On the walk from Bakoda to Bulldog we at times followed paths barely 30cm wide with a village guide leading the way while I kept my compass in my hand ensuring we were heading in a north- easterly direction. At other times we followed well used tracks up to 2metres wide. Along the way we passed through 7 small villages not shown on the map. At a village called Bidua, which did not have a kiap book, we made a canoe crossing of the 80 metres wide Tauri River. A village named “Tauri” was shown on my map as being adjacent to the Tauri River. I was becoming confused. Three of these villages were adjacent to a large creek that I was told was the “Fish Creek” (Kaywon and Yatu in the village languages). Also not shown on the map. My confusion ended when we reached a village named “Keremahaua” at the junction of the Olipai River and the Lakekamu River where, at last, I could determine from the map where we were for the first time since we left Karova Creek.
At one of these villages along Fish Creek I recorded in my notebook, “All 3 women in the village have wire in their left ear lobe. One who had black paint over her forehead, nose and cheeks was in mourning for her dead baby. A fenced-off grave lay 5metres from the nearest house. All the villagers’ belongings were hung from the rafters inside these houses. In one house there was a diamond shaped piece of plywood with odd looking carvings similar to Egyptian hieroglyphics.”
After Keremahaua we forded the 50m wide Olipai River and followed the Lakekamu River along a track across a vast kunai grassed plain which was a wonderful change from the claustrophobic jungle. For some distance we followed this river, upon which we saw several canoes powered by outboard motors until the track left this river and continued across the plain where we had to ford the Tiveri River twice before we reached Bulldog.
A departure from the daily routine was a ration resupply, where a radio call directed the Army Cessna airplane, call sign “Hawkeye”, to where call sign “Sunray Delta 42”, (11th Platoon commander), was waiting anxiously by a selected creek in the middle of the jungle with Sgt Guri holding a smoke grenade. The purpose of the smoke grenade was to show the pilot exactly where we were amongst all the other creeks. Once we heard the plane and were in radio contact, the grenade would be fired, and the pilot would make a beeline for it. The selected creek was the only clear space I could find in the jungle on the day and in one hour the resupply was due.
I selected a straight stretch of the creek, about 50 metres long and 20 metres wide. This allowed the pilot the opportunity to fly at tree top level whilst his offsider kicked the parcels out of the plane’s open door. Each parcel contained two kerosene tins bound together with grass filled hessian sandbags to cushion their impact when they hit the ground. Each tin had eight ration packs inside, so several passes had to be made by the pilot to unload all the required rations and special requests such as replacement boots, radio batteries, etc.
The resupply was great fun for the platoon and the pilot. The latter getting the chance to play as a bomber on a small target, which required a great deal of skill, and for us to hear the deafening roar of the approaching plane and see the parcels disgorged from the plane and splash into the creek whilst the plane vanished like a startled bird. This particular resupply was a great success as we were able to recover 90% of the rations. The rest were damaged when the tins burst open on impact sending the contents flying in all directions.
Other departures occurred when a native animal was spotted and out came the Army rifle for a bit of pot shooting. I allowed my batman to carry a loaded magazine in his webbing pouch and he was always behind me who in turn was behind the guide. I found shooting at treetops difficult, so it was Sergeant Guri who had the pleasure of shooting a hornbill and two tree kangaroos. It was terrible to see what a military 7.62mm bullet could do to the poor animal. It almost cut the animal in half. However, the men enjoyed the fresh meat. My contribution to the fresh meat diet came when a bush pigeon about the size of a soccer ball walked out of the bush and across my path. Without thinking I did a lightning draw from the hip and shot the pigeon with my 9mm pistol, much to my surprise and the delight of the men. Pigeon soup for tea. The bird was gutted and cooked head, feet and feathers altogether in the pot.
Another departure occurred when the track led to a wide stream that had to be crossed. It was about 20 metres wide, murky brown, of unknown depth and not fast flowing – a possible crocodile haunt. Normally the locals would have created a “rope” bridge out of the jungle vegetation on such a wide stream, but it was non-existent. A tree had been felled across the stream but was 3 to 4 metres too short. How to cross the stream presented a problem similar to the practical tests for officer cadet selection. After a short discussion, a limb of the tree was hacked off and thrown over the gap to just reach the far bank. With a great deal of mirth, the platoon went one by one across the tree and its limb before stepping into the shallow water on the other bank. The weight the soldiers carried on their back, and balancing their slung rifle, caused them to make an ungainly and gingerly walk over the unstable tree which was comical to watch as we all expected someone to fall into the stream. We had swimmers waiting on each bank to pull out anyone who fell in, however nobody did, and we all crossed safely to have a good cup of tea on the far side.
At Bulldog we found a large number of dilapidated native houses and a disused war time airfield which contained a landing strip well over 500m long. The larger field was covered with the 2metre high kunai grass which was difficult to walk through and made the landing strip unusable. After we established our camp near one of the shallow creeks, I went back to inspect the village and have a chat with the locals. All I found was a London Mission Society trained pastor, his wife and three children. I pointed out all the native houses and asked him where the rest of the people were. He replied in pidgin “mosquito i bin killim ol” – that is, they had all died of malaria. The pastor, who was not a local, was unaware of a road or a railway line. I looked at the kiap’s village book and on the last visit by the kiap three years previously there had been a recorded population in excess of 100 people. Not all would have died of malaria as it is possible they may have migrated away from the mosquito infested area. But it made me aware of the dangers of the anopheles mosquito.
Our campsite was mosquito infested. At night I would climb into my bed, tuck my mosquito net in firmly about me; spray the inside with insect repellent and go to sleep. During the night, in my disturbed sleep, I would wake up to the sounds of the men slapping themselves. In the morning I would wake up to a mosquito net full of large fat mosquitoes and would entertain myself for a few minutes by reaching out of the netting and swatting the mosquitoes trapped inside until the netting ran red with my blood that they had been dining on. Each morning I took the net down to the creek to wash out the blood stains. It was my responsibility to make sure none of my men caught malaria, so the daily anti-malarial “paludrine pill parade”, in which I had to ensure everyone had taken his paludrine by physically putting the pill in the soldier’s mouth and watch him swallow it, became serious.

Vol 4 – Rest, Resupply and Recce