“TIMOR EVACUATION”: A STORY FROM THE AUSTRALIAN WAR MEMORIAL’S CLASSIC PUBLICATION “AS YOU WERE!”

[Edward Willis]

Many members of the baby boomer generation may recall a series of immediate post-WWII publications issued by the Australian War Memorial titled ‘As you were!’ that could be found on their family bookshelves, particularly if their father or mother had served during the war.

I recently came across the first volume in the series, published in 1946, that was subtitled: ‘A cavalcade of events with the Australian Services from 1788 to 1946’.

This is it’s front cover:

The Australian War Memorial provides some background:

“As You Were was a publication by the Australian War Memorial, produced between 1946 to 1950.  In 1941, John Treloar , the then Director of the Australian War Memorial, suggested the publication of illustrated books about the Australian Military forces during the Second World War.  They would be written in popular style and contain a strong personal element.  Money raised by the books would go towards the completion of the Memorial building in Canberra.  'As You Were' was one of these.  The books were very popular.  They helped lift troop morale and provided a link between service personnel on active duty and their loved ones back home.  They held great sentimental value.  They were produced as Christmas books”. [1]

Looking at the ‘Table of Contents’ one chapter heading caught my eye: “Timor evacuation” and scanning through it discovered it covered the evacuation of Lancer Force from Portuguese Timor by the Australian destroyer H.M.A.S. Arunta on 9–10 January 1943. [2]

Leafing to the end of the chapter I noticed “J.E. MacDonnell (R.A.N.)” listed as the author.  This further piqued my interest because I recalled that MacDonnell was a very popular and prolific author also from the Baby Boomer era, like Nevil Shute that I posted about last year, who is largely forgotten now.  One of his most popular and better known books was ‘Gimme the boats’ published in 1953.  Many of my contemporaries may also remember it gracing their family bookshelves. 

This is the cover of the 1953 hardcover edition published in London by Constable: [3]

MacDonnell, who was still serving in the Navy at the time as a Gunner Warrant Officer, was probably commissioned by the Australian War Memorial to write the story.  The narrative is written in an informal conversational style reflecting the author’s naval service experience and perhaps some personal recollections by the sailors and soldiers involved in the evacuation.

The full story follows including the accompanying illustrations by official war artist Charles Bush. [4]

"TIMOR EVACUATION"

“At the time our commandos were rescued from savagely searching Jap troops on Timor, considerable prominence was given to their exploits on the island, and the events which led to their removal; and rightly so, for the commandos value in a harassing capacity, and from the point of view of intelligence received concerning the enemy's dispositions there, was important.  Little was said however, or known, of the equally hazardous circumstances attending the naval operation which effected the rescue.  This is the story of how Arunta in a meticulously planned and executed effort gathered our soldiers from under the very nose of Jap patrols and reconnaissance aircraft and returned them, gaunt and haggard, safe to Darwin harbour.

The destroyer had been operating in New Guinea waters, fairly excitingly, for about six months.  All of her crew were expecting, and relishing in anticipation, a trip south for refit and leave.  She slid in through the reef at Port Moresby one glary afternoon and dropped anchor off the end of the little jetty.

Regardless of the "buzz", every man knew that the "dinkum oil" would flow only in orders from the Senior Naval Officer ashore.  Lining her rails, waiting, they'd been told that if sailing orders were flashed by light from the white-painted Headquarters on the hill it meant Sydney - nothing secret or requiring operational conferences there.  But if they came by the usual sealed brown envelope, the Sydney buzz was laid.  When a fast launch slid out from the jetty and headed for them their fears were realized.

The envelope was handed inboard, passed to the captain, and in five minutes the bos'n's mate was piping hands to stations.  With the speed of long practice anchor was weighed, snugged home, and, with lookouts and gun crews once more closed up, Arunta eased her length seawards, altered course when out to the eastward and increased speed to 25 knots for Darwin.  There was one more job before Sydney.

As soon as the destroyer secured alongside at Darwin specially picked seamen of her crew set to work loading aboard a dozen or so flat-bottomed rafts waiting on the pier.  Exercising with all speed the picked team slung them inboard on torpedo derricks and boats' falls.  Then they slung them outboard and dropped them in the water; inboard again, repeating the evolution till it was performed in a matter of seconds.  The coxswains practised steering their unwieldy charges with a sweep astern.  Working against time, for information had arrived of the need for urgency, the captain was satisfied with their progress.  There is, however, no surf at Darwin and lack of practice in it was later to jeopardize the success of the whole expedition.

Arunta left Darwin early in the morning, steaming at a speed which would ensure raising Timor at night.  She was quite without escort of any description, coursing into waters controlled completely by a triumphant enemy, and no one aboard suffered any illusions as to her chances if they were caught.

Though a certain tenseness was evident in the demeanour of her crew there was little apprehension - the scheme of sneaking up to the Japs' back door, as it were, snatching from him without his knowledge that eagerly-sought unit so long a thorn in his flesh, and getting away using all the tremendous power with which their ship was imbued, appealed strongly to all.

The destroyer made good time towards Timor, still undetected, but with darkness intermittent showers of heavy rain set in.  Under any other circumstances navigating at such speed in that island-cluttered sea would have been lunacy, but her pilot had taken her through closer waters than these.  Completely darkened, the only sound the whip of the wind aloft and the tearing of parted waters as her bow knifed through, she sped on.

