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READER
REPORT:
Lest we forget: Learning the reality of war
GERARD O'NEIL
Last updated 12:07 15/04/2015
Anzac day comes around each year, I remember
my colleague's story and how it changed me.
In 1970, when I was nine years old, I remember
feeling extremely disappointed because World War II had finished before I had
had a chance to fight in it.
Even at that tender age I believed I was well
prepared for war. I had read every war comic I could get my hands on, turned
every piece of wood into an imaginary gun, spent hours playing war games with
my friends, and allocated a great deal of my pocket money to buying toy soldiers,
which I then attacked with red paint to imitate the wounds I hoped one day to
inflict on my enemies.
At that time British and
American war movies were a staple of both television and the cinema. Films
like The Sands of Iwo Jima, The Battle of the River Plate, The
Battle of Britain and Reach for the Sky were lapped
up by us kids with great gusto.
I once remember watching a war movie on the
television in the home of some friends of my parents, when at the end of the
film my father's friend turned to my father and said;
"You know, Jack. Weren't we lucky we were too
young to have been called up? If the war had lasted much longer we would have
been posted overseas too."
To my amazement my father agreed.
I was shocked. How was it possible for someone not
to want to go to war?
When I was 18 I had a conversation which changed my
opinion about war forever. I was working as a junior clerk in a large
government department in Wellington at the time, and one of my more important
duties was to fetch the tea trolley. As there were too many staff to fit into
the file room, where tea was served, tea breaks were broken into two shifts;
the workers shift and the dad's army shift.
The dad's army shift was comprised of former World
War II veterans who had almost reached retirement age. I took tea with them as
it was also my job to clear up the tea things and return the trolley to the
kitchen. The only topic of conversation of this group was the war.
One of the veterans was a keen ham radio operator
and he spent his evenings talking to other veterans around the world. Their
stories were reported back to our group during tea breaks, resulting in lively
discussions regarding some long-ago battle or event. One got the distinct
impression that for these men, the war was not over.
After a while I began to realize that with each
retelling of a story it changed ever so slightly. It became a little more
romantic. I particularly liked one story one of the veterans told about the
time his ship was torpedoed and the fun they had had when they eventually
washed up on a tropical island.
One day I found myself taking tea alone with this
veteran, as his colleagues were doing a "preparation for retirement"
course. Knowing that the only possible topic of conversation was going to be
about the war, I decided to get in early and asked, "What was your worst
experience during the war?"
"The ship we were travelling on was
torpedoed," he said.
I thought to myself, "I know this story ...
and we were washed up on a tropical island, and had a jolly time sunbathing and
drinking coconut milk until we were rescued..."
The old soldier's eyes then began to water. He
stopped for a moment and then continued.
"I cannot describe the terror of being below
decks in a sinking ship", he said in a trembling voice. "I knew that
if I did not get topsides fast I would go down with her and so followed the
crowd of panicking men desperately trying to get out.
"When I finally made it on deck I was
confronted with the most horrifying scene I had ever witnessed. The sea was
ablaze with burning oil. Men were jumping into the inferno only to become human
touches. Upon seeing this, many simply returned below decks, preferring to
drown!
"I decided I would take my chances and so
removed my life jacket and dived into in the sea going as deep as possible. As
I passed through the flames I felt my skin begin to fry, but I was soon deep
enough to be below the fire. I then swam underwater, looking up for a break in
the flames. When I thought I could not hold my breath any longer I saw a small
dark patch which meant at that point the sea was not burning. I surfaced, took a
quick breath then dived again.
"The next time I came up, I was beyond the flames.
There I found others. Some were horribly burnt and the stench of roasted flesh
filled the air.
"A few minutes later the ship sank.
"I treaded water until a plank of wood floated
within reach. I grabbed it and eventually ended up sharing it with two others.
It was buoyant enough to keep us afloat, but not big enough to climb onto.
Fortunately the sea was very warm.
"After a time the fire burnt itself out and
darkness closed in all around.
"In the pitch darkness I knew there were other
survivors, but apart from the occasional screams and shouts, there was complete
silence.
"Daylight revealed the position of others and
during the following hours various groups paddled closer to each other. It was
only then that I learnt that the screaming during the night had been from men
being attacked by sharks.
"Floating in the sea under a boiling sun
without water was perhaps the closest thing anyone can come to hell on earth.
During the day our ranks slowly thinned as many simply gave up and slipped
below the surface.
"Darkness brought little relief from the
thirst and the situation was made worst by occasional screaming. Only this time
I knew the reason why.
"Dawn revealed we had drifted close to an
island. With our remaining strength we began to paddle towards it. As we past a
reef a frenzied shark attack began. Men began screaming and trashing
about in the water.
"As this was happening some distance from us
we tried to ignore the scene and just kept paddling, now certain that we would
make it to safety. My colleague beside me opened his mouth to say something,
but no sound came out.
"The water began to boil and then turned red.
I tried to grab him but what was left of his body just sank into the sea.
"My remaining colleague and I tried
desperately to climb onto the plank but we could only get our bodies half out
of the water."
I thought my colleague was going to continue, but
he just sat there in silence with tears rolling down his cheeks, obviously in
some other place in some other time.
I quietly cleaned up the tea things and pushed my
trolley back to the kitchen. I could not help thinking that perhaps I was one
of the few people this veteran had ever told this story too.
When Anzac day comes around each year, I remember
my former work colleague and his story and say a little prayer for him. He
taught me that the reality of war is different to that most of us imagine it to
be.
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