Two
steel helmets appeared from somewhere and there were given to two
smaller men who had the job of baling which they did and did well.
Being small, they took up less room in the whaler. Naturally each
helmet full of water taken from the whaler lightened it. As many
as could were ordered to blow up life jackets as tightly as possible
and surround the whaler. These men had to lift with all their strength
while swimming with the boat. It was a long and painful operation
but, centimetre by centimetre, we were winning. Finally, with most
of the small holes plugged with pieces of rag and clothing, we had
the boat up on the raft – or floating dock – and almost dry.
This
was accomplished through sheer determination, grit and strength of
character which I like to think related to young healthy Australians
– if not today, then it did in the days of my youth. It must be remembered
that in the 80-90 hours since Armidale went down, we had practically
no food or water and had suffered badly from heat in daylight hours
and from cold at night. Someone described our flesh as "tripe-looking".
The continual submergence was having its unpleasant effect. The coral
dust was penetrating broken flesh and ulcers were the result. The
occasional rubbing of bodies against bodies or flotsam brought cries
of pain. We were a weird-looking mob. In my case, I recall that the
mattered oil in my beard and hair was cruelly uncomfortable. However,
we worked on with no thought of giving up until we had the bigger
holes in the whaler patched and plugged. When she was finally floated
again, the intake of water was controlled by baling with the two helmets.
Floating
again on the water, the whaler gave indescribable relief as we each
were given a turn to rest our weary bodies. At this stage whilst resting
in the whaler, I first realised that time was taking its toll. No
food or water to speak of was quite evident. I was looking into faces
covered in despair – and oil – and the eyes were sinking back into
their sockets. I was pleased I couldn’t see my oil sodden bewhiskered
face – the clean-shaven blokes were bad enough.
That
night we continually changed from treading water to a turn at sitting
in the whaler. But the baling continued: it was a never-ending race
to keep the water out.
Lieutenant.
Palmer discussed the bleak situation with us next morning – the 5th
day – and we all believed that the motor boat hadn’t been sighted
or something worse had happened to it. It was readily agreed that
he (Palmer) should take as many of the strongest sailors in the whaler
and head for Darwin. Perhaps if the skipper hadn’t been lucky, then
Palmer and his crew might be. It was worth a try.
Then
Lieutenant. Palmer chose the 28 others to make up the 29 who would
fit in the whaler. He was the only person who was capable of steering
a course to Darwin. As stated earlier, I was selected but I don’t
know why. I hope that Lieutenant. Palmer had some hope in me as a
rower!
The
scene at the raft was not a pleasant one as we said a tearful cheerio
to our mates. I became very worried at the time when we rowed out
of sight of the raft folk. Was I deserting my mates? Was there a hope
that could be sighted? Could help eventually be sent to the raft?
These thoughts still haunt me. And I’ll never know the answer. I will
never know exactly what those of the raft were thinking.
Never
look back – isn’t that what we’ve been taught? Well, we settled down
to a steady rhythm and set our hopes on reaching Darwin. Progress
was slow because with only one whaler oar plus half a dozen smaller
and makeshift ones, it was difficult to keep the boat on course. As
I looked around the whaler with its holes all plugged and a huge repair
in the stern, I realised that we were nearly "up the creek without
a paddle". What a mess, just because a bloke in Darwin had said "Air
attack is to be accepted as ordinary, routine, secondary warfare"
On even terms, yes but in the case of Armidale, what a load of codswallop!
I wished that same fellow could have been sitting on one of these
thwarts with us and his behind was becoming more chafed with the continual
sliding across the thwart as pressure was put on the oar and his broken
blisters were turning into tropical ulcers because of the infestation
of the coral dust! It’s a cruel world at times
Imagine
29 men in a boat 27 feet long, probably 10 trying to row, 2 baling,
and 17 others trying not to get in the way of the workers. Imagine
lying on the bottom of the whaler in water 6 inches deep, the legs
and feet of rowers continually brushing or rubbing your body and the
tin hats of the balers spilling down your festered body! Not a nice
picture. Not a good story but very true. How much can the human body
stand? I guess we had some sleep but I can’t remember ever waking
up. The night was bitterly cold again but at least as we took our
turn at rowing or baling we were able to keep a little warmth in our
body.
Bill
Lampshade used his pusser’s knife to cut up some floorboards. He then
used the knife to extract a screw or two from the boat. He eventually
screwed the boards together and fashioned a tiller which helped to
keep us on a straighter course.
