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I hit the base at Holsworthy with a very, very big thud. My unit was away on exercises and were due back in a week or so. I was assigned my quarters which were actually quite good. My own little townhouse all to myself. Compared to sharing with my fellow trainees in dorm style rooms for the past 6 months it was great to finally having some privacy.
After about a week the unit returned from their exercises. I had been spending the week familiarising myself with the base and our unit’s work area and doing odd jobs in preparation for their return. The following day I was introduced to our commanding officer and this is where the shit’eth, hit’eth the fan. The CO had my army personnel file in his hands and was absolutely tearing shreds off of me. I’m not sure what was in the file – perhaps I can ask for this now under the freedom of information act – but I am sure it had comments about my lack of desire to remain in the army during my basic training and also my knee problems from Puckapunyal. While 20 years later I don’t recall exactly what was said I do remember the CO questioning why the hell he had been sent someone with the knee problems that I had and the fact that I had the physical restrictions preventing me from taking part in a lot of the base activities. I was sent out of the office the most depressed I had ever been. Way to go, CO, don’t worry about welcoming a new member and making him feel at home in new surroundings.
So life on base was ordinary. I don’t have a lot of memories from this period except for 2 main ones.
As I was not able to do a lot of the other work the other soldiers in my unit were doing I was assigned a hell of a lot of guard duty. The guard shifts were 12 hours long starting at 7am or 7pm. I remember celebrating my 18th birthday doing the 7pm to 7am guard duty shift. It was a cold night and I was certainly not keen on walking around the base checking doors and reporting in via the two-way. But I did it. I also remember when I wasn’t walking around the base that night, I was manning the front guard station, listening to the FM radio for entertainment and company. It was actually the week that John Farnham released “Chain Reaction” and on the night of my birthday I heard the title track from that album at least 4 times on the same radio station. By the end of my 18th birthday I knew that song by heart. Luckily I was, and still am, a massive Farnsie fan.
I made a really bad decision not long after that. I was very unhappy. I had no close mates in the unit although the guys were pretty good, but being sick of the day to day guard duty and painting of rocks I had had enough. This was not what I signed up for. I remember thinking back to the ads on TV showing adventure and excitement. I certainly wasn’t seeing it so I made a drastic decision. I packed up my suitcase and left.
I packed up all of my civilian gear and left any army issued gear behind. Using an alias I rang Qantas and made a booking to go home to Brisbane. I arrived home and went to mums place and told her what I had done. It was a Friday night and I knew my absence wouldn’t be known until Monday morning when I didn’t turn up for roll call. Around about 9am on the Monday morning the phone rang and I remember calling out to mum to tell them I would be back at midday. Mum said I was there and put me on the phone. I was asked if I was ok and I responded with “yes’’. I was then ordered back to base and was to make myself known at Amberley Airforce Base which is located just outside of Brisbane, where I was to be flown back to Sydney by the RAAF asap. Later that day I arrived back at the Richmond Airforce Base after hitching a ride on a cargo plane. Damn, I was hoping I might get sent back in an F1-11 or something. No such luck!
I’m not sure what my thought process was at the time and when I think back I guess I had gone a little bit insane. Who in their right mind packs their bags, books a ticket in his mother’s maiden name and flies home and not think there would be drastic consequences? Well, me apparently.
I was actually treated very well by my CO when I returned. He sat me down and had a chat with me and probed me on my intentions and why I had gone AWOL. I explained that I was unhappy and that I was homesick. I explained that even though specialists were treating my knees, my life in the army was not what I was hoping for. He asked me to think about it over night and if the next day I wanted to be discharged I would be. Like I even needed to think about it but I said that I would. The funny thing was that on the plane trip home I had come to peace with the fact that I was where I was. I had signed a 4 year contract and I just had to suck it up, grow up and do my job, no matter how shitty it was. However, the next day I was front and centre in front of the CO and I informed him that I wanted out. He said, “done” and I was sent on my way a couple of weeks later.
I was given a dishonourable discharge and this was mainly due to the fact I had gone absent without leave. I returned my army gear except for my slouch hat and a few other ceremonial clothing items. I was given the discharge and 9 months after pledging my allegiance to the Queen of Australia I was once again a civilian.