Orders had been wirelessed to Commando Headquarters and the soldiers were to be on a certain beach at midnight.  As soon as the ship was sighted coming in a fire was to be lit at the beach's right end; then another too yards to the left, and a third one between them, for which the captain would steer.  Necessity for the correct sequence of lighting was stressed; it would be embarrassing, to say the least, for the Skipper to use as his leading mark a Japanese camp fire!

At 11.50 p.m. all eyes were strained into the void ahead, striving to pierce the blackness which fell wide and dense on all sides.  With five minutes wanting to midnight there came suddenly the urgent-excited but not scared-report from a bridge lookout:

"Bridge!  Bearing green one-oh.  Land."

The landfall was perfect.

Carefully the destroyer eased in closer to the shore.  Swinging slowly from left to right the director above the bridge searched the dully shining strip of beach, twin guns following it round, open-mouthed barrels gaping across the water, their tin-hatted crews closed up round the breeches, shells in their arms.

Nothing moved.  Then, to the right, a flicker of flame showed, grew rapidly to a fire.  Another further left.  And as a third flickered and grew the captain swung his bow for the centre light and headed straight in.  The commandos were there.

Speed was now the essential thing.  Working swiftly, rafts and boats were swung out and lowered.  The motor-boat and cutter were to tow the rafts inshore.  A shaded blue light signalled from the beach: "Fairly heavy surf running."  You could hear it if you listened, a sullen pounding roar.

Closed up at full action stations the destroyer watched the low dark shapes merge into the gloom towards the beach.  They waited nearly an hour before the first raft paddled back.  Standing at the waist rails with lines and scrambling nets the sailors heard out of the night a sudden excited jabbering, followed instantly by an admonitory "Sssh!"  Then, clear as a bell, the plaintive wail of a child! Coming alongside the raft disclosed its surprising cargo - Portuguese women and children, with only two commandos.  Quickly they were hauled inboard.

It was found later that the Portuguese had got wind of the projected rescue, and in return for their many kindnesses the soldiers had offered them like succour.  For four days they had marched with the hardened fighters through terrible jungle to this rendezvous with the Navy.  But the ship had been there an hour, and there were only two commandos aboard.

One of the hardest things the captain had to do was to order that no more civilians be embarked.  If the Japs caught the Portuguese on the beach at dawn they would suffer little; if they caught Arunta ....

There was more bad news.  The rafts' crews reported their craft unmanageable in the surf running, and all had capsized.  So, righting them to seaward of the breakers, the crews were told to wait and the commandos to strip everything and swim out to them.  This they did, reluctantly abandoning Brens and rifles which had been dear to them for many a desperate month, and swimming out to the rafts with just a money-belt round the waist, were hauled in over the side.

Back at the ship they scrambled, pushed, hauled, and shoved themselves inboard. The operation had already taken too long, and the faintest tinge of lightening grey was discernible to eastward.  The night was pungent with cries of "Smack it about!" and "Full speed there!" and with stronger oaths from the soldiers as their bare feet hit the hot iron deck over the engine-room, all the more fervent because of the necessity of smothering them.  One brown body from Bondi stubbed his toe on a ring-bolt, sat down to rub it, and leapt like a Dervish as his bare bottom made intimate contact with the hot plates.

Soon they were all aboard.  Motor-boat and cutter were already at the davit head, and holes were smashed in rafts.  No time for hoisting now.  From the engine-room came the faint clang of bells.  A smother of white foamed under her counter, and her stern slewed round under the grip of spinning screws.  The muted whine of the engine-room blowers crescendoed to a hungry roar.  Long hull shivering with the violence of the force impelling her, the destroyer sped urgently for the open sea.

An hour's grace at full speed was given her before the eastern horizon became aglow with the dawn.  Then, crowning mercy, the heavens opened and a rain squall poured down and shrouded the little ship in curtains of impenetrable opacity.  They had one fright.  For a moment the rain eased and in the break the sun's rays bathed them in a revealing glow.

Men at guns and depth-charges stared anxiously about them.  Then the clouds closed again.  It is on record that this was the first time Australian sailors have grinned in the rain ….

A destroyer plunges and cavorts like a thing obsessed in a bit of a lop, and at full speed Arunta was no exception.  The commandos had been fed, with that generosity and open-hearted magnanimity characteristic of at-arms generally, and those sea-going ones in particular, on thick hot soup and anything the sailors could force on them.  This, on stomachs long used to rice and wild pig, with the lively movement of the speeding ship, induced the inevitable effect.  Soon the "swotties" fervently wished themselves back on solid Timor; but they'd stuck infinitely worse discomforts than this before.

Late that afternoon the destroyer slipped quietly in through the boom and headed between the wrecks up harbour, securing again alongside.  There the soldiers lined up on her quarter deck.  They looked like figures in an atrocity propaganda film-starved, gaunt, and as overgrown as a brushwood patch.  Haggard and emaciated they stood there, clad in anything the sailors could give them.  An order cracked out.  As one man the lines snapped to attention, heads up, in their eyes a light that brought a lump to your throat.  The officer stepped aft and saluted the captain.

Carry on, sir?"

"Yes, please."

Only coming back was his limp evident.

The lines turned and filed over the gang-way.  One grizzled old sergeant spoke to the coxswain:

"If only we could have saved our gear and marched ashore as a company-not like a crowd of bloody scarecrows..."

J.E. MACDONNELL (R.A.N.)”