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Lloyd Weaver
On the 2nd December 1940 I joined the 4th Anti-Tank Regiment and on 23 May 41, sailed away on the Troopship Zealandia with 16th Battery as the 'bridegroom' of the regiment, having just married Olive a few days before embarkation.
My service with the regiment had lasted a mere seven months, when I was injured in Tampin on our very first training exercise with our very first, newly arrived guns. In the process of hooking our gun to the trailer, the trail arm slipped and thinking I was young and strong, I tried to take the weight. It didn't work out that way. It was too heavy and I suffered an incapacitating groin injury. That was the beginning of my undoing as an anti-tanker and I was shipped back home.
By the time the necessary repairs had been made, it was too late to rejoin my mates. Their battle was over, but their fight for life was just beginning. Unless I could find some way to redeem myself, I was forever doomed to be greeted by them with, "Hi Lloyd, how's your hernia?"
Seeing our boys were now out of action and wanting to do my bit, I eventually wheedled my way into the jungle training centre at Canungra in Queensland. I was appointed sergeant of the 11th Platoon of the newly formed 2nd New Guinea Infantry Battalion and flown to Nanzab, a village not far from Lae.
The platoon Commander's objective was to train a group of bush natives to become an independent combat unit, and lead them in action against the Jap forces which had successfully occupied New Guinea. The Japs were consolidating their invasion forces in New Guinea and the surrounding islands, in readiness for their attack on Australia.
I was allotted 36 New Guinea bush natives and set about training them. There the 'fun' started. Learning pidgin English was bad enough for me, but teaching them to march and use firearms and hand grenades instead of spears and bows and arrows, was a forbidding challenge.
I had one hell of a job just getting them to march on the parade ground instead of walk. This was necessary for the Governor General's march past. In return they taught me how to steal noiselessly through the jungle instead of walk. This was necessary for my survival. As 'Saugang', the native whom I had come to rely on for help in understanding their customs and habits, bluntly put it, I was bumble footed and clumsy when it came to walking along the jungle paths. "You pela alla same bulla ma cow."
The natives had developed an intense hatred for the Japs who had invaded their villages and committed all sorts of atrocities on their women, children and tribesmen.
Although scared stiff when first confronted with firearms, once they pulled the trigger and fired their first shot, they were ecstatic and fire blazed in their eyes. Absolutely hopeless at target practice on the range, in the jungle they were instinctive shots, quick as a flash they could point their rifles at anything that moved and fire with deadly accuracy.
As bushmen, they had no idea of our concept of time and yet they were able to accurately measure its passage. On our patrols along the jungle tracks we walked in single file, the crucial position being the lead scout. They knew precisely how long he could maintain his intense concentration and alertness and as soon as that time elapsed, they changed positions. This ensured that our lead scout always had his sharpest wits about him. The amazing thing was that this happened right on the dot of every seven minutes. Their experience had taught them never to take a chance.
As Saugang put it, "Eye belong me, long longin about, no can e look him good."
The bushmen trekked through the jungle elusively and evasively stalking out the Japs. The Japs lived in terror of them and alluded to them as 'Green shadows'.
Green Shadows they certainly were.
In my early days on patrol with them, they often caused my blood to run cold. As we soft treaded our way along the jungle tracks, the lead scout suddenly disappeared without word or sound, instantly all the others on the patrol vanished just as silently. With a chilling eeriness I found myself alone. Very quickly I became equally adept at their silent disappearing trick.
11 Platoon developed into a highly effective force and we worked well together. They loved to refer to me as either, 'Too much on top' - tall, 'Hard pela more' - tough, or more brotherly, just skinny - 'Bone Nuthin'.
They were wonderful warriors and loved nothing better than a clash with the Japs to clear them out of their territory.
We patrolled, probed and attacked the Jap camps we came across. Our first successful attack was on their stronghold at Konjambe where a large number had constructed a substantial fortress. On their own initiative, two of the natives stripped off their lap-laps, muddied-up their naked bodies and walked into the camp. Strolling around casually, they made a mental note of the defences and calmly strolled out. The Japs took not the slightest notice of them.
The natives turned out to be great fighters and threw themselves into action with fierce determination and crazy excitement. Yelling and screaming, they fired from the hip like madmen. They were wild and cold blooded when it came to hunting down Japs.
Our next major action was to attack the Jap stronghold at Miyambora, and after some wild, frenzied fighting, captured it.
And so my 11th Platoon of 36 New Guinea bush natives carried on their task, hunting down the enemy until the war was over. Miraculously we avoided any serious casualties. As Saugang put it, thanks to 'Him on Top'.
The war over, after a tearful farewell from my native troops, "Sergeant, mepela sori tumus long losim yupela ol time," I flew back on my way home to Boort.
After a quick stopover in Brisbane, I was off on my next leg to Sydney, where I had time for a couple of pots of Reiche's.
In the pub, an Aussie captain, obviously a base wallah, came over and asked to see my Jap Officer's sword. Having inspected it he said, "Yes I like that, I think I'll have it," and was about to make off it.
"Well," I said, "you can have it on the same terms that applied to its previous owner when I took it from him."
"Right, what were they?"
"I killed him."
He turned ashen and hastily left the bar.
Returning to my beer, I was surprised to be hauled over the counter by the barmaid and given a huge hug and an appreciative kiss. "I've been waiting for days for that to happen dearie."
'Bone nuthin', I made it safely home to Boort and Olive, happy to have averted the need for my mates to forever greet me with, "Hi Lloyd. How's your hernia?"
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