Fear Drive My Feet (28 page)

There was nothing of real interest to be seen, so we hurried across the now much
overgrown and boggy aerodrome in search of the cattle, which we found grazing at
the edge of the bush. It seemed as though the Japanese had tried to round them up:
they had been very tame and quiet before, but now they fled as soon as they heard
us approaching. Kari dropped to his knee and shot a big black bullock clean through
the head as it ran. I looked at him approvingly. ‘A good man to have around when
the Nips turn up' was my unspoken comment on his marksmanship.

We skinned and quartered the bullock and hung the meat up under the trees. It would
be brought on to us at Bawan by some of Singin's men. Then with a quick backward
glance at the mission we hurried off to catch up with Les.

As we strode along the track I saw that it too had been cleared and levelled and
that my last orders to the people – to let the roads revert to bush – had been ignored.

When I reached Bawan village Les had already arrived and told the people that I was
following. They were standing about waiting for me, and though some of the older
men greeted me with some show of affection, the tultul and the younger men made no
attempt to conceal the fact that our presence would be a serious embarrassment to
them. The camp itself was unchanged. Les had quickly installed himself, and out in
the kitchen I could see a fire blazing, and Dinkila and Tauhu at work with billies
and frying-pans.

‘Rather cosy set-up,' Les said approvingly as he looked at the double roof and the
canvas-lined walls. ‘It'll keep pretty snug even on the coldest nights.'

‘Yes, it's warm and comfortable, all right. When we get a fire going it'll look fine.'

Les examined the unorthodox architecture of the fireplace.

‘Does it really work?' he asked.

‘Most of the smoke goes out. After all, you aren't staying at the Ritz!'

Les grinned. ‘No. I suppose I shouldn't complain. Ought to be glad to have a camp
like this all ready made.'

For a few days it seemed that our routine at Bawan would
be very much the same as it had been in December. Food was good and plentiful, and
the people came every day to sell it. By ten each morning the grassy space in front
of the house was filled as usual with chattering women bearing string bags of potatoes,
bananas, beans, tomatoes, and every conceivable kind of vegetable. On one occasion,
while buying food, I made one faux pas which might have spoilt our relations with
the people. One woman stood a little apart, holding her string bag on her back, while
the others had spread their bags open on the ground to display their wares. I bought
all the food on the ground and then approached this woman.

‘What have you got there?' I asked, peering at the indistinct shape in the bottom
of the bag. ‘Potatoes?'

‘Potatoes!' she exclaimed indignantly. ‘Piccaninny belong me!' And she produced from
the bag her first child, a fine little boy about three months old. She was as proud
as could be of him, and I hastily gave her a little present of salt to soothe her
outraged feelings.

‘Potatoes!' I heard her snort as she walked off down the hill with the others.

While I did medical work Les talked to the natives of the surrounding villages about
the war, telling them of the ever-increasing air raids on Lae. As he spoke, planes
were passing over the camp making their runs on the township, and the sound of bombing
and anti-aircraft shelling could be heard clearly.

There was a series of earth-tremors while we were at Bawan, and a lot of heavy rain,
resulting in numerous
landslides. Often as we lay in bed at night we heard a loud
crash followed by a thunderous roar, lasting sometimes for a couple of minutes, while
the whole house trembled and creaked. And then in the morning there would be a huge
piece of the mountainside lying in the valley below, often with trees still growing
on it much the same as when it had been a few hundred feet higher up and part of
the mountain.

At night, after Dinkila had placed the little kettle of black coffee on the table
and fastened the canvas cover across the door, Les and I drew closer to the fire
and, to pass the time away, played the old children's guessing game of Animal, Vegetable,
or Mineral. We attained a high degree of proficiency in detecting such improbable
objects as ‘the left boot of the Japanese commander in Lae'.

Another little game after lights-out was to make up limericks about young girls from
Bawan,Wampangan, and other villages in the district. Many of them were rather ingenious
and amusing, but I cannot recall any which could properly be printed here.

