The prospect was dismal. The cooking fires had been washed away and the chances of a hot breakfast for the troops seemed remote. As we thought of the men soaked to the skin out there in the bush, we found ourselves looking upon our platoon officer in a more kindly light. At least we had him to thank for the fact that we were sitting here dry and sheltered on a veranda, even if there were such minor disabilities as blistered hands and eyes that only saw "spudaters".

Then somebody remembered the cocky out there in the downpour. I rushed out and, rescuing him, brought him in and put his cage in front of a fire we had burning in an old stove. He was a poor bedraggled bird.

"Poor old cocky! Was he left out in all the rain, eh? " asked someone and, to our surprise and amusement, the bird replied, "Cocky wants a drink."

This remark put the lads in a better mood.

When we had abandoned all hope of the rain abating we made arrangements with the nearest garrison barracks to cook our prepared food, and, although they were some miles away, the tucker was transported there and cooked. Later it was taken to our men in the field who ate it with hearty relish.

And so they got a hot meal for breakfast after all, and we felt that our efforts in the defence of our country had not been in vain.

Oh yeah?

"W68694"

THE V.D.C. MAKES A MORTAR

IT was on a parade day early in ' 942 that "E" Company, 7th Battalion, V.D.C., first handled a 3-inch mortar.

That day the idea was conceived that the company should construct a mortar for its own training purposes, as it was known that there would be only one mortar for the whole battalion. By owning its own, the company could get more efficient training, even if the weapon was only a home-made article.

Some of the boys were sceptical, and a remark to the H.Q. instructor that a locally made mortar would actually fire dummy bombs was received with broad grins.

The task of producing a mortar was soon begun, and then many difficulties appeared. No measurements of the official mortar had been taken, so that the work had to be done largely by guess-work. However, material was gradually got together and the job worked out. Three-inch steam piping was cut to length and honed out for a barrel; a base-pin was engineered by hand from a 2-inch pipe plug and drilled, and then the striker was inserted and welded. After that, stop-band, hooks, and so forth were attached-and the barrel was complete.

The base-plate was made by securing a piece of quarter-plate and cutting it to size. The spikes were welded together from waste pieces of scrap plate and again welded to the base. The recess cup, setting-vane, and reinforcing ribs were made up and welded. and the result was that the base-plate was a very fair imitation of the original.

The bipod presented serious difficulties, if engineering costs and other expense were to be overcome. But elevating gear and traversing screw were essential, and in the end the difficulty was overcome with the aid of car jacks and a discarded vice screw. The cradle was made and attached to the traverse gear, a yoke was made, and as the parts were put together the bipod gradually took shape. Legs were made from piping; shoes and spikes for the feet, locking stays, elevating, tube and screw, together with handles for operating, were finally all fitted together, and the bipod was made.

Then came the problem of the bombs. But that wasn't going to beat us. Castings were out of the question, so pieces Of 3-inch pipe were vee-cut with a hacksaw to enable the bombs to take shape. Then they were heated in the forge, hand worked to shape, welded and ground; tail-pieces and fins were inserted, holes were drilled in the tail-pieces, a driving band was welded on-and we had our bombs!

After the working components, the bomb containers were easy. Finally, to complete the job, a barrel cleaner was made, also a spanner for the base-plug, and the whole packed into a solid box.

All this, of course, was not as easy as it sounds from a brief description, and ten weeks elapsed from the time we began the job to the time we had the mortar completed, for the work was done mainly after ordinary working hours and at night. And there was plenty of cheap wit flying around, too; remarks such as, "When is she making her debut?" and "Will she blow up during the course of construction~" and "The Japs will surely leave Dalby out of their plans now! " But in spite of the wit the mortar at last was finished down to a coat of camouflage paint.

Then everybody began looking forward to the day when we could try our new weapon out on the range. But before we could do that we had to obtain primary charges. All the boys were keen and interested, and shotgun cartridges were dug up from all sorts of places as well as two flasks of black powder. From the cartridges the shot was removed; they were then filled with powder and the wads replaced.

All was now ready. Our officers inspected the mortar and voted it quite a good effort. It would, they said, greatly assist our training, and, believe me, they became just as enthusiastic and eager to try out the local product as we were.

Then the great day arrived. We went through our general training, "bull-ring" style-range cards, distance judging, field-craft and all the rest 'of it. Meanwhile, a mortar crew was picked out, and, from instructions memorized by one of our members at standard mortar practice and sketched out on paper-we had no pam. on mortar then-reasonably good drill was achieved. With about an hour to go permission was granted to fire off a few rounds. The boys who were not in the team stood back, and the team got down to business. Suspense ran high!

Would she do the job? How far would the black powder cartridges hurl the bomb? Would she go off at all?