From when I started in the army weighing in at 76kg, I had stacked on 14kg. I weighed 90kg on the day I was discharged. My knees were shot and I was now living a sedentary life style. There was a big change though. I was a different person. I now had discipline. Not that I was a bad kid in school. Far from it. I was never in the wrong crowd or in trouble with the law. I just lacked focus and discipline when it came to school work. So I did what any other person in my situation would do. I went back to high school and repeated year 12. This time though I passed with flying colours and was accepted to attend University to study Education.
I really wish things turned out differently. I am sure that if my knees didn’t stuff up that I would have stayed in the army as I would have been able to do so much more. I look back and regret the phone calls home. The weekend leave without a pass. The stress I put on my family and friends.
I am a huge patriot of my country. Australia is the best place on earth. I had an opportunity to represent my country. Not as a sportsman on the sports field, but on the battle field if it ever came to that. I would defend my country and would give my life for it if that is what it took for Australia to be free. In leaving the army in the manner in which I did I feel I dishonoured those brave diggers who gave the ultimate sacrifice in all of the wars Australia has fought in, particularly the diggers who fought at Gallipoli in 1915. Boys younger than me gave their lives on foreign soil so that many years later I would be given every freedom my great country affords. I forgot about those guys 75 years earlier who died terrible deaths, while I was crying for my mummy.
Regrets are strange things. Each decision I have ever made in my life has led me to this point here and now. I love my wife and I love my kids and decisions I made 20 years ago enabled me to meet my wife and have my kids. Without going into any detail if I hadn’t have joined the army I know I would not have met my wife and therefore be as happy as I am and the proud father of my two kids. That being said, I do regret the manner in which I conducted myself and the way in which I left the army. If I could have my time all over again, I would do it all differently. But I can’t. So what matters now is how I live my life going forward. I attend the Dawn Service each Anzac Day and I take my eldest daughter with me to teach her about the sacrifices the brave diggers have been making to keep us free since Australia first went into the theatre of war. Next year my youngest daughter will start attending the Dawn Service with us as she will be old enough to start understanding the importance our armed services play in keeping us free.
I now wish I had have stayed in the army. I am sure my weight issues would never have eventuated as my knees would have healed with the correct care. I didn’t end up going to Uni but instead worked in the hospitality industry which contributed to my weight issues (all my fault for making bad food choices – I’m not trying to blame anyone or anything here as it was all me). I would now be able to hold my head high instead of lowering it slightly when I see our brave diggers walk on by. I want to make it right but I don’t know how. I have thought about writing a letter to the defence chief and apologising for wasting their time and money way back in 1990. I doubt it would do any good. It might make me feel a little better though. I’ll have a think about it.
This concludes my 3 part series – “I was only 17”. The title of this series is based on the Australian Music Group, “Red Gum”, who have a hugely successful song titled, “I was only Nineteen” which is a song about an Australian soldier who fought in Vietnam. You can find it at iTunes.
Thanks for reading and if you have any questions or comments please leave them below. I am more than happy to talk to anyone who is unsure if a career in the army is for them.
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Welcome to my next chapter in the story about my time in the Australian Regular Army. Click here to read Part 1 – Basic Training.
The bus trip to Puckapunyal from Kapooka took around 5 hours. The journey was one of reflection, looking back at the last 13 weeks of basic training including the highs and the awful lows. However there was an air of expectation on the bus. We were no longer known as ‘recruit’ as we now had our ranks. Amongst us were Sappers, Troopers, Signalmen and my rank of Privates.
As I mentioned in my previous post, I had been accepted into the Royal Australian Transport Corp and was on my way to Puckapunyal to complete the 13 week Basic Drivers Course. Immediately upon arrival I noticed that the strictness of Kapooka had been replaced with a somewhat relaxed feel but this was still a military base after all and there was still a requirement to be disciplined.
One of the main points of difference was that we were in training with soldiers from bases from all around Australia. I formed a friendship with a corporal by the name of Robert Grant. Rob was a great guy who was very easy going and became a great mentor to me. He was married and lived in NSW and half way through the Basic Drivers Course we would go for a road trip to his home to meet his wife. This road trip enabled me to drive long distances for the first time ever.
