The Cruise of the MV Nanagai - S164

2006-06-28T10:43:00.000+10:00

CHAPTER SEVEN

We reached Thursday Island on the fifth and sailed up along the land to the signal station for recognition, then proceeded up the channel to drop anchor off the wharf, amid a cluster of luggers, making our tow fast alongside, I went ashore to report and order fuels and stores. Thursday Island itself is not a big island but was undoubtedly picked for a port because it is in the centre of an island cluster – Hammond, Prince of Wales, Tuesday and Horn Islands, to name a few,

Thursday Island is under the control of the Australian Army and what a mess some of it. The pearling industry was at a standstill, the Japanese section was wrecked; one could see diving gear lying in heaps; suits, pumps and hoses just tossed about. Local boys and other from various islands around Torres Straits dressed in Army greatcoats and boots going about their jobs loading the boats and doing minor work out and about.

We went for a swim in the local baths and a night at the open air pictures. In all it was eight days for our stores etc to be delivered so we checked the engine over, re-caulked the decking and all lashings checked and tightened.

Our Engineer met a lot of his old cronies here, for he had at one time worked here. After ordering fuel we then turned out attentions to the engine which was again giving us trouble. This heavy tow of ours was taking it out on our little craft. The ‘Destiny’ was also in our company. We had missed him for a few days and when we next met up with him; his crew informed us the Skipper had been up to his old tricks of shooting again. He had reached Portland Roads and had started shooting in the middle of the night. The officer of the Port came storming aboard and threatened to put the Skipper in the stockade to cool his heels. It was a very subdued man that we met later.

Thursday Island was centre of a group of islands and the main pearling base. Other islands were Hammond Island, Wednesday Island and Prince of Wales Island together with a number of other islands. Horn Island took a battering from the Japanese on their way to bomb Darwin, it has a air strip on it and the Japs did their best to destroy it.

We made new friends; they were also Small Ship crews. One of the boats and crew had been caught up in the bombing of Horn Island. The engineer, named Mick, was the most frightened man I had come upon. While at Horn Island the Japs had dropped what we call Daisy Cutters; these bombs send scrap metal waist high. The crew had a close call with these bombs, it was from this that Mick had not fully recovered.

We also had a surprise, an Australian corvette dropped anchor and its small boat lowered which came straight for us. Coming alongside we saw three people, two navy ratings and an officer to our surprise the officer, a chief engineer, was our old superintendent from the Red Funnel. He had been a reserve man and when the war started had gone into the Navy. He had gone on deck for some fresh air and had recognized the Nanagai just had to come over and see who was on it. He stayed on board for about an hour, and as he left he wished us luck; “I am sorry you are going to New Guinea. It is a terrible place I wish you all luck.”

I got our clearance from the Navy so once more away to sea. We were ready to hop across to New Guinea leaving Thursday Island on the thirteenth.

I had studied the charts of our passage across the strait to New Guinea; strong tides and half submerged cays. Before leaving Sydney I had been given dozens of charts from Sydney to the Philippines – I hope we don’t have to go there. The coastal waters have been charted but not so good, a lot a reefs marked but not much known, I shall have to take much care.

We had George and the Destiny for company. The crew was happy as they felt he would loose them if not with us.

We anchored at Saddle Island in the Torres Strait. We kept the guns in the best of conditions and ammunition boxes full for we were now in hostile waters and it paid to be prepared.

The next stop was Rennol Island, our first native village, but because of the war it was deserted; the natives were now on Thursday Island. We chased some pigs around the island but never managed to catch any.

We next passed Coconut Island, this island was the travel agents dream : looking perfect, south seas tropical island, low lying covered with swaying coconut trees. We could not see any habitation on it but certainly looked beautiful.

Our course takes us passed Murray Islands, home of once head hunters and Cannibals who use to prey on other Torres Strait natives and Australian natives, we did not stop.

The Torres Straits are full of islands, coconut trees covering them, all looking romantic as portrayed in books. Palms all around with thatched huts and outriggers pulled up on the beach, beautiful.

I had read lots of Ion Idriess and in his book ‘The Drums of Mur’ he writes of head hunters and cannibals on these islands. So here were where, what should we find here.

On we sailed though tropic waters small fish flying like small airplanes leaving the water, disturbed by our passage until we reached Darnley Island (Erub).

This was the largest of the outcrops on our route and inhabited by natives, our last calling place before reaching New Guinea. We had quite an enjoyable day here, no sooner has we dropped anchor that the beach was lined with natives, than a canoe pushed off and made its way to us. In it was two Aussie’s (wireless men) and three native counselors who made us welcome and invited us ashore. We agreed to go after lunch, the two Aussies joining us.

After lunch we found half the population alongside and on seeing old Ben the Engineer they nearly went mad with excitement: one old chap in particular “my very good friend Mr Huxley” he shouted. I told them they could come aboard. There was a mad rush; old men, a few young men, women, boys and girls; soon they were all over the boat and the lighter that was drawn alongside. They went on the lighter going all over it making clucking noises.

We were followed by the natives who were delighted when we allowed the oldest and the youngest have a go and to shoot a few rounds from the machine guns. They nearly went frantic all clambering for a go; we had to pry the gun from the hands the old chap who was Ben’s friend; he would press down the trigger and hang on, the recoil lifting him off his feet. They were all scrambling for the empty cartridges regardless of the fact they were all hot.

We made ready to go ashore, the three counselors would stay on board and no one else would be allowed on. When we reached the beach we were met by the chief, a huge native dressed in purple lava lava with gold edging, he made Big Jack appear small, his chest like a barrel, I bet he would have eaten us if he had half a chance. After begging a cigarette he next invited us to his hut, here goes I thought, he will stick a spear in us and toast us over a slow fire but this was not to be. He had a small boy climb a palm and drop some dozen or so coconuts. The nuts were huge, holding about a quart of cool juice, much nicer to us as our drinking water was always warm. These trees towered up eighty to hundred feet and to see the small boy race up one was an eye opener.

We went on a tour of inspection of the island. It was a small mountain rising from the sea; a path about twelve feet wide skirted the water’s edge. We lay in a small cove between two hillocks. On the top of one was built the island’s church, built by the natives from coral lime and all white, the font a huge clam shell. Below the church was the meeting place of the natives. Going over the hill and passed the church, we came upon the main village. Here the huts were built about fifty feet back from the path, flanked with an avenue of coconut trees. The houses were built of palm, laid over a bamboo frame raised some two feet off the ground. The whole area was covered by clean white sand bought up from the beach.