Unfortunately this pleasant existence was not to last. On 12th May, just at dusk,
two exhausted natives staggered into the camp, having run almost all the way from
Samandzing. We helped them up into the house while, between great sobbing breaths,
they told us that a Japanese party had arrived in Samandzing from Lae and had announced
their intention of proceeding to Boana via Bawan. In 1942 this would not have been
very serious news. The camp was some little distance from the main track, and I would
merely have kept a very good watch and let the Japanese go past, secure in the knowledge
that the local natives would not betray me. Now the situation was different. The
attitude of the natives, though becoming friendly again, was far from certain. Worse
still, they
had been so busy with their road-building that a newly made track from
Samandzing, twelve feet wide and as smooth as Collins Street, lay right in front
of our door.

As Les set up the radio to tell Port Moresby of this latest development we wondered
what to do next.

‘We have to get out of here, that's certain,' Les said. ‘You've been all round here
before – where do you reckon is the best spot?'

‘I think we ought to keep as close to the centre of things as we possibly can. There's
plenty of villages where they would never find us in ten years, but which would be
no good to us because we wouldn't hear a word of what's happening. I think if we
go to Orin, a couple of hours away, we'll be safe enough for the present.'

‘I'll take your word for it,' Les said as he plugged in the ear-phones. ‘Get us a
lamp, will you? I can't see what I'm doing.'

I told Dinkila to get Les a light, and ordered the rest of the men to prepare everything
for the road so that we could get out of Bawan first thing in the morning. Kari doubled
the sentries and sent one man to watch the track from Samandzing about half a mile
out of Bawan. I was not seriously worried about an immediate attack, for if the Japanese
had only just arrived in Samandzing it would be a good two days before they reached
Bawan. But we would take no chances.

At first light next day all the men of Bawan came to carry our gear to Orin. I looked
sadly at the vegetable garden I had planted in January. It was showing great promise,
and we had already eaten in imagination the succulent peas and beans it would soon
produce. I cast several regretful glances backwards as we moved up the hill to Gewak
village, an hour away, and then round the hillside to Orin, a further hour.

The tultul of Orin, an old friend, greeted us warmly, and the people of the village
seemed much better disposed than those of Bawan. There was no house-kiap, but they
offered to clear out a couple of their own dwellings for us.

‘I'm against sleeping in the villages now,' I said to Les. ‘It's too risky. Even
if the kanakas don't give us away deliberately, the Nips might wander in any time.'

‘Yes – it's better in every way to keep out in the bush. We won't compromise the kanakas with the Nips then and to keep themselves in the
clear they won't say anything about us hiding in the bush.'

‘It's just a question of where to go. Look up there.' I pointed to the towering mountain
which overshadowed Orin.

Les gave a low whistle. ‘Do you reckon we can climb it?'

‘I don't know, but let's ask the tultul. I'd like to have a go.'

The tultul was dubious. There was a way up, of course, he said, but it was not easy,
and with all our cargo…

‘Come on, tultul,' we said encouragingly. ‘You show the way, and let us try.'

I have seldom seen a wilder place. We climbed almost eight hundred feet, straight
up from the village, mostly over well-nigh vertical sheer rockfaces. In two places
we had to pass beneath a torrent of water which drenched us and almost sent us flying
into space. When we reached a small level clearing which looked as if it would do
for a camp, we flopped to the ground.

‘Fair enough! This will do me for the rest of the war!' I panted.

‘Me too,' Les agreed. ‘If the Nips get us here, they've earned the scalps.'

The Orin people helped us build two rough shelters out of the large shiny leaves
of the wild breadfruit-tree, and we sat down to take careful stock of our situation.

Though safe, it was a miserable spot, for even when the sun came out, which was seldom,
it did not penetrate the thick foliage. All next day it poured with rain, and our
crude huts leaked badly. Only with difficulty could Dinkila and Tauhu keep a fire
alight long enough to make a billy of tea. The rest of our food we ate cold from
the tins.