Before joining the army I did not know how to drive. I didn’t have my licence, however I did have my learners permit. My best mate, Mark’s mum, had given me a couple of lessons and other than one disastrous attempt driving my drunk mates home from our school formal graduation party, I didn’t really know how to drive very well. This was one of the main reasons I requested to join the Transport Corp as I sensed an opportunity to learn how to drive and avoid getting my head shot off on the front lines if we ever went to war. Smart thinking, huh? You betcha!
So the training started. First off we were taught how to drive the Army Land Rovers. They were all manuals – that’s stick shift for my American friends. We were taught how to double clutch and drive straight and safely. My first attempts at driving resembled a rabbit on speed! Bunny hopping up and down the training track. I kept apologising to my instructor but he said it was all good. He was a corporal and explained that they actually preferred the 17 year olds to train as that meant they didn’t have to untrain bad habits previously acquired.
Before long I became adept at driving the Land Rovers. No probs and I became quite proficient. Well I suppose it shouldn’t take that long to learn when that is our full time job, driving all day, every day. The next challenge was driving the Army trucks called Unimogs.
As you can see these are a bit bigger than a standard Land Rover. 16 gears, 8 forward, 8 reverse. The double clutch technique we were taught for the Land Rovers was actually in preparation for use in the Unimogs. They actually were quite easy to drive. The only thing extra I recall having to remember was to make sure when turning to make sure you went a little wider than normal to avoid hitting the kerb with the rear wheels which I failed to do once driving the troops into a McDonalds!
One part of the actual training that has stayed with me for life, other than the actual skill of driving, was a video presentation we received before our very first driving lesson. We were shown a video of car crash accidents with the dead bodies still in the smashed cars. We were also shown video of a crash accident victim’s autopsy. For all of us, this was our first experience seeing dead bodies. While it was only on film, the impact has stayed with me since then. I can still see the horrible and tragic images of those poor people who died so suddenly and in such a horrific way. On a side note, I would go as far as saying that this video should be shown as a compulsory requirement of driver training for all people, not only those in the military. I am sure it would help reduce the road toll.
There was only one incident though which almost cost myself, my instructor and the 20 odd troops in the back of the carrier our lives. Towards the end of the training course, we were on a week long tour of Victoria. It was my turn at the wheel and we were driving through some hilly terrain. Going downhill I tried to change into a lower gear but couldn’t get the truck into gear. We were gaining speed and I was beginning to panic as there was a deep decline off to the side of the road and I didn’t want to be responsible for the death of 20 odd people including myself. The truck just would not go into gear and the exhaust brakes did not seem to be responding too well. Faster and faster we went until finally with the assistance of the instructor, I was able to get the truck back into a low gear and we continued on to our destination without further incident. I was a little worried though as running through my head was a statement which I had been told early in the training course – “Always give the guys in the back a good ride or they may pull you out of the cabin when you’ve stopped and give you a hiding”. So this was going through my head as we were pulling into camp. I got out of the cabin and went around the back to lower the back tail gate with a fair bit of trepidation. The guys got out and thanked me for the ride. Phew! I avoided an ass kicking.
I was restricted in what I could actually do physically during this training at Puckapunyal. As I mentioned in my previous post, during basic training I started to get a lot of knee pain in both knees. The army doctors diagnosed that my symptoms were brought on by running in boots as they were not very shock absorbent and going up and down the 3 flights of stairs numerous times a day. The impact of my knees was quite hard and as a result I had constant grinding in them. The doctors put me on restrictions until further notice. The restrictions known as a CHIT prevented me from doing any physical activities. This included marching, drill, PT and any other physical activity other than walking.