This particular part of the village was spotlessly clean and occupied by the counselors, and those who seemed to me to have a bit of pride. Travelling along the path we climbed up the mountain path to the gardens past tropical vegetation, palms, hibiscus, frangipani and other beautifully plants. I noticed many trees with a garland of palm leaves around their trunks, these were taboo; I was later told that some native had claimed the trees and others would not touch these trees. Soon we reached the path’s end and looking east could see Murray Island (Mer), twenty miles away, the home of natives who not many years ago were headhunters and cannibals who generally made a snack of their victims. Indeed, Darnley Island allied with them for lifting heads.

I later met on old native who had seen cannibalism in his day and the lifting of heads. I was shown how this was done and the tool that was used. The victim had been clubbed and using a bamboo knife and a thong. Using the thong was passed through a cut that was made under the chin and out the mouth the head was pulled back and stretched the bamboo knife finishing the job. I found the bamboo knife was very sharp like a razor.

Returning down the path we were hailed by an old native from the door of his hut who offered us drinks of limes and coconut juice, which was very welcome for the heat and humidity, was very tiring. The hut, like all the others, was made from a bamboo frame covered with coconut leaves with a palm and bamboo floor .The floor was raised off the ground two feet, this allowed the air to circulate and offered a degree of coolness.

After smokes all round we were once more on our way. Our cigarettes suffered here for there had been no trade ships through for months, the natives had to return to their native foods and they did not enjoy it.

We had a bag of sugar that had got wet and this was a good time to get rid of it, so Old Ben gave it to the old native meaning him to share it with the others but he kept it for himself, not telling anyone. The other natives soon found out and soon a bell was ringing can the counselors were calling a meeting to decide what to do with the old chap. In the end there was no punishment but the sugar was taken from him and finally shared by all.

As a punishment those who do wrong have to clear the area and keep the pathways cleaned. When we were there a young girl who had had an abortion was being punished. In the mornings the counselor would take her from her hut to a place where there was no shade and she then had to pluck the grass from the path in the hot sun. She must never go into the shade and no water was given to her until she arrived back to her hut. No-one was allowed to talk to her. This unfortunate girl had to go a week, through this ordeal. I do not know if this was true but I did not question the Aussies who had told me because they had been eighteen months on the island and knew most of the customs and speech.

Night was drawing in and it was time to return to the boats. The chief came to us and said “if you stay another day I will have a feast and dance put on for you”. Although we should be on our way this was too good an opportunity to miss so we retired to our boats to await the next day.

The morning saw us ashore again still finding new things to take our attention. In a native cooking oven this was a pit dug in the earth; this was lined with very hot stones covered with leaves. On top of this was a huge turtle caught by the natives and this again was covered with more palms and banana leaves; also yams were in with the turtle along with taro roots. The hole was then covered with more earth. Only those natives who figured in the capture of the turtle would share in it.

After seeing this we next went down to the beach to see the fish traps. These were built with rocks piled on top of each other and built to form a maze. The fish would come in with the tide and when the tide went out they would be trapped making the easy prey for the spears of the natives. These traps covered many acres of flat beach and had been built of many years.

Our next visit was to see the pigs, what a sight! I think they fed them on air; their ribs could be seen sticking out, I was told they were razor back hogs and this was how they grew but I think they were starved.

The time had come for the dinner, we made our way to the chief’s hut and after a little talk we passed around the smokes, something they always seem to be around for. Then to we went to the place the meal was to be. We had contributed a large part of the meal; a case of bully beef, ships biscuits and other can foods we could spare but we lay off these, giving the natives a fair go. Also a stick of trade tobacco for each adult – everyone smokes from kiddies to the old grandmas. We had bought a couple of boxes of this tobacco from Burns Philips at Cairns; Big Jack also smoked it.

The tables were made of rough logs and were set for about thirty, the men eating first the women last; they also served. The huge roasted turtle was carried in and was turned up on its back and the stomach shell removed, then slices cut from it. I saw no cleaning of it, you ate everything. I had pride of place; I sat next to the chief. The meal was served on crockery plates and mine was piled with some of the liver and entrails; the chief told me this was the prized piece. I did not enjoy it but for fear of offending I ate. Our plates were soon filled high with rice bamboo shoots, yams, fish all washed down with plenty of black tea. The roots to me were like rubber and stuck in my throat. Some other food was like our dumplings only it was more like eating a bath sponge, it was a bit hard on our digestion.

I have seen big eaters in my time but what went down the throat of the chief and his henchmen was terrific. A plate of rice which a family of six would eat went down into the belly of the native sitting opposite me, I thought the turtle would feed the village but after seeing these huge men eat I changed my mind.

After the usual smoke all round we made our way to the place where the dance was to be held. Our smokes were taking a beating; the Yanks gave us an allowance each month of cigarettes and pipe tobacco, chewing tobacco and cigarette tobacco. It is a small price to pay for such interesting times as we have had.

The place was a well beaten square surround by a half fence, seating was on the grass. Soon we could hear singing and the rattle of their dance rattles, made from seeds about the size of a mango seed. They were brown and hard. Each was cut in half and threaded on a native made twine, tied together in a bunch of about two dozen; they made a noise like a castanet when shaken. The dancers were all girls from the village; the boys and men were all at Thursday Island working and only a few elders and counselors were left on the island to keep order. The music was supplied by a drum carved from a tree trunk with a lizard skin stretched over it and a young girl played on battered kerosene tin.

The dancers lined up and formed a square. They still wore their Mother Hubbard dresses with a grass skirt around their waist. The chief gave us an explanation for the dance which always seemed to us to be the same movement. It signified our going to New Guinea and our boat and tow, our being attacked by planes and firing the guns. It was all novel and new at the start but after a couple of hours it became rather boring as it seemed to us to be repeating over and over again. Finally at midnight they ceased, the chief explaining to me that as this was Saturday they must stop at midnight as dancing was forbidden on Sunday.

I must tell you of a young girl who had come from Hawaii and was now living on the island. This girl danced for us the hulu dance. Another thing I notice was that when a visitor came they went first and greeted the women.

So we bid them goodnight and left for our boats but not before melons and fruit were pressed onto us for our kindness to them. One of the chief’s daughter gave me a turtleshell ring with mother of pearl setting; another have me some turtleshell, some mother of pearl shell and one small girl pressed some paper flowers into my hand. And so our stay on Darnley Island drew to a close.

Daylight saw us leaving Darnley Island, many natives saw us off – off the New Guinea many miles away. As we left the island behind and with the ‘Destiny’ in tow with us we set our course for Bramble Kay, a small pile of rocks and sand marked by a pile light although the light would not be lit. We had been told that turtles came there to lay their eggs, we had a fondness for turtle meat very much but the Navy warned us that Jap subs may be operating around here so we kept going on. While passing Bramble Bay I saw a huge water snake about ten feet long, swimming strongly, about a mile and a half from the bay.

