A DAY IN THE VILLAGE.
(Story by Brian Cunningham)
On 18 December 1968, whilst on
Operation Goodwood in Phuoc Tuy province, 5 Platoon
(24 Diggers) mounted three APC's and was driven to a
village which fronted Highway 15. Our purpose for
being there was to provide protection for an
Australian medical team while they spent the day
attending to sick villagers. The medical tern set
themselves up in one of the huts in the village.
There was a queue outside the hut all day long. I
joined the queue early in the morning while it was
still short to allow the medics to remove a large,
bush tick from my scalp. The tick had probably been
there for a couple of days, and was hooked into my
skin so firmly that Andy was unable to dislodge it
for me.
We had a great time with the village
kids that day. There was always a group of half a
dozen or more kids sitting around each pair of
Diggers surrounding the medical hut. I never liked
the idea of throwing sweets at a group of kids just
to watch the mad scramble to get them. The eldest
and biggest kids always won. I liked to look over
the group of kids to find the runt of the litter;
the smallest kid, or youngest kid, or maybe a kid
with a disability. Then I would walk over to him/her
and place the sweet in his/her hand. If time allowed
I would stick around until the kid ate the sweet,
ensuring that the bigger kids did not take it away
from him/her.
Early in the afternoon a kid came
around selling Budweiser beer. One of the villagers
brought out a comfortable looking barber's chair,
and gave a few of the Diggers a haircut and scalp
massage. I didn't have a haircut because my scalp
was feeling too sensitive from the tick venom.
Among the group of kids who claimed
possession of Andy and me was a little girl about 8
or 9 years old. She was a nice little girl who wore
beads and earrings, and had a happy smile. The other
kids kept telling us that she was a boy, We did not
believe them because she was so obviously a girl.
Eventually one of the boys came up behind her, and
pulled her pyjama pants down to her knees. And there
it was for all to see - a male appendage. The other
kids laughed at the girllboy as he quickly pulled up
his pyjama pants. It was a definite shock to Andy
and me. We attempted to find out from the kids why
the little boy was being raised as a girl. We
couldn't speak much of their language, and they
couldn't speak much of ours, so we were never sure
if we got the story right or not. The Viet Cong (VC)
were mentioned a lot by the kids during our
questioning. All Andy and I could make of the
situation was that the boy was being raised as a
girl, so when he as old enough to be recruited by
the VC, they would not take him because he was a
girl. It didn't make much sense to either of us,
because there were plenty of female VC running
around in the jungle.
If I was ever asked to name the best
day we had in Vietnam, the answer would be the day
we spent in the village protecting the medical team.
Why that day? Because that was. the only time we
were involved in anything at the humanitarian level.
Because the Adds made it such an enjoyable and
peaceful day for us.
On 11 December 1968 we left our base
at Nui Dat to move to the Hat Dich area situated in
the north-east of Phuoc Tuy province for the start
of Operation Goodwood. Once there we dug a
company-size defensive position, meaning we dug
chest-deep pits to sleep and fight in, and covered
them with sandbag roofs. From that fixed position we
patrolled and ambushed in platoon strength. We were
still on the operation on Christmas Day.
For Christmas lunch we had roast
turkey dished out from hotboxes. This was the first
time in my life that I had eaten roast turkey. It
didn't look quite the way I thought roast turkey
should look. Mushy meat swimming in gravy was
scooped into our dixies, along with a generous
serving of baked vegetables. It might not have
looked like roast turkey, but it sure did taste
good. We also had three cans per man of warm Fourex
beer to help wash it down.
Andy and I were sitting next to the
hole in the ground that we had been calling home for
the past two weeks. We were busy eating our turkey
mush, and enjoying our warm beer, when General
Macdonald, Mr Freath (the Minister for Air), the
Regimental Sergeant Major (RSM), and an entourage of
half a dozen Public Relations people walked up to
us. We did not practice military protocol in the
jungle. Nobody wore rank markings or saluted. That
ensured the enemy could not easily identify the
officers, and so shoot them first (which, I thought,
was a damn shame in some cases).
The General looked at Andy and asked
"What will you be doing this time next year,
soldier? Andy replied, "Whatever it is, it will he a
bloody lot better than what I am doing this time
this year." Andy did not bother to add 'Sir' to the
end of his reply. I was pretty certain that doing
away with military traditions in the jungle did not
extend to not calling Generals 'Sir'. Andy continued
to eat his meal without looking up. I could see the
General's face slowly going red from the neck up. He
asked Andy, "What do you mean by that statement,
soldier?" Andy replied, "This time next year there
won't be any bastard shooting at me." I supposed the
General didn't get to be a General just by dumb
luck. He was obviously a very intelligent man, and
he was about to use his above average power of
reason on Andy. The General asked Andy, "Did you
know that there are more 20 year olds being killed
on the roads back home than are being killed over
here?" Without the slightest hesitation Andy
replied, "I know where I'd rather be taking my
bloody chances."
The General's face turned purple. He
turned to me, glaring into my eyes for a full
minute, as if daring me to laugh. I forced my mind
to go blank. The General asked me, "How is your
Christmas lunch, soldier?". I didn't wish to end up
in the military prison in Vung Tau, so I decided it
was time to lick his boots a little. I replied, "The
turkey mush is delicious, sir,and I would like to
thank you and the Army for the three cans of warm
beer, sir." By the look on his face I could see that
he wanted to have me -executed on the spot.
Instead, he stormed off with his entourage trailing
behind him.
Not long after, he left with his
entourage in two RAAF choppers to return to Vung Tau
to partake in his own lavish Christmas lunch. He
would, no doubt, tell his guests that he had just
spent the morning out in the jungle raising the
morale of his troops. He had certainly left Andy and
me with smiles on our faces.
On 4 October 1968, B Coy relieved D
Coy on 'Me Horseshoe, a horseshoe-shaped, volcanic
feature just north of the village of Dat Do. Each of
the five infantry companies of 4RAR/NZ were used in
rotation to man this very prominent feature in Phuoc
Tuy province. B Coy spent the next six weeks
patrolling the countryside surrounding the hill, and
manning checkpoints. This patrolling duty was much
easier than being on another long operation.
Late one morning 5 Platoon was
returning from a three-day reconnaissance patrol of
the countryside around Xuyen Moc to the cast of The
Horseshoe. We were just about at the base of The
Horseshoe when we were told over the radio to hold
our position. About an hour later we were told to
proceed on up the hill. There was a camera crew from
the Aussie TV media preparing to film our return,
and we had arrived back from patrol a bit too early
for them. The 18 or so of us got to say hello to our
families and friends back home, and to wish them all
a Merry Christmas. Our messages were to be shown on
three Brisbane TV channels on Christmas day. The
film crew took care to get our names and regimental
numbers correct, because it was still only October
and some of us might not be around by Christmas.
They considered it would be poor taste to show a
Digger wishing his Mum a Merry Christmas on TV after
he was already dead.
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