Then one day I was caught playing racquet ball with Corporal Robert Grant and was hauled in front of my commanding officer where I was given one hell of a reprimand. I was disobeying orders by playing sport. When you disobey orders you can be arrested by the MP’s and put into the stockade. I had heard about the Aussie version of military prison. Essentially the military prison on base was an exercise yard with bunks built on the sides. In the middle of the exercise yard were two different coloured lines approx 5 metres apart. Let’s say they were blue and green. At any one time one of the MP’s would call out one of the line colours and you would need to rush to it and stand to attention. After an amount of time the MP would call out the other line colour and you would need to run to it as quickly as possible and again, stand to attention. The amount of time you would need to stand to attention on one of the lines would vary. It could be 10 seconds or it could be an hour. This form of punishment might take hours to complete or it might take minutes. It could happen at 2am or in the heat of the day at midday. I’m glad I never found out. I was so scared shitless to be sent to jail for doing something like playing racquet ball. I was 17 and while it may have been a bluff from my superiors, I wasn’t about to take the risk.
So from that day on during my Basic Drivers course, I didn’t disobey any orders. I completed the training but found myself very unhappy and a lot of this unhappiness was due to my inability to be active. I was so fit when I joined the army. I was 17 and 76kg. I worked out that I would exercise for at least 2 hours a day when I was in school. This was achieved by riding my bike to and from school (30mins), playing touch footy at lunch time (30 mins) and spending at least an hour day at the park across the road from home kicking the footy with my mate, Denis or at football training. I was always on the go. Now for the first time in my life, I was inactive and hating it. My mates in the training course were supportive to a degree but I felt ostracized when they were able to PT and drill daily and therefore I did not feel part of the team. This is also the very beginning of my weight problems which regular readers will know have plagued me ever since.
I also had a very bad case of tonsillitis during training and spent 4 days in hospital which was miserable. So the high I found myself on when I arrived for this second stage of training was fast evaporating and I found myself again, wishing I was at home and out of this nightmare.
As the training was drawing to an end, we were asked to nominate where we would like to be posted to on a full time basis. Of course I requested Enoggera in Brisbane, close to home. I was informed this was unlikely and the only reason for soldiers being sent home was if they had their own family there. A family which included a wife and kids. I had neither and soon found myself heading to Sydney and the Holsworthy Army Base and my new life as a fully trained soldier.
The final and darkest chapter of my army life occurred in Sydney and it would go on to shape the man I would become.
I was only 17 – The Final Chapter…..Click here.
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To say I was a student who under performed in high school would be an understatement. It’s not that I wasn’t intelligent; I just wasn’t interested in doing homework or studying. In fact, I don’t remember studying once. When I graduated from high school I was near the bottom of the class.
I never had any aspirations to go to university. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do. I did actually want to be a police officer, but with my results that was never going to happen.
Ever since I was 10 I had had a few different part time jobs. Answering phones for a small town’s taxi company. I had a paper round. I was a cleaner at Donut King. I was even writing labels at a record store before ending up at Coles Supermarkets as a trolley boy and check out rooster. I think Coles management were considering me for a full time career there but I remember thinking at the time that I don’t want to work in a supermarket for the rest of my life. So I did what a lot of other young men and women do straight out of high school. I enlisted and joined the Australian Regular Army.
So exactly 2 months after finishing high school and aged 17, I took my oath to the Queen of Australia that I would defend my country. That day, I said goodbye to my family and friends who saw me off at the airport and was sent off to Basic Training at Kapooka in New South Wales.
That afternoon, myself and another 10 blokes from Queensland arrived and were shown to our platoon quarters. Our platoon was located in Alpha Company, 4th Platoon. We were instructed by the corporals to prepare the barracks for the arrival of the other recruits from the other states. It was great to be doing something different. There was a sense of excitement. We were boys and we were about to be men.
The following day, the remainder of the recruits arrived. We were kitted out with our greens (fatigues), back packs, boots, PT gear, sneakers, brass, the SLR Rifle, bayonet, shaving kit and a whole heap of other standard issue gear. We were then marched up to the barber and we all lost our hair. It was the first time I had ever had a crew cut. It was weird seeing my hair fall away from the clippers instead of being cut by a female hairdresser. Weird but exciting.