CHAPTER SIX

2006-06-26T12:43:00.000+10:00

CHAPTER SIX

Our cook was happy because in Port Douglas he had purchased a kerosene stove from Mary the pub keeper’s wife. This stove cost the Yanks twenty five pounds, second hand. The telephone wires ran hot between Port Douglas and Cairns for sanction to buy it. The Yanks reckoned it to dear a price but our cook was adamant to have it. Our old stove was coal which was getting hard to buy and now getting in the tropics it was unbearably hot in the galley so he did have a good case. Finally he got the stove, so were all smiles and even now was polishing the old scrap heap until it shone like a new job.

The ‘Destiny’ crew was happy because they were able to come with us after another lecture to their skipper about his indiscriminate shooting, and threatening him again with dire consequences. After we gained the open sea he sped away and we did not see him again for many days.

A Jap recognisant plane flew over but we did not shoot at him in case he shot back!

That evening we anchored at Snapper Island where we found fruit in abundance, we gathered a whole dingy of bananas all in different stages of ripening; also a few cases of paw paws which we felt would not go amiss. We also got a bag of oysters which are very plentiful along the coast and islands. These oysters grow so thick and large it takes but a short time to fill a bag, and then back to the ship.

We had for company an Australian Army boat, we always seemed to meet up with them, and they were also out getting some goodies. What a dinner!

Christmas Eve - as darkness came we were still sitting on the deck under the awning, our talk had run out and all of us thinking of home, who could blame us if we were quiet and moody. We had always managed to have Christmas with our folks and families even though seafaring men. Here we were hundreds of miles from our loved ones, chin up Jean old girl, love and kisses to all. So with a toast of sarsaparilla soft drink we set our watched and the rest turned in.

Christmas Day! Raining like hell as only it can in the tropics, blowing up windy; at the end of the day we anchored off Hope Islands, two islands about half a mile apart surrounded by coral. This was our first glimpse of the coral reefs proper. All the marvelous colours and formations were beautiful, yet awe inspiring. In places the coral came within a few feet of the surface then to drop away to what seemed fathomless depths.

We dropped anchor in twelve fathoms between the two reefs and while the rest of the crew fished the mate and I went ashore to see what we would find after hearing that plenty of mud crabs lived here. But we were not able to find any,

Launching the dinghy the mate and I must have looked a sight. The dinghy was six foot snub nose. Big Jack was big, I was about twelve stone. Jack would sit in the stern but first I had to get in and up to the nose, sit on the stem then Big Jack would lower himself in up aft, up would go the nose and me with it and with only a few inches free board we would go away. What a sight, Jack naked except for his mattress cover lap lap, bearded face lit up with a grin stretching from ear to ear, no hat and his head shaven like a criminal. His six gun at his side and a stinking corn cob pipe going full blast slowly he would row our little craft to shore. I would sit for’ard clad only in shorts only my ginger hair also shaved a six gun slung in a shoulder holster, a knife at my hip, Tommy gun across my knees, the bailer tin going all the time, we must have looked like a pair of pirates coming ashore.

I shot some pigeons which nested on these islands in the thousands, flying to the mainland for food and returning at dusk – a beautiful bird, cream with black tipped wings – the Torres Strait pigeons make excellent stew. It seemed cruel to kill them but the only meat we had was the goat and bully beef so we felt justified in taking them.

We also visited two more boats which had dropped anchor, these were Australian Army boats. One was on old ferry that used to run between Kurnell and La Peruse, it made and weather when a blow was on as it had an open deck; the other boat kept with it in case it had problems on the run up. On boarding one we found an old fishing mate of ours so we had quite a talk during which we found they were also en route for New Guinea.

On return to the ship we found the crew had caught some wonderful fish, two being the famed red emperor, a beautiful red fish weighing about twenty pounds a piece. Then the sharks came around and as a fish was being pulled up the sharks promptly took them off so we turned to fish for shark with heavy tackle and putting a blast of Tommy gun shot through them.

Then the cook called dinner. What a dinner, we were served with fish, pigeons,. Stewed and baked fruit, oysters and flat fifty biscuits so called because they are as hard as bullets. So closed Christmas Day, miles from home but there in spirit, smokes all round then to bed. My watch was twelve till four and I sit on a cartridge case, under the awning for’ard listening to the rain, thinking of home and my family. How happy if only my wife Jean and my two kiddies were here and we were only holidaying but these are dreams. With the sound of the rain beating down I was relieved to go below for a couple of hours before we left at dawn.

Away once more, we call in at Cooktown for water, only a few hours we stay at this old town. This is where Captain Cook put in with his ship Endeavour after running on the reefs when discovering Australia. It’s here also in older days that the keeper of Lizard’s Lighthouse was killed and his wife, in company with a Chinese cook, escaped from the clutches of maddened savages in a water tank only to drift about in the sea and perish of thirst later. The tank in which they escaped from the Lizard I believe can be seen in Cooktown.

We have our water tanks full and so leave to poke our nose into rain and choppy seas, for it was now coming into a full blow, punching through till at last we were forced to pull in under the shelter of the mainland. We dropped anchor at Flattery Island, a small coral island, bleak and treeless. Next morning we pushed on to Berwick Island, a small coral island covered with small scrub. This island was bisected by a small creek and we lay at the mouth of this. Over went our dinghy and Big Jack and I were on the hunt again.

We had the guns and some fish spears that we had made along with a throw net and we made the shore with only a few wettings. These didn’t worry us as we were both nearly naked and black burnt by the sun for days. It was not long before we were wading up the creek with out spears; the guns we left on the bank. Soon we discovered mud crabs, great huge crabs with claws as big as a man’s hand. We would pin the crab with the spear and then grasp him firmly by the back from behind so he could not harm us, Jack was working the creek some hundred yards above me when he yelled and I could see him floundering about and jabbing wildly with his spear. “It’s a bloody great turtle skipper!” he roared “and it is coming your way!”