Day
6 and the motor boat mob was picked up by HMAS Kalgoorlie but of course
we didn’t know this at the time.
Day
6 for the whaler crew was, if anything, worse than Day 5. Of course,
we were quickly using up our energy and our sores were getting worse.
Even to hold the oar was an effort with our cracked, swollen and festering
hands. How long could we last? This too was the day of the Pacific
Gull which obligingly landed on an extended oar, As the oar was gently
pulled into the boat, the bird stayed very still until it was within
grabbing distance. Then it realised that it still had wings and flew
off. Later, it returned to the oar we offered but again flew off just
as we were about to grab it. I can remember that, had it been caught,
we’d have eaten it, feathers and all!! Today, 56 years on, what a
terrible thought!
Another
freezing night! It was always better to be rowing at night. Our behinds
were getting so ulcerated that it was agony to try and sit as we rowed.
Our progress was slowing. A tired body with skin peeling from sunburn
is not much value in this situation.
By
this stage, clothes were freely given to make sails which we tied
together and hoisted on a long oar, hoping to catch any draught that
happened along. Of course, some sailors were in a seriously weakened
condition and were offered extra clothing to help keep cold out and
to prevent the sun from fiercely burning them. Some of us were still
offering prayers for help and our thanks for survival to this date.
In our position, praying was easier than rowing!
Day
7 came and now I’m confused because I think this was the day of the
Gull! However, it doesn’t matter much. The bottle of water was found
to be empty, Someone stated to Frank Walker that the water was stolen
from the lemonade bottle, Whoever told the story stated that two men
were responsible and that everyone knew who it was. I disagree. I
didn’t know who had taken the water and the storyteller didn’t either.
But because two men were sitting near it, they got the blame. One
was my friend and I wouldn’t believe he’d do such a thing. In fact,
I know he wouldn’t! No-one was seen to do it. Anyone could have been
responsible, Most of us were going bonkers and wouldn’t have been
responsible for our actions. As far as I’m concerned, It’s a mystery
and will remain that way.
On
this day we’d become accustomed to being hungry and lack of food wasn’t
much of a problem. But, thirst was a different matter. Tongues were
swelling and we needed water. We were all craving for liquid, preferably
water. Thirst added to the torments of ulcers, broken skin, swollen
joints. We were so desperate that we caught the little bit of urine
we could muster in a rusty bully beef tin and tried to drink it. Not
a lot of luck but at least it moistened our mouth and helped to delay
the swelling of our tongue. It was terrible! Disgusting – but life
is sweet! Ugh! The less we think about this, the better.
We
battled on. The least little thing would start an argument. We were
skinny and terrible to look at, ribs well to the fore and the oil
in our hair and whiskers had dried out and was brittle and bent our
hair into strange shapes. I didn’t think it was possible to live in
these conditions. Attempts to swim ashore were common and the offenders
were dealt a heavy whack and were often knocked out for the count
of 10! On regaining common sense, the offender would return to his
usual calm and would settle down. It was a shocking time.
Sharks
and sea-snakes were still with us and the occasional bloke who went
over the side was quickly pulled back aboard.
I
think on the eighth day our prayers were heard and answered. The sky
clouded over early in the day and squalls narrowly missed us. But
in the end a light rain fell and it was the most wonderful feeling
to find it splashing lightly on our bodies. We were ready for this
happening. With deflated life jackets we were able to catch sufficient
water for each man to have a reasonable drink and still have a few
pints in reserve. Some had split their life jacket open and caught
the run-off in them. Wonderful water! The filthy old urine tin came
in handy – a bit on the nostril but who cared? This drink seemed to
give us new life. Even the pain from the ulcerated behinds seemed
to vanish. Our spirits were up and it was "Look out Darwin, here we
come!"
It
was at this stage that I was dubbed "Ordinary Seaman Pullen with the
radio-location ears". I thought I heard and aircraft and shouted for
silence. But no-one else could hear it. I stuck to my guns and said
an aircraft was near. Everyone searched high and low for a plane.
I was sure it was getting closer and eventually others heard it too.
A few minutes later, not only could we hear the plane but it hove
into sight.
Lieutenant.
Palmer asked for calm. There was no sense in having put up with days
of hell to find that we had broken up our friend the whaler through
sheer undisciplined behaviour. It was a Catalina flying boat and it
headed towards us. But it turned away from us and disappeared. Presently
it returned and this time flew over us and around us. Signal lamps
blinked from the plane and the message was received by our signalman.