Next we were given a meeting by our instructors. All seemed very nice and funny. The majority of our instructors were corporals with one sergeant and one lieutenant in overall charge. We were taught how to shave (most of the guys there had never shaved before). We were also taught how to iron our clothes using enough starch so they would stand up on their own. We were also shown how to make our beds to a military standard including using hospital corners. We were given the night to get our lockers into military order. There was an air of excitement among the guys. I remember calling my mum at home and telling her how exciting it was. The next phone call home a few weeks later would be vastly different
The first morning, reveille was at 6am sharp. We were informed the night before that when we heard “Hallway 4” called out at any time we were to repeat the call and we were to assemble outside our room, standing at attention immediately. So when the call came at 6am while we were all still sleeping, it was a bit of a shock to the system. We were yelled at and told we had less than 10 minutes to shave, dress and make our beds and of course we had to do this to perfection. Once completed, we were marched down to the mess hall for breakfast. The mess hall was fast filling with hundreds of other recruits all at different stages of training. Each week, a new platoon of recruits would arrive to commence their basic training.
After breakfast we were taken to a parade ground and taught how to march properly. All in unison. Now, marching may sound easy but in reality it isn’t. In theory when a person walks, when the right leg goes forward the left arm swings back and vice versa. There were some dudes whose right arm would swing forward when their right leg goes forward. When marching, it is very important that all recruits march in unison and create a great cadence. This is important as it looks much better and sounds great too. So for hours we were marched around the parade ground. This is January in outback Australia and it is hot. Guys were fainting and we were all dehydrating even though we were being instructed to drink from our canteens at regular intervals. It took a good week or so but eventually we got it.
That first night we were forced to take a shower and then present our naked selves to the instructors where they would check our genitals for god knows what. Actually I think they were checking for hernia, as we had to cough when the grabbed our testicles, but with them not being doctors I don’t think they would recognise the symptoms anyway. I actually think it was part of the process of breaking us down. While the showers were in cubicles there were no shower curtains so showering in front of your mates was the norm. Pretty embarrassing stuff but eventually you get over it.That first afternoon when the 13 week training period began, we were given fitness tests. Fitness was not a problem for me. I was extremely fit and handled the physical side easily. I was the fastest swimmer in the fully clothed test swim. I was mid pack in the running races and in the forward pack over the obstacle courses. I could do the chin ups and other rigorous exercises.
Mentally, it was taking a toll on all of us. We were treated like shit. All bar a few of the blokes in our platoon were no older than 18. Most of us didn’t have a lot of discipline about us and we were taught very quickly that you didn’t question orders and you did as you were bloody well told.
There were no days off. Training was seven days a week from 6am until 10pm. Granted we were in our rooms by about 7pm but our evenings were structured. Sometimes we would have hallway training sessions in how to polish brass or rifle maintenance. At times we were forced to write letters home. No computers and email back in those days so a lot of hand writing went on. I didn’t write a lot but I do remember writing a couple of letters to a girl I was sweet on. I got a couple of letters back from her but eventually the letters from her stopped. Her dad didn’t approve of a guy in the army as she and her twin were from a wealthy family. If I was enlisting as an officer it might have been a different story, but a ‘grunt’ is not of the standard this father had envisioned for his daughter. Being a father now myself, I can’t blame him.
We lost our identity. Gone were our first names. The instructors use to test us by asking our names. They would walk into the room and you would need to stand to attention. Less than an inch to your face, they would ask you your name. The answer was ‘recruit’ and if you answered with your real name you could expect some sort of physical punishment. Be it push ups or sit ups or planks or raising your feet 6 inches off the deck and holding it for what seemed an eternity. We learnt that lesson pretty fast.
It was tough work. Physically and mentally! They had to break us down to our raw selves to rebuild us as soldiers. Stronger, tougher, versatile, disciplined. I understand this now but at the time I didn’t. What 17 year old would? They were also building us into a team. If one of us was letting the platoon down, then we would all be punished. Part of the discipline was having to shave every day, whether you needed to or not. The razors we were supplied with were the old style straight edge razor where you would unwind the top and insert a new, sharp blade. They were extremely sharp. During the first week in training it was not uncommon to see a lot of the kids cut their faces to bits. I remember one morning a few weeks in, this one young recruit was busted shaving by one of the instructors, just after 5am in the morning. We’ll call him George. Prior to joining the army, George had never shaved before. He had no need. So George would wake up early and go to the bathroom and shave in his own time, making sure he didn’t cut himself. Once finished he would quietly go back to bed and then rise again when ‘hallway 4’ was called. Except this one morning when he got busted. We were all punished. We rushed into the hallway and stood to attention. We were read the riot act that we were not acting as a team. One of our team mates was letting us all down. So that morning we were given a wake up call right there in our boxer shorts in the hallway. We were given numerous push ups and other strenuous exercise. Remember we had only been awake for a few minutes and it was very difficult. From that point on, we all tried our best to help our team mates.