I waded out to the centre of the stream with my spear ready. I waited then I saws a swirl of water coming down the stream caused by the turtle’s made rush down the creek. I lunged forward and had the luck to impale the turtle through the throat. With a yell I dived at it to land on the turtle, turning it on its back I had it helpless and with a heave I soon had him on the bank The turtle wasn’t as big as first thought only about 16 inches. O mighty hunters! It was two pleased hunters that returned back to the ship. It was an amusing sight to see Jack and I pulling about in our small boat, which never had much free board, with twenty five crabs, a turtle and a brace of pigeons,

Early next morning we were underway for we had a long way to go for our next anchorage. It was a beautiful day with the sea like glass, about 100 in the shade. I took the wheel while the crew ate lunch. It was a revelation to see the crew, nearly naked under the awning having lunch, a kerosene tin nearly full of crabs and a roasted turtle, a meat I had never tasted before. Their appetites were nothing short of miraculous and I began to wonder if there would be anything left for me! At last I was relieved and it was my turn to dine on the feast. I did myself full justice to the meal. Between us we had eaten eight pigeons, a turtle, a paw paw each and a couple of dozen bananas not to mention the oysters; the lot washed down with some of our soft drink. What a feed! What hogs!

We had a couple of stalks of green bananas hanging from our rigging together with dried fish; drying the fish was the only way to keep them.

We reached our anchorage that night and dropped our pick in the shelter of the Flinders Islands; these islands formed a land locked anchorage for us. The islands lay near Princess Charlotte Bay, a huge stretch of shallow water which is remembered by a fierce hurricane many years ago which caught an ill-fated fleet of pearl luggers, working the pearl beds there, by surprise. Only a few escaped, the rest were sunk with a big loss of lives.

Pushing on to our next anchorage at Claremont Island; on approaching the island it appeared as if it was painted white but when we reached the island we could see that it was Torres Strait pigeons, On going ashore we could see the birds were resting in every tree and bush; not even flying off when we approached.

We hit a brace of pigeons with a stick, cruel yes, but after the bully beef you would welcome them and we never took more than we could eat. It was quite a rough trip back in our little dinghy for a wind had come up and we were half full of water by the time we got safely to our vessel.

It seems as if we are always going ashore and eating and having a picnic, maybe this is true in a way, but these things only happen when the tides and the weather are against us. Also if we had not lived off the land we would have gone hungry; many times our stores ran out.

In many ways there were some happy times but I, as skipper, also spent many hours worrying in the wheel house in bad weather, sailing among reefs and island with strong tides we made a lot of leeway at times. Being wartime we had no lights to guide us through the dangerous waters; the welfare of the crew, boat and tow was mine. Many boats have come to grief on the reefs. We have come this far with success.

New Year’s Eve and the weather was not so good, raining and the wind getting stronger. We hoped to make Portland Roads by early afternoon because it looked like a good blow. As the morning wore on the wind increased and we were taking water over now, our tow seemed just a mass of white water as seas lashed over it. Soon we could only just make headway; it was getting too much for us with our tow. We did not want to cut it adrift – we had said we could make it to New Guinea and tow it we would. After a talk with the mate we decided to anchor behind a coral reef, not the bet anchorage but the reef would break most of the force of the seas. So with only a couple miles to Portland Roads, it was actually in sight, we dropped anchor in ten fathom of water, giving it seventy five fathom of wire and cable to ease the strain on the anchor. The engine is turning over trying to take some of the weight off the anchor. What a night we face the wind and rain increasing while the tow is pulling madly on our stern.

Darkness was now on us and the night brought no relief. I passed the last day of the year in the wheel house, through the break in the rain I could see the seas smashing white over the reef. The night passed slowly but pass it did and the wind dropped as daylight broke through.

Weighing anchor we pressed on our way to our next stop at Home Islands. Here the crew went ashore to gather oysters; three bags were gathered in only an hour, so thick were they growing. I amused myself by spearing some small sharks coming in close ashore.

After leaving the Home Islands we journeyed north to run into a strong Nor’ west wind, and soon becomes a roaring gale, the seas are the biggest we have so far encountered There being no shelter close by we had to turn and run with it to shelter under a point called False Ordforness,

The boat itself could take plenty of bad weather, it was built very strong with great heavy timbers – the trouble is the tow. The lighter we were towing was made for harbour work to carry timber lower to it from large ships. It was not made for open sea. It was just a big pontoon; oblong and square along the front, which just pushed the water in front of it.

We were getting well up to the top of Australia now. The next morning the wind had dropped enough for us to go on. On the forth we made Albany Pass which I think is the most beautiful passage of land that we had seen on our trip, The Albany Pass is formed by islands coming close to the mainland forming a narrow passage through which the tide raced and boiled. The mainland is the topmost point of Australia’s Cape York.

When we entered the Pass the tide was against us, it proved too much for us and instead of making headway we were dropping astern so we just had to swing into a little cove and drop anchor to wait for the turning of the tide,

This little cove was known as Somerset Bay and it was the site of the old Jardine Homestead, an old pioneer family who had settled down over a hundred years ago. This tough old man’s sons had left Rockhampton with a mob of cattle and drove them to the very top of Australia, a magnificent feat. He now lays in a grave on the beach beside his wife, a Samoan princess. His offspring still work the plantation of copra and his cattle run.

Our engineer knew this family well and he wanted us to go ashore and visit, an idea we all welcomed. When we called at the homestead, which is built on a hill overlooking the bay it, was in a sad state of decay; old cannons rusting either side of the door. The descendant of old man Jardine was not there, he was now in the Army at Thursday Island. There was only a black boy in charge who looked at us as if we would steal some of the sucking pigs that had the run of the place. Perhaps we might have lifted one if the chance had come but the boy had a knife like a sword stuck in his belt and he looked as if he knew how to handle it. So we remained honest visitors and took nothing.

In the olden days this place must have been a show place remains of terraced paths wound down through the jungle to the water; paths lined with tropical plants and flowering shrubs but now all overgrown. Our Engineer told us the story of the place, he had worked up here quite a lot and knew the history. The old man Jardine, so the story went, was a tough old hombre who for sport used to go shooting up natives and kept their skulls as mementos. I saw several of these grisly trophies with bullet holes between the eyes. In a diary can be seen old names famous of VIPs who had visited the place over the years, people of the past. But that is all in the past and just memories remain of the old pioneer.

Early next morning we left the tide now with us and we seemed to fairly fly through the fastest we had ever sailed. Through the pass we leave Australia en route to Thursday Island, fifteen miles ahead, home of the pearling fleet, one phase of our journey over and now ready to face the second phase.

On looking back on our journey up the coast I had mixed memories, some pleasant some not. We had not had news from home at all and we had many storms, we have met many Australian solders on different islands – these men were coast watchers. In groups of 3 or 4 they were equipped with a radio they would watch for enemy movements. They were always glad to see us they rarely had visitors.

We had our own visitors. Patrol planes would come out and circle us and we would quickly make the signal of the day; they would then waggle their wings and speed away.

