(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'.
TALES FROM THE TIGER
|
CONTENTS PAGE |
