys 50 years ago.
All the ladies from the town's auxiliaries are there to welcome us and see that the well being of the Mob's friends is catered for in true country style. The whole town seems to take part in some way or other and everyone seems to enjoy themselves as much as we anti-tankers and the other guests of the town. Though, these days, we would be a poor substitute for those young troopers with their plumes of emu feathers, but the spirit is still there.
An Avenue of Honour has been planted along the highway leading into the town as a constant reminder of the men and women who served in their war.
Only two members of the Mob have survived to this day, Cliff Moss and Gangles Cowan, but the spirit of the Mob will live in the characteristics of its people and the nature of the township of Numurkah for many generations to come.
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