Now we were sailing to Thursday Island; a place a few months back we had never dreamed of and now it was our goal.
[1] Excerpt from North Queensland at War" Volume.1, compiled by Peter Nielsen

CHAPTER FIVE

2006-06-26T12:42:00.000+10:00

CHAPTER FIVE

On the thirteenth of December we made Cairns[1] to meet quite a few old pals from south who used to be on trawlers and had joined up the same way as us when their boats were taken. We seemed to bring the bad weather and rain. Four days we were in Cairns, and it never stopped raining all that time.

Here we got fuel and stores but no letters from home, I don’t think they worry about us too much for all the time we had been at sea but we had not letters at all.

We also met up with a couple of friends who were recovering from being wounded; one had a flesh wound across the groin, nicking his penis; what a horrible thing to have done to a person!

We got our final orders here. We were to go to New Guinea to Milne Bay, taking the Grafton passage, then an open sea trip to Milne Bay. I objected to this, arguing that the coast route was the wiser, jumping off from Thursday Island, to pick up Port Moresby for a small ship such as we with a tow nearly as big as ourselves it was madness. Also the weather was getting worse. In the end with the aid of our Navy, I had my way; my stubbornness probably saved our lives, ship and the tow.

The American Officer in charge of Cairns was quite a nice chap who saw finally as I did, better to take a little longer, than not at all. I also refused to have the ‘Destiny” in company with us, so he was sent to sea two days before us, he was a headache to me, for I had been in charge of him and responsible.

Throughout the whole trip we were treated with the utmost courtesy by the agents of the U.S.A.A. Small Ships section whom did all in their power to help and keep things running smoothly.

On the seventeenth we left Cairns wharf to push our head into the rising sea, and weather seeming to be bad raining like hell. The crew was for turning back but I pushed on. Travelling north with a dirty cross sea, visibility not so good.

When abreast of Double Island the engine started getting sick, the engine room filling with smoke and fumes. “You will have to stop skipper,” yelled Old Ben, “I will have to do something about this trouble.”

We limped to the shelter of Double Island and dropped anchor. We lay all night, beam on to a heavy ground swell, it rolled the milk out of our teas, well it would have that is if we had any milk. We could not get as close to the island as we would have liked, as the water was very shoaly; the formation of the mainland and the island being about a quarter mile off shore. This cause a tide rip and cross currents, it kept us rolling so much at times our rail was under water. What a night! We were glad when it ended and we could get underway. When we tried starting the deck motor to heave up anchor we found it would not start, the rain had filled up the exhaust pipe and then gone into the engine. It took some time to get the water out and the motor started, but after much work we succeeded and heaved our anchor on board. The main engine was getting worse with every beat and we each had one thought – if we had left via the Grafton passage to open sea what might have befallen us?

For although the seas were bad enough here, the reef broke the force and we could weather it even with a sick engine. The other way who knows?

We were only a short distance, eleven miles, to Port Douglas and so we decided to run for it. After many hours we made it arriving on the evening of the eighteenth. Getting a half flood tide we crossed the bar and into a sheltered mooring at the jetty. Notifying the army via telephone to Cairns we were told to go ahead with repairs, keeping in touch as to our progress and damage if any.

On lifting one of the cylinder heads we found a burnt out piston, further inspection revealed the gudgeon and liner wrecked. Old Ben seemed happy half buried in engine parts and as I had some knowledge of diesels, helped him. I told our Operational Officer and he made the round trip to Townsville for new parts, a piston, liner and gudgeon which we found would not fit and after enquiries we send them to the sugar mill at Mosman whose engineers ground them to fit. But all of this took some time, about ten days in all, during which we made quite a few friends in the town, had some good fishing trips.

The Harbour, if it could be called such was really a deep creek with a couple of wharfs at the mouth just inside the bar, nearly all the rest of the bay being shallow sand flats with a couple of coral reefs. Maybe a couple of dozen houses comprised the township, it being only a depot of late for the sugar mills inland. The people were most hospitable and friendly as indeed we found all these northern people to be, In a day we had them coming down with fruit and home made pickles and jam for us. I had some enjoyable fishing trips out to the neighbouring reefs with one chap in particular who later I found out to be the brother of a fish salesman I worked with at Red Funnel Trawlers in Sydney. He gave me the old history of Port Douglas when it was really something when the pearling luggers made it a base. I carry some happy memories from the little township and reckon it one of the happiest parts of our trip.

Here was also to be found an old woodworker, his work was truly a work of art, he was about 80 years old. Selected woods were inlaid to make cigarette boxes, vases, inlaid floors and boxes. I tried to buy some but they were ordered and he would not sell some of his work. The cook was lucky enough to buy an inlaid handkerchief box.

We went into one of the two hotels there for a cooler and we found earthen floor and was served by a woman, Mary, with no shoes on followed by a couple of goats. The other pub was more modern having a wooden floor.

We also went crabbing with some of the local chaps, fishing for gar fish and; crocodile hunting but we were fortunate not to catch any. The men showed me the slides made by crocs along the Daintree River which abounds with crocodiles.

I would also mention we found the ‘Destiny’ moored here, he was waiting for us. His crew came aboard and asked if they could accompany us to New Guinea. It seemed the skipper had never been a seaman; he didn’t like his chances of reaching New Guinea and intended to stay with us. After warning him of his habit of indiscriminate shooting and threatening him with dire consequences, we came to an agreement much to the relief of his crew who reckoned he would either lose them or shoot them. The engineer later became a very firm friend of ours.

One the twenty third, late at night the raid siren went but no hostile planes came over. Our friend the ‘Destiny’ was out fishing at the time and we wondered how he was. But little did we know that the skipper had got up to his pranks again and had fired his guns. The army watchers on seeing the tracers flying through the air had given the alarm not knowing what was going on. So the raid was really our nitwit friend!

This day we finished the engine and were ordered to sail, we had hopes to have Christmas dinner ashore with some of pour newly found friends but it was not to be. Reluctantly we said our good byes. Before we left we took on board some two hundred and fifty bottles of soft drink and lots of fruit,

Adios Port Douglas, Merry Christmas.

CHAPTER FOUR

2006-06-26T12:41:00.000+10:00

CHAPTER FOUR

On the fifth we arrived at Townsville at 11.30 and steamed up the creek to the wharf our tow proving unwieldy in the narrow channel and the flood tide, with just enough room with the barge alongside we made our way, just managing to scrape through. So ended our trip, or so we thought. We would have the barge taken from us and get back to work for we had been told in Sydney that Townsville was to be our destination and our base but alas this was not to be.