I spent the day wrapped up in blankets, pretending I wasn't cold, while I read Noel
Coward's autobiography,
Present Indicative
. Dusk was approaching when I put the book
aside. I looked round in the green twilight and marvelled that for a short time
I had forgotten my surroundings and been so lost in the picture Coward had painted
of the bright footlights and the brilliant uniforms of
Cavalcade
. Uniforms! What
grubby rags Les and I were wearing! What sodden felt hats, without chin-strap, badge,
or pugaree! There had been a time when we had both appeared smart and shining on
parade, but it was so long ago, and so much had happened in the meantime, that we
could hardly remember it. In fact, everything seemed far away and long ago – dry
clothes, cleanliness, safety, music, love – everything except green foliage, endless
rain that hissed down through the trees, and natives squelching the mud between their
bare toes and swearing continually at one another.

The momentary spell of Coward's stage had gone. I was aware of Watute and Pato standing
beside me, legs caked in mud and wet sweaters steaming.

‘Well, what is it?' I snapped.

They understood that I had not meant to be rude, for they just grinned and said they
wanted to talk to me about an idea which had occurred to them. I passed them
tobacco,
and while they rolled themselves cigarettes Pato spoke for the two of them.

He was a local man, and knew both the Wain and Naba dialects. From remarks overheard
in Gewak and Orin villages, he had learnt that the Japanese had put in a supply of
food at Samandzing. He had discussed the matter with Watute, and between them they
had evolved the theory that the food must be intended for Japanese troops being evacuated
from Lae. Pato and Watute thought the party which was supposed to have crossed the
range might have been looking for an escape-route.

‘Evacuated? Escape-route? What do you mean?' I asked. ‘Do you think the Japanese are
going to give up Lae?'

They shrugged their shoulders. The air raids were getting heavier. No ships could
get in with supplies. The submarines could not feed them. It was not for them to
say whether the Japs were going to abandon Lae, but it was possible.

(As we discovered later, it was indeed the purpose of some of these Japanese patrols
to discover tracks by which troops might be evacuated from Lae, and when the attack
by the two Australian divisions came in September, the commanders were surprised
at the enemy's extensive knowledge of the mountain trails, over which a great many
of the Jap Lae garrison had made their way to safety. Our generals need not have
been so surprised however, for having thought over what Watute and Pato had said
it seemed to us more and more likely that they were right, and we therefore passed
on the idea, for what it was worth, to headquarters. Apparently they did not think
it was worth much, for they did nothing about it. And so the brilliant deductive
work of two ‘simple' natives was wasted.)

The present purpose of Pato and Watute was to visit Samandzing and see whether the
information about the
dump of food was correct. They would also do what they could
to prove the other part of their hypothesis, and generally listen to the gossip
around the villages. Pato said that his kinsmen would conceal their presence from
the enemy if any Japanese were encountered, and he was sure they would be quite safe.

‘It sounds a good idea to me,' said Les, who had been listening to the whole discussion
intently. ‘What do you think?'

‘I agree. I think they ought to take plenty of trade goods, to buy food and information.
I don't see how it could possibly do any harm, especially since Pato has all the
local contacts.'

‘All right, master. Tomorrow long too-light, me-fella go.' And having announced their
intention of leaving at dawn next day, the two elderly warriors moved out through
the rain to their own shelter among the trees a few yards away.

During the night I heard several of the boys coughing.

‘Les, are you awake?' I asked softly, not wishing to arouse him if he should be asleep.

‘Yes. I suppose you're thinking what I'm thinking? Those coughs…'

‘Yes – they aren't too good. Several of the men come from warm coastal villages,
and aren't used to this sort of climate at all.'

‘It's serious for them too. Colds turn to pleurisy or pneumonia so damned quickly.'

‘It's no wonder, of course – this spot is so dark and damp. We'll be sick ourselves
if we stay too long.'