The ‘Hallway 4” call provided its own challenges. Sometimes the call would go out at 2 o’clock in the morning and we would dash and stand to attention until relieved by the instructors. Normally this would only last a minute or so and after we had sounded off we would be dismissed and head back to bed.
Sounding off is while standing at attention, the first recruit in line, when instructed, would call out the number 1. The recruit next to him would call out 2 and so on up and down the hallway at fast pace. Hopefully we got the count right and the last recruit in line would call out his number and this should match the amount of recruits in our platoon. If not, someone was in the head (latrines) or AWOL. Luckily it was always the former and never the latter. There was this one time at about 4am when the ‘hallway 4’ call went out and there we were, bleary eyed, standing to attention waiting for the instructor to issue orders. We waited and waited and waited. Nothing! Eventually after about an hour a brave recruit said ‘stuff this’ and went back to bed. One by one we all followed suit. It turned out that one of the recruits had been dreaming and called out ‘hallway 4’ in his sleep. That recruit was treated to a Code Red (yes, just like in the movie, A Few Good Men). While sleeping, the recruits would get a pillow case and put bars of soap or boots in it and come and hit the recruit as a form of punishment. It happened to me once but 20 years on, I don’t actually remember the reason why I got it. It was easily the worst moment of my life. The feeling that your platoon has turned on you is a hard one. It takes time and a lot of effort to redeem yourself. I was lucky that I was able to but it took time.
The first 4 weeks of training was the hardest. We were told when to eat, sleep, shit, shower. We had to walk past a coke vending machine everyday but weren’t allowed a single drop. I remember in week 5 when we were allowed to buy a can of coke, how sweet and cold it was. I can still remember the feeling to this day and I still think it is the best can of coke I have ever had! The daily torture of seeing the machine and not being able to have one, I liken to a crack addict not being able to have the cocaine locked in a see through box right in front of him.
In school I was super fit but running was not really my forte. I was more into team sports and kicking the footy around with one of my best mates after school everyday. The runs we did in the army were harsh. Wearing combat boots and full battle gear including rifles and back packs and doing 12 km hikes and runs were some of the hardest physical conditions I have ever been in. I hated each one of them. Most of our physical activity was done in full fatigues. Whether it was drilling (which I really enjoyed) or obstacle courses or running, we were wearing boots. In fact, the only time we wore sneakers was during our daily 40 minute PT session. I guess that when you go to war you don’t go in your Nikes and gym gear so it made sense to train us in full combat gear. However there was a downside to wearing the boots. In addition to the physical demands, our platoon was based on the top floor of a three story barracks block and with no lifts, we were constantly walking up and down the stairs throughout the day. This is where my current knee problems started and eventually would be the catalyst for my discharge from the army.
Around this time I started calling home to mum a lot. I needed someone to talk to and I remember crying a lot. I feel really bad now that I put my mum through that. Being a single parent is hard and I placed a lot of stress on her. Plus the phone bills mounted up as I was calling home reverse charge. There was no support mechanism there. You are thrust from being a boy to being a man in a few short weeks. Growing up without a father or brothers didn’t prepare me for what I would face and encounter. I couldn’t talk to my platoon mates because then I could expect a Code Red for being weak. I couldn’t talk to my superiors because then I could expect more punishment. My mum was my only conduit to talk to and she helped me through it.