Answer was returned by semaphore. As the plane circled round us, it
dropped a bundle into sea. We paddled toward the bundle and found
it to be a blanket. Inside the blanket was a note which said "Your
captain is safe. We have found the raft. Dropped them all our food
and water and now we are returning to Darwin to send out a ship for
you."
At
this moment Lieutenant, Palmer realised there was no point in continuing
to row. The Catalina crew had noted the exact bearing where we were,
so why move away? The ship would come to us. We were told to stop
rowing. Had our prayers been answered? Definitely.
The
effort over the past few days had been well rewarded. Suddenly we
realised that our work was done except for the balers. So, the two
hats were passed around the fittest of us and the never-ending baling
continued. We simply couldn’t allow the volume of water to increase
inside the whaler.
What
amazed us was the most of the time since Armidale had been sunk, the
weather had been good and the seas calm. At the time we were sighted,
the water was too rough for the Catalina to put down on the sea!
We
knew we’d have to settle down for at least one more night and we did
just that as gently as possible. No bodies were ever more broken that
the 29 inmates of the whaler. It was simply impossible to get into
a comfortable and painless position. So the night passed, long and
cold and very painful – and with no rowing to occupy our minds or
the warm our bodies. A turn or two at baling and the sun came up again
to mercilessly burn us – burn upon burn!
Daylight
and still no ship to be seen but surely rescue was getting closer!
Not long after, a plane appeared – a Hudson bomber – soon to the followed
by more Hudsons. Have you ever seen grown men cry? What a pathetic
scene.
This
was 13 Squadron of Hudson Bombers. They flew over us, dropping parcels
of food. Sharks or no sharks, we were over the side, attempting to
rescue as much as we could. Four-gallon tins of water were dropped
and it was a struggle to get a couple into the whaler – we were so
weak. Eventually we had rescued as much as our weak bodies would allow
so we set about having a feed and plenty of water.
What
a change had come over us. Most of us were laughing and joking as
if we were just out on a training run on the bay. Tucker and water!
You bloody beauty! There was also a message from 13 squadron. "Merry
Christmas, Boys. 13 Squadron takes off their hats to you, even though
you nearly shot us down." They referred to an incident which occurred
about the second morning after we had left Darwin. Thirteen Squadron
approached us from directly ahead and just above water level. A sitting
duck for our 4-inch gun! We signalled for identification but they
ignored us. By this time, our gun was trained on them and the order
to fire was given. Instantly, these planes – about 9 of them – spread
out like a huge fan and signal lamps quickly blinked out that they
were friends. This was possibly the only decent shot the gun crew
ever got in!
More
food and another note was picked up. "a corvette will pick you up
in about 3 hours. We have given it a course to steer."
HMAS
Kalgoorlie hove in sight right on time. She hove to and we rowed alongside
to her scrambling nets and were soon helped aboard by wonderfully
kind crew members.
Our
legs were like strips of liquorice and we had to be carried in to
the mess deck where lovely hot soup or stew was being issued to survivors
-–for surely that's what we were now! The sheer luxury of Kalgoorlie’s
mess decks was only bettered by their showers. After a feed or as
much food as we could manage, each one of us was carried to the showers
where we sat or knelt on the deck while Kalgoorlie sailors helped
us clean ourselves up. Boy, oh boy! – soap and hot water! What a combination!
What a luxury!
You
won’t believe that we were no sooner back on the mess deck when the
"Action Stations" alarm was sounded! I must say that my confidence
was tested. However, one shot from Kalgoorlie was the only bit of
action! A Jap bomber had sighted the ship but kept its distance and
then flew away.
It
was then that I realised my glands on the left side of my neck were
extremely swollen. Up until now I hadn’t noticed but suddenly I was
in great pain Only a bit more pain really. We were all chocka with
pain from the top of the head to the tips of our toes.
We
enjoyed a good sleep as Kalgoorlie conveyed us to Darwin and the hospital
where we were united with the Captain and his mob from the motor boat.
I must admit that I have very little recollection of our arrival.
I think I may have headed for "Fantasy Island". I have been told that
Commodore Pope lined us up on the wharf and spoke a few words of welcome.
I can’t help but think he’d rather we’d been lost at sea. Our arrival
didn’t help him much.