The barge was to be taken from us and go the rest of the journey as deck cargo on a larger boat, this order was then cancelled and I received further orders to continue to New Guinea with the tow, calling en route at Cairns for further orders. We were not allowed to linger because my superior officers wished us to sail the next day, but we had some small engine problems which needed fixing. In all we were there for three days before we were ready for sea again. On the eight day we left the wharf and proceeded down the creek only to get stuck on the mud bank. As I said it was very narrow especially with the barge and we had to try and miss a small boat coming up stream; still it being flood tide we were off in half an hour and it being dusk we pulled in under Magnetic Island.

Although the night had started well, it seemed unlucky for during the night our tow line fouled on a coral reef, we let it stay till dawn then launched our six foot dinghy, and with the grapple managed to clear it, no small task seeing the tow line was nine inches and we were working from a cranky six foot dinghy.

We had for company another small trawler called the “Destiny” S-84 and it was nearly our destiny! He was to help us tow the barge. We had told the chap in charge of Small Ships it was too much for us to tow, thinking we could get out of the job, I had said that it was too much for us in strong tides with a bit of wind as well it made it nigh on impossible to may way. The Officer had decided this boat was to help us.

The ‘Destiny” had put a tow line to us to help lighten our tow but this idea was useless, the ‘Destiny’ was smaller than us and he was even unable to keep the tow line tight and was all over the ocean. He had us so fed up we cast his line off and resigned ourselves to our job for it seems we are to tow this barge all over the Sou’ West Pacific. We also found we were in company of a madman, the skipper of the ‘Destiny’, George as we called him, was a dill. His favourite pastime was to throw an oil drum over the side and as it was dropping astern let go with his guns, with which he was fitted with two thirties machine guns. As he always kept just ahead we seemed always in the firing line, shots would whistle over and passed us. “Shot the mad bastard Skipper!” Big Jack would roar “shoot him before he does us in.” A blast from our guns would awaken him to what he was doing and peace would be with us again. We will have to ditch him, the mate would say but he stuck to us like an old man of the sea and would not be shook off. The end of the day we anchored at Palm Island, the madman still in company.

We had rain for several days and except for ship routine nothing much to write of. Later on we anchored at Brook Island while the crew went ashore to gather oysters and wild fruit of which these islands abound I amused myself shooting fish with the Tommy gun with only partial success – I got but two mullet.

Our next stop was Barnard Island and we had a swim in a coral pool here. The island is just a tree grown hill rising from the water. This island seems to be the home of flying foxes, for at dusk these pests left the island in thousands; the sky was blackened out with them flying toward the mainland some ten miles away. The foxes rising seemed to be the cue for the mad skipper of the ‘Destiny’, yes, he is still tagging along. As soon as the foxes started rising he let blaze with his guns, shooting off a couple of magazines of shells, tracers flying everywhere. I must try to stop him before he shoots us or gets us shot. His own crew is afraid for their lives, he aims any old where. “I will take the Bastard apart’” roars Big Jack, “I will kick his guts out!”

After roaring across the water at him, he finally stopped. We were in dangerous waters here not only from the reefs and the sea; but from Jap plane or a sub will meet up here, and tracers show a long way.

Little was to be done during the day, just clean the ship and keep watch. We, who were used to working hard and long hours, this seemed like loafing, For something to do we made kites and flew them from the mast then shot them down with our two fifty caliber guns which had been fitted for us. These guns, the mate and young Jack kept clean, months later in New Guinea they were praised by a Major for the excellent condition they were in. Myself, I looked after the rifles and Tommy Gun, also the revolvers of which we had been issued two – one to myself and one for the mate. He swaggered around with his strapped to his side while I favoured a shoulder holster. I guess we were like little boys with our guns; always seeming to want an excuse to start shooting holes in the atmosphere and at the water. We thought that we were truly tough guys!

The weather remained fine and we were making a hundred miles in twenty hours, not bad for our heavy tow line, which was giving us no trouble except for chaffing the tow line. We overcame this by parceling with bags. We passed Smokey Cape at eleven thirty pm. The ‘Marjory Jean’, another boat of the Small Ships gave us a hail of encouragement in passing.

Off the Solitary Islands we stopped to break the fisherman’s unwritten law, we robbed some lobster pots and fish traps which were buoyed off with glass floats. Picking the line ups with the boat hook then onto the winch, short work was soon made of bringing the traps to the surface, “Good catch, Skipper,” cried Big Jack when the traps landed on the deck. Two lobsters were soon crawling over the deck and these were pounced on by Sid the cook who bore them down to the galley for cooking. The fish traps yielded plenty of leather jackets – we kept half a basket and returned the rest to the trap. After resetting the traps we were on our way once more. Except for a dozen fish, which we had for tea, we cleaned the rest and salted and dried them for bait and later use. Our thanks to the fisherman who set the traps, I hope he forgave us. Later, when we were passing a point, later called Sandon Bluffs, Big Jack recalled how he had fished there and caught snapper, so the boat was hove to and lines, which we had plenty, were baited and thrown over the side. Soon a dozen fine snapper were kicking and flapping on the deck. It was with some reluctance that we once more got under way. We were all fishermen and it hurt to have to leave good fishing behind,

On the twentieth we came upon Richmond Light at 8 am, Blackrock at 7pm and Hastings Head at 9pm.

CHAPTERS ONE TO THREE

2006-06-26T12:34:00.000+10:00

CHAPTER ONE

On the sixth day of November, 1942, the M.V. Nanagai entered Sydney Harbour completing a thirteen days fishing cruise along the New South Wales and Victorian coasts. Making our way to the Navy craft at the entrance to the harbour, recognition flags at the masthead we were duly recognized and given the name of flags we were to fly permission with the flags flying we made our way to the boom vessel, which was opened enough for us to slip through. Proceeding up the harbour, it was to be the last fishing trip for the craft, for on berthing at our Company’s wharf (Red Funnel Trawlers) an American Army Officer stepped aboard and ran to the mast head the American flag. The Nanagai was now the property of the United States of America.

Later in the manager’s office, the American Lieutenant told us we could stay with the boat in the employ of the United States Army; the crew immediately signed on. We were fishermen no longer. The trawler was to be fitted out for running supplies and men up to New Guinea, the fishing company to do the refitting; also it was repainted in gray all over.

We had to go to number 10 Walsh Bay, to the offices of Burns Philip, a company that would handle all our wants while in Australia. All my wages were also paid through them, my wife, Jean, receiving them and also I had to pay my own insurance, later on the American Army paid this but I missed out on it.

Ten days later we again put to sea for Townsville, Queensland.

“Good luck, lads. Good sailing, you have a touch job but I know you will come through OK,” said Captain Juddah of the Small ships U.SA.A. “You are to tow a barge to Townsville. My department is against this idea saying that small fishing boats are not capable of handling these tows on long ocean trips such as is asked of you, but I know you will come through, Good luck.”