In week 8, we were given 5 days leave and I went home. By this stage I was actually starting to enjoy training. I had done a hell of a lot of growing up and I was keen to share my experiences with the family. The ‘girlfriend’ came around to meet everyone at my mum’s place at a BBQ held for me. I never heard from her again after that! I still blame my family for scaring her away! Ha! Good riddance. I was happy to return to Kapooka for my final 5 week basic training course but I knew that this training would be the hardest of them all. There were immense challenges to come including the 3 day final challenge aptly named the “Challenge”.
I had learnt a lot of skills. First aid and orienteering included. I had done pretty well at orienteering in high school so it was great to put to use something I did learn at school. However the army orienteering course was huge and would take the better part of a whole day to complete. Also, I was one hell of a shot and was one of the top 2 shooters in the platoon which earnt me respect amongst the team – maybe they were worried I was gonna shoot them if they gave me a Code Red again!
The last couple of weeks you could see that we had really gelled as a platoon. We looked great. We marched in perfect unison. We drilled in perfect unison. We were fit and cocky.
Then one morning, tragedy! From our top floor barracks, a few hundred metres away, we could see an object swaying in the wind from the branches on one of the huge gum trees near the parade ground. It was a recruit from one of the other platoons who had killed himself during the night. I didn’t know him. We had heard stories of recruits killing themselves during basic training over the years. In fact, one had killed himself in the barracks directly below us just prior to us arriving. I can still see this poor fella, swaying slightly, silhouetted in the early morning sun. It will stay with me forever. A life wasted.
I wish I could say that this strengthened my resolve but unfortunately it made my stay at Kapooka even harder. I wanted out. I wanted to go home. I eventually approached my lieutenant and requested a discharge but was denied. Well not really denied but talked out of it. So close to graduating, I was assured that the worst was behind me. But if I did want to leave I could, but I would be held in a remand centre on base until basic training was over and my platoon had graduated. Now, I don’t think this was true. I think they could have sent me home right there and then but I assume they had an obligation to ensure I graduated otherwise it would have been tax payers money wasted on training me. So I elected to complete my training, grow up and enjoy my army career. Oh by the way. This was no civilised conversation. I was put into a room with the Sergeant and was told that if it was no longer illegal to strike recruits, he would be turning my face into marshmallows right about now. It was an easy decision to stay!
Week 13 finally arrives. We are all well trained but it is time to do the gruelling “Challenge”. This involved war games with simulated battles waged all day and all night. Each night we found ourselves in a new location and we dug our holes and burrowed in for the night. We never really slept as we were always on guard, looking for the enemy and ready to engage when the need arose. To complete the “Challenge” a demanding 12km hike and rifle range shoot was required. Carrying the mock injured through this final day on mock stretchers while trying to stay alive gave me a real appreciation for what real diggers had done over the years from Gallipoli to the Kakoda Track. Eventually we finished it. I was exhausted and relished the cup of hot chocolate and the dry bickies handed out at the finish line.
For the rest of the week it was all about rehearsing for the march out parade. The march out parade was full ceremonial dress and done in front of our family and friends. My mum and sister, Joanne and best friend, Mark all made the long trip down by driving from Brisbane. I was proud as punch to be graduating but to be doing it in front of those guys added extra meaning to it. I missed out on winning Best Shot in the platoon. I was later told that if I hadn’t have been a sooky lala I would have won it. Bugger. It didn’t matter, for now, I felt like a winner for just graduating.
The next day, we were all shipped off to our specialist training centres across the country. I had been accepted into the Transport Corp and another 13 week training period at Puckapunyal in rural Victoria awaited me.
Basic training takes boys and turns them into men. It isn’t easy. We all lost some of our innocence during those 13 weeks. We saw things that no one should see. We experienced highs and lows. Some of them significant. I look back now and regret it. I don’t regret being there, but how I spent my time there. I should have sucked it up more and enjoyed the ride. If I could go back 20 years to my 17 year old self, I would tell him to shut up and listen. Take the hits but keep on getting back up. Learn from those men how to be a man. Up until that point in my life I hadn’t had that opportunity to learn from a male figure. I had no brothers. My father lived in another state with limited access and my mum never remarried. By the end of the 13 weeks though, I had grown up….a lot! But I had a lot more growing up to do.
But that is a whole other story.
To be continued………..
I was only 17 – Part 2 – Puckapunyal – Click here.