I
forgot to mention that Lieutenant-Commander Litchfield – Kalgoorlie’s
skipper – asked whether we would like the whaler to be brought back
as a museum piece. "Yes please" was our definite answer. The Kalgoorlie
crew brought two strops and put them under and round our whaler and
brought it to the mine-sweeping winch. They began to lift it out of
the water but, before they could bring it inboard, this beaut boat
which had saved 29 men simply broke up into matchwood. We were very
disappointed but we realised just how close we’d been to Death’s door
over the last few days!
Now
back to Darwin. We were taken to the hospital where we met the Skipper’s
motor boat men. It was made known to us that the raft and its mob
couldn’t be located. They had vanished/ and to this day, nothing is
known of what happened to them. Their disappearance after being sighted
is a compete mystery.
We
were warned that we must not speak about Armidale’s loss! We Were
almost treated as suspects, as though we had purposely sunk the ship.
I
was put in what I termed "the fattening pen". The other survivors
were in a big ward but I was later taken to the "fattening pen". It
was about 8’ x 6’ with a single bed. The walls were only mosquito
or fly wire. I think I was there because I had "suppuration of the
glands". I didn’t think it was infectious but it was sore. Whilst
on this subject, I will tell you that within a few days the doctor
and his team of heavyweights took me to another room, hardly a theatre
threw a hunk of cotton wool over my nose and began pouring chloroform
on the cotton wool. I thought 29 rotten blokes in a whaler stunk but
they were as eau de cologne" compared to this muck. Eventually I lost
the battle and wafted away into never-never land. During my spell
in that land. " The bloke" opened the glands and cleaned them up.
After much vomiting and saying a few words about the parentage of
the doc and his mob, I arrived back at normality. I must say that
life was more pleasant without that "gunk".
It
was wonderful to be safe and sound in Darwin and particularly in the
hospital. We were treated well there and the bed was very cosy. No
more sun to burn by day nor the chilli air to freeze us by night.
Plus, of course, the essentials to look like normal humans. One by
one we were sent to various hospitals to do the more serious operation.
One thing I will never understand is why Ted Morley – the bloke with
his jaw shot away – wasn’t flown out much more quickly than he was.
Ted was flown out from Darwin six days after being admitted. He was
to be operated on in Brisbane only to find he had to continue to Sydney
before major operations to get his jaw repaired.
As
for me, my cousin Chief Petty Officer Keith Pullen was stationed at
HMAS Melville. When Keith heard I was in Darwin Hospital, he came
at the double. What a champion bloke with a great sense of humour.
I was on a very strict diet. You’d have thought the hospital staff
was trying to take weight off instead of fattening me. I had lost
two and a half stone in the ten days since Armidale went down. Now,
Keith sussed the joint out and realised he could visit me about 6
O’clock each night. He’d arrive with a small tin of preserved peaches
plus a small tin of Nestles cream, both opened. He’d enter the fattening
pen and take up his position behind the door. He’d then tip the cream
into the can of fruit and hand it to me with a spoon. I quickly shovelled
the fruit down my throat and gave everything back to Keith. Then he’d
disappear and destroy the evidence! Thus he assured me of more years
to follow! Great stuff! I have always said that Keith was the bloke
who saved my life and I meant it.
During
my stay in hospital. I saw the Red Cross once and they gave me a washer
and soap, toothbrush and toothpaste, even though I had no teeth. When
I suggested some clothes, they told me I’d be kitted out when I got
the Melbourne! I must admit that I had a pair of shorts, a shirt and
a pair of shoes which the kind crew of Kalgoorlie had handed me. I
was still wearing them when I reached Melbourne weeks later! They
must have been on the nose by then!
I
could continue this saga but enough is enough! What has always amazed
me is the crook treatment and the bad press we Armidaleans received
from the Navy – this navy which I really loved took until 1992 – 50
years after the event – to forgive us and hand out a bouquet or two.
Our wonderful Skipper, Lieutenant-commander Richards, wasn’t given
another command, but Lieutenant Whitting who lay wounded in the motor
boat was given command of another corvette – HMAS Colac, I think.
In
conclusion, I would like to make the point that, over a period of
56 years, my memory may have slipped a cog or two. However, as I read
through this account, I am confident that what I’ve recorded is about
spot-on. No doubt each survivor has his particular story to tell but
mine is full of admiration for the tenacity and sheer determination
of those concerned to survive and try to get help for our mates on
the raft. History will tell that we accomplished what we set out to
achieve but the sad part is that the raft and its occupants disappeared
the day after the RAAF had reported finding them. For us, that was
a sad conclusion to what in other respects was a successful mission.