Before we left I had to get sailing directions for the trip and the signals of the days to follow and charts of the mine field at Morton Bay in Queenland also profiles of enemy subs and aircraft.

So on the sixteenth of November, 1942 we started our trip of many experiences.

The M.V. Nanagai or S.164, as the boat was to be called from now on, was a small wooden vessel sixty five feet long; a beam if eighteen feet and drawing eight feet aft. She was about one hundred tons gross, powered by a one hundred and twenty horsepower Ruston Hornby diesel engine which pushed her through the water at eight knots per hour. This little vessel was an unusually good sea boat, a veteran of many howling gales. We carried a crew of five comprising of

John ‘Big Jack’ Haylen Mate
Ben Huxley Engineer
John Ridding A.B.
Sid Sharpe Cook; and myself
Kenneth Shearer Master

The five of us had been fishing together many years and I can say we were a happy little ship. As I have already said we were fishing only a week ago. We had had a good catch of fish when a southerly gale hit us while we were trawling off Jervis Bay, NSW. The barometer showed that it looked like lasting a few days so we got in touch with our office who ordered us home. So with a gale behind us we ran for home, to begin our next chapter of events.

Every sailing day I had to go to the Navy Department and receive sailing directions, code signals for the number of days that we would be away. When called upon by a patrol boat or plane, we must give the signal of the day by signal light. All other small trawlers up and down the coast had to be in port between sunset and sunrise but we could be out at all hours. Once we were ordered into the nearest port by a navy patrol boat, but when we arrived in port he was very apologetic having found out that we had permission to stay out.

It was the sixteenth of November at 7pm when we left Walsh Bay, Sydney Harbour; at 8pm we cleared the heads and set our course for the north.

We were towing a forty-five foot timber lighter, square across the front and on its deck was securely lashed an invasion tank barge. We were using a nine inch Manila Hawser for a tow line, seventy fathoms long with fifteen fathoms of two and half steel wire as bridle; a tow line that was to tax our strength later on.

All was bustle and hurry on the day we sailed, and it seemed half of Sydney was on the wharf to see us off. At five pm we slipped our mooring and steamed to another part of the Harbour to pick up our tow. It was with sad hearts that we had left, for saying goodbye to our families and friends was one of the hardest parts of our trip. I think farewells are the hardest of all things; it was harder than all that followed. I personally shall always carry the memory of my wife standing at the gate, trying to hold back the tears that somehow would not be held back; trying to smile and keep her chin up. It was like a knife being twisted in my heart. The women of this sad world have a lot more to bear than any man in the field. Adios sweetheart.

CHAPTER TWO

Out at sea last the weather was good, a slight nor’easter blowing, though not enough to worry us. Set the watch, Big Jack the mate, taking the first wheel. Jack was a mere mite of twenty stone, standing six foot two in his socks. About the crew before we proceed any further, As you can see Big Jack was no stripling, a bit of an ear basher and a hard drinker but a good ship mate and dependable. Young Jack next, he also was tall and solid weighing some fourteen stone, an English lad who had been with us some years; he also was a fine fellow and one who stuck by his mates. Next, Old Ben, the Engineer, he was a dried up old chap, soft spoken and forever grinning, one of the best who had sailed in many ships including the pearl luggers up north. We were to meet up with many of his cronies later on up north.

To return to our story. We were on our course standing some ten miles of the coast as laid down by our navy. About two am the chief woke me, I had just come off watch and seemed to have only just gone to sleep. It appeared a pump supplying fresh water to the engine for cooling purposes had broken a shaft. Turning out and climbing down to the Engineer Room was found little could be done to repair the shaft so we turned to and by altering pipes we bypassed the pump and used a direct supply of salt water to the engine, making such a good job that we left it that way for as long as I remained on the boat. Anyway, we finished the job by dawn and were once more on our way. Little was to be done during the day, just clean the ship and keep watch. We, who were used to working hard and long hours, this seemed like loafing, For something to do we made kites and flew them from the mast then shot them down with our two fifty caliber Browning guns which had been fitted for us. These guns, the mate and young Jack kept clean, months later in New Guinea they were praised by a Major for the excellent condition they were in. Myself, I looked after the rifles and Tommy gun; also the revolvers of which we had been issued two – one to myself and one for the mate. He swaggered around with his strapped to his side while I favoured a shoulder holster. I guess we were like little boys with our guns; always seeming to want an excuse to start shooting holes in the atmosphere and at the water. We thought that we were truly tough guys!

The weather remained fine and we were making a hundred miles in twenty hours, not bad for our heavy tow line, which was giving us no trouble except for chaffing the tow line. We overcame this by parceling with bags. We passed Smokey Cape at eleven thirty pm. The ‘Marjory Jean’, another boat of the Small Ships gave us a hail of encouragement in passing.

Off the Solitary Islands we stopped to break the fisherman’s unwritten law, we robbed some lobster pots and fish traps which were buoyed off with glass floats. Picking the line ups with the boat hook then onto the winch, short work was soon made of bringing the traps to the surface, “Good catch, Skipper,” cried Big Jack when the traps landed on the deck. Two lobsters were soon crawling over the deck and these were pounced on by Sid the cook who bore them down to the galley for cooking. The fish traps yielded plenty of leather jackets – we kept half a basket and returned the rest to the trap. After resetting the traps we were on our way once more. Except for a dozen fish, which we had for tea, we cleaned the rest and salted and dried them for bait and later use. Our thanks to the fisherman who set the traps, I hope he forgave us. Later, when we were passing a point, later called Sandon Bluffs, Big Jack recalled how he had fished there and caught snapper, so the boat was hove to and lines, which we had plenty, were baited and thrown over the side. Soon a dozen fine snapper were kicking and flapping on the deck. It was with some reluctance that we once more got under way. We were all fishermen and it hurt to have to leave good fishing behind,

On the twentieth we came upon Richmond Light at 8 am, Blackrock at 7pm and Hastings Head at 9pm.

