(or How I learned to love the war and stop
worrying – for a day)
© Roger Lambert
C Company 2nd Tour |
 |
With military precision (well, what else would
you expect from the Tigers), plans were put in
place for the traditional start to Christmas
Day, Thursday 25 December 1969. At the
appointed hour (something like zero dark 30
hours as I recall), the officers of C Company
assembled at "Yarralumla" for a final briefing
before proceeding to the company kitchen.
"Yarralumla", for those of us whose memories are
fading (like mine), was the name of the
Officer Commanding Charlie Company’s ‘hootchie’
(tent) (I guess by comparison to our humble
sand-bagged abodes, the OC’s digs probably did
resemble the Governor General’s official
residence in some ways!)
Aluminium cooking pots containing coffee were
decanted for ease of handling (handy things
those hot-boxes with their inner containers) and
armed with a suitable quantity of rum, we
proceeded to our respective lines to serve up
the Coffee Royale to our troops. I suspect that
our diggers were very pleased to see us on two
counts:
1. their officers were serving them instead of
vice versa; and
2. we were serving alcohol in the lines.
Now of course we all know that no
self-respecting Aussie digger would disobey
Standing or
Routine Orders and consume alcohol in the lines.
Not in such a professional outfit as Charlie
Company. Those buried "Trunks, Metal, Troops for
the Use Of" were only there to store 'goffas'
(soft drinks) and to prevent chocolate from melting in
the tropical heat. Right?
— Yeah right!
With the Coffee Royale duly served, the officers
retired to Yarralumla to finalise plans for
the
rest of Christmas Day including the Army
tradition of serving lunch to our troops. This
was
the first misjudgement of the day. No, not the
planning but rather gathering in the OC’s ante
room.
One Captain David Wilkins produced a bottle of
rum that he’d been sent from Australia. It
was white rum. Not to my individual taste but,
heck, beggars can’t be choosers. David
proceeded to extol the virtues of this fine
Australian rum as healthy portions were poured
into
our "Cups, Canteen, Troops for the Use Of."
Cheers, Happy Christmas and all that and down
the hatch. Bottoms up.
What the heck is going on here? My lips have
gone numb, my eyes are watering and now I
can’t feel my tongue! There’s an acute burning
sensation in my throat that’s proceeding down
my windpipe! There’s a gurgling in my stomach
that would do a volcano about to erupt proud!
I’m now getting concerned about how quickly this
rum is going about its business dissolving
my intestines and what was going to happen by
the time it hit the outlet valve of my bowels
(or what was left of them).
Another? asked David. By now the initial
impact of the first healthy dose of Inner Circle
had
settled. Either that or I was so severely
injured by that first hit, the equivalent of a
napalm
strike, my body and mind had no idea what was
going on and that same foreign voice that
seemed to come from me says "Yes, please."
Idiot! Who said that?! I’m bloody well
possessed!!
I didn’t dare light a cigarette while the top
was off that bottle for fear that there would be
an
instant detonation and the entire officer group
of Charlie Company would be incinerated.
Come to think of it, had we sprayed this stuff
over the jungle and lit it up with WP, (White
Phosphorous) we could
have obliterated the entire Province and have
been home by New Year’s Day!
Holy Dooley! Now my legs have developed an
inability to keep me upright, so it’s a case of
get into the "Chairs, Canvas, Folding, Troops
for the Use Of" lest I end up a heap on the
floor
and having to leopard crawl my way around! "What
the hell is that?" some guttural, almost
spectre-like voice that didn’t seem to be my own
croaked.
David proceeded to extol the virtues of CSR
Inner Circle Rum. Man, that stuff was 100 Proof
if it was a day.
Fair dinkum, I reckon if a Huey ran out of fuel,
you could pour this in the tank and the turbine
would happily run as it would on Aviation
Turpentine. But I don’t think you could put it
in the
trusty Zippo though as one spark and it would
probably blow your head off.
And so started Christmas Day in Nui Dat, 1969.
So how was Christmas Day so far? Well, let’s say
that the digger’s lunch, with us serving,
went off very well and things seemed to be going
pretty much according to plan. A good feed,
good company and perhaps a wee bit too much grog
— a great Army tradition. But heck, I
wasn’t feeling any pain. The CSR anaesthetic was
seeing to that. Now there’s another
thought
— the Doc could have used Inner Circle
during minor operations and one would not
feel any pain.
Did the day get any better? Well, things started
to go downhill somewhat when a Half-Ton
Trailer appeared in the company lines. Not just
any trailer
— this one was full of beer. How on
earth did that thing get here and where did it
come from?
Hang on
— that’s a US Army jeep (or Mutt as they
referred to them). Where the heck did that
come from?
"What do you mean you swapped it for a Slouch
Hat complete with puggaree and badge?"
There’s that guttural, foreign voice again but
the diggers are looking at me.
Take the bloody thing back say the voice.
"Ah,
but Skipper" rings out the chorus.
"Don’t argue. Just take the thing back where you
got it or you’re all on a fizzer!" (A charge for
military misconduct) That voice
—
who’s saying these words and why are they
looking at me?
"And where did that trailer come from?" I am
possessed; that trailer is full of cold beer and
this voice keeps telling them to get rid of it.
Pull yourself together man. There’s sure to be a
logical explanation and after all, it is more
beer.
"We brought it up from
"X" Company, boss" says
the chorus. Smart cookies these diggers.
Don’t let one bloke be the spokesman and take
the wrap, but all speak up together and it’s
most unlikely everyone will be placed on an A4
—
one for all and all for one.
"X" Company, you say" says the foreign voice
seemingly coming from me. "That’s OK then.
Just stash the beer and get rid of the evidence
… er … trailer." Did I say that?
And so Christmas
Day 1969 in Nui Dat passed without further
incident. Well, almost.
The trailer
with the beer had been missed, reported stolen
and the "Sheriff" and his trusty band of RP’s
(Regimental Police) were on the trail. The OC hauled we platoon
commanders in and demanded to know what we knew
of the missing trailer.
I swore blind
that my boys didn’t do it and would never do
such a thing. In hindsight, how good was it that
I was still affected by that dreaded CSR Inner
Circle? I could have used the defence that I was
possessed by the 'spirit' and that it was not me
doing the talking.
To the best of my
knowledge, at the end of the day, the US Army
inventory had the correct tally of jeeps and the
missing trailer mysteriously turned up with its
rightful owners
— albeit empty. I swear that I
have no idea what happened to the contents
although Southwark is not to my taste either …
Some years later,
as I thought back on my introduction to CSR
Inner Circle Rum and Christmas Day 1969, a chill
ran down my spine when I hypothesised what might
have happened if D445 and whomever else was in
the Province at the time had decided to launch
an attack on Nui Dat that day. Nah! Had they
even contemplated an assault and had they got
through the wire and perimeter defences, the
alcohol fumes and the frequent belching and
farting would have completely disoriented them
if not repelled them. 'Chemical warfare' would
have saved the day!
Then of course we
had our secret weapon to employ
— CSR Inner
Circle Rum. Thanks, David. To this day I still
reckon that, among other things such as
soldiering, the Army taught me how to drink and
smoke
— well, I’ve got to blame somebody.
PS.
"X" Company
is designed to protect the innocent after all
these years. Let’s just say it was one of ours
'down the hill'.
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