CHAPTER THREE

On the fifth day after leaving Sydney we arrive at Morton Bay, Queenland. Sailing an intricate course across the boy to dodge the mine fields, we took aboard a pilot and proceeded up the river to berth at 2.30am at Dalgetus Wharf, the first part of our journey over. A good trip approximately five hundred miles, in one hundred and twenty seven hours, we were justly proud of our little vessel, considering our tow. Another boat had left Sydney one hour behind us and we beat it by twenty four hours. The next day the American Officer in charge came down aboard our ship and took our order for engine fuel and stores. It being Sunday we made it a field day, and did our washing and general cleaning up. On Monday our stores come aboard also a steel bridle for the tow line, this fully eliminated the chaffing. While the stores were being put aboard I went to the Navy Control for orders as regards our signals and course. Early the next morning we let go our lines and slipped down the river to open sea, not bothering with a pilot. We had an old sailing scow as company; the officer had asked me to pilot him down. We must also ditch him first opportunity for like Greta Garbo “We vant to be alone.” About 4pm we were at Calandra Light and poking our nose to the swell of the open sea. The land here has a most peculiar formation, here are the Glass House mountains rising many feet into the air; similar to an ice-cream cone upside down. At seven in the morning we were finally at Bluff Point and leaving Morton Bay behind.

The weather seems like being fine, a light easterly wind, our tow behaving exceptionally well with the new bridle. Each day seem the same just ship routine, nothing exciting, until we reached Sandy Cape. I wished we were around the flamin’ thing for I had heard so much about it and nothing was in its praise.

This cape runs some twenty miles to sea, formed of coral and sand, covered with water and very shallow, soon rip a ship’s bottom out, One can dodge the Cape by going through Inchinbrook Channel but the Navy said we could not pass the bar at the entrance so it was the cape for us. We just got to Sandy Cape lighthouse at 7pm when she started to blow hard for the nor’ard. Soon we were pitching wildly, seas breaking over our foc’cle head, out tow would be insight for one minute then out of site the next, a mass of white water as the seas smashed over it.

There was no sleep that night, as was my duty I remained in the wheelhouse drinking lashings of coffee and tea. A mad night for us all around this Cape, treacherous currents and tides sweep wildly along it, setting one onto the sharp coral. All night we expected our tow line to break. It was with much relief that dawn finally broke and with it the wind dropped but still a nasty sea was running. At midday we finally won our way round the Cape and were abreast of the Breaksea Spit Light Ship, a vessel moored with a light tower aboard to guide ships over this treacherous stretch of water, A ship manned only by sea birds; straining madly at its anchor and rolling right over on her beam ends. From Sandy Cape light to the light ship is twenty miles and this took us seventeen hours. Rounding the Cape we fetched up at Lady Elliott Light at five pm and into calm seas again. At dusk a light northerly started again, this seems to be the usual wind around here at night and as it was only a gently wind it was quite OK with us.

Next day was our hottest day, over one hundred degrees. The lads are busy making tropical suits. Big Jack procured an old mattress cover and with it he has made a lava lava, what a sight! Twenty stone with a rag around his middle, his stomach hanging over the top like a bag of spuds. The rest of us were quite satisfied with shorts.

One the twenty seventh of November we made Bustards Head and anchored in Pancake Creek. Our engine was giving a little trouble; the barge was half full of water from the storm. Though the barge was decked and well caulked the weather somehow managed to get in. The engine was easily repaired as spare valve housing and valve. The engineer and I looked around the engine room to see what we could use to empty the water from the barge. The fresh water cooling system had plenty of piping we could use. The deck washing pump and using the deck house

My thoughts were home this day I was home sick. This day was my wife’s birthday and also the anniversary of our marriage. Although I was a sea faring man, I always seemed to be home on this day. This was my first time away and I felt a bit down hearted and homesick. Sweet memories sweetheart, keep your chin up.

We also visited the lighthouse keeper and his wife, right pleased to see us for it was lonely here for them, wild desolate country; all they see is a fisherman now and then and the light tender’s ship with stores. Still, they seem content and happy. Whilst visiting we tried some hunting but for all we saw we could have left the guns on board.

Next day our engine was once more alright, the barge pumped dry and so we again put to sea. On this day also we came onto the islands proper, we were to see many of these for north Queensland’s coast is dotted with thousands, We found that among these islands the tides run very string, our speed dropped to one or two knots per hour, and with the barge in tow we made a lot of lee way. Our orders were to take all precautions so we always anchored at one of the islands at night though if the tides were favourable we did push on. These tactics proved to be sound for later on we found that we were the only one out of many to get our tow through safely.

A lot of these islands are barren rocks; other huge mountains rising from the sea, thickly covered with trees, some have families living on them raising sheep and tropical fruits. One we visited in the Keppel group had a family of four living of on it. The White family had a lonely life raising sheep and growing bananas and pineapples, there was also wild game. The boys of the family showed us a boat they had built from timber growing on the island; forty foot in length, ten foot beam, all planks sawn by hand and bit saw. What a job, two years to build and a trim craft, a real credit to them. When we left they loaded us with huge bunches of bananas.

The last day of the month and we had a strong head wind and made little progress, we anchored at St Bees Island just after dark. The start of a new month, December - the weather against us, a stiff Northerly wind, raining like hell; our first taste of tropical rains, visibility the length of the boat, speed crawling. After a stiff battle we made Linderman Island, the entrance to the Whitsunday Passage.

We anchored around 6 pm and seeing some coconut trees and some goats ashore decided to have some, but this was my undoing and a source of entertainment for the crew. For although I managing to climb a tree, with the loss of what seemed to me all the skin off my tummy, and get some coconuts, my dignity was further outraged because coming through the scrub with my coconuts I disturbed a nest of green ants which fell on my shoulders and down my shorts and it seemed to me they all bit at a given signal. With an ear splitting yell I rushed into the water, pulling off my pants as I ran. I must have presented a very amusing picture to all the crew. The little buggers had crawled up my shorts’ legs and found the choicest and most tender posts to bite; I had to stay in the water until they stopped biting and that seemed hours but at last the crew came to my aid and helped me get rid of the ants. The boys were howling with laughter and rolling in the sand, but I was not laughing until I saw Big Jack’s belly heaving like a jelly – I had to smile – ants in my pants!

Still we had a welcome change from tinned food, we had paw paws, coconuts and I shot a goat with the Tommy gun although I seemed to have chased it all over the mountain side, Jack had also caught some fish. The cooks made a casserole with some of the goat and baked the rest of it; and, together with the fish, paw paws and coconuts that night we had a feast which made a change from bully beef.

On our way again next day we made Bowen late at night against bad weather, the next morning the American Officer came down to see to our wants and we were told we were the first to reach this far with our tow. One boat was lost off Brisbane; one off Coffs Harbour and a third had been lost off Byron Bay. All were total losses. We were sorry to hear of the losses but very proud of our accomplishment.

Not long before our fuel and store and even some fresh bread arrived, Burns Phillip agents once again looking after us.

Bowen Harbour is a port for the shipping of frozen meat and the main feature is the long concrete wharf running out into the harbour as the harbour is incline to be shallow.

Next dawn saw us once again on our way, headed for Townsville.