Range, target and base-plate position were given. "Action!" was called. No. 1 cried "On".  Down went the upraised arm-"Fire'

Did she work? womp! -and the "Ah, Ahs! of the boys crowned the effort as the bomb took flight. It went two hundred and seventy eight yards. So did the next and the next, with slight variations of ranges, until we had a misfire at the fourteenth. That was because the black powder had corroded the barrel so much that the bombs would not slide down to reach the striker stud.

We called it a day. And what a day! Our expectations had been realized.

Much has happened since that day early in 1942. We have had many practices and drills with our home-made mortar since then. Little faults were overcome, such as an occasional misfire, which is apt to happen with shotgun cartridges. We improvised discs, slotted and with firing-pins attached, and fitted them on to the tails of the bombs, so that no matter where the tail hit the striker stud the charge had to go off. The bombs were only 31b. in weight and in consequence developed peculiarities in flight, such as bad wobbles, tumbling, and deflection from target in a wind, but these were largely overcome later.

By trial and error we compiled a good deal of data for the economical use of charges and correct ranges. Our longest shot with a fully loaded shot-gun cartridge was 389 yards, but generally we loaded to fire 200 yards. We had no sight, and we reasoned that unless we had the regulation sight we would not be getting the correct training, and would be defeating our own purpose.

In the last eighteen months the old mortar has had quite a number of outings with the various platoons scattered over the country for a hundred miles around, and it is still pressed into service when the standard mortar is not available. Recently a standard mortar was allotted to our company and teams were picked from each platoon. These teams are most efficient and as keen as mustard. We feel that a great deal of that keenness is due to the fact that we were able to have practice with a substitute.

How we built our mortar and used it as an efficient training weapon is now history, but the pleasure and kick we got out of being able to train with something we had made ourselves was certainly well worth while.                                                                                                       "Q2253016"

O.P.,  0.C.,  O.K......OH HELL!

"N447978"

AN EXERCISE IN DECEPTION

He watched it idly, recalling that it was similar to the one that had been overhead some time previously. Suddenly the plane dropped a black object, which fell rapidly-then two, three, four and five, and a second or two later' parachutes opened. Five men were dropping to the ground! With a roar of its engine, the plane turned and flew away northwards, passing directly overhead-a huge black machine with no mark of any kind upon its wings.

There appeared to be something strange about the whole proceeding, Edwards told the sergeant. The plane had been in the vicinity for upwards of an hour, flying over the timber as if searching for a particular spot. As a huge aerodrome had recently been established in the neighborhood he felt that all was not well and had considered it his duty as a member of the local NT.D.C. to investigate. 

Walking swiftly towards the spot where the men had landed he saw the gleam of a little fire, and, on creeping cautiously for-ward through the bushes, came on five men seated around it talking 'in a foreign language. Enemy paratroops! He was convinced of that. It was nearly dusk and after waiting to make certain that his presence had not been detected he slunk away silently on all fours.

When he thought it safe to rise he did so and ran the rest of the way into the town.

That was Edwards's story. The sergeant at first thought it was all a joke. But Edwards sticking to his guns convinced him, and realizing the seriousness of the situation he ordered the immediate mobilization of the platoon.

As the men gathered in the little town, wondering what the unexpected summons meant, they found a stem-faced resolute sergeant awaiting them. Gone was their patient instructor, the man who was famous for his wit and his stories. As he rapped out his orders they instinctively jumped to obey. Calling them to attention he gave them the reason for their sudden call to arms.

They realized that they lived in an important military area. Besides the aerodrome which had been established near by, troop trains ran daily through Carpool and the State highway was also close at hand. But their platoon leader and four men had failed to respond to the call. Where they were the sergeant did not know. All he knew was that the enemy soldiers who had dropped from the skies were out to do some damage and it was his intention to capture them without delay.

From his store of experience, gained on the fields of Flanders where he had taken part in many a raid, he evolved a plan of operations. Two sections would attack the enemy camp from opposite sides. Men who had known the district from their boyhood were appointed to each section as guides. Zero hour was fixed at io p.m. At 9.59 the sergeant would imitate the night cry of the curlew, and if all was well the same call repeated twice one minute later would be the signal to attack.

The men synchronized their watches and then swiftly and silently set out on their enterprise. An hour later they gazed across the edge of a depression and saw the embers of a smoldering fire with what appeared to be figures about it. At the appointed time McPherson gave the prearranged signal. It was answered immediately from the other side. A minute later he repeated the call twice and the determined Home Guardsmen rushing in from either side flung themselves upon the recumbent figures about the fire. The surprise was complete; not a shot had been fired.

After a brief struggle the five "paratroops" were pinned to the ground. Calling for a torch the sergeant flashed it on to the face of his prisoner, to find that he was gazing into the amused eyes of his platoon leader, Lieutenant William Gordon. Turning the torch upon the other prisoners he discovered the four other missing members of the platoon.

The fire was kicked together and the men then gathered round to hear the mystery explained.

"Recently," said Gordon, "I received a communication from Headquarters reminding me of the many military undertakings in the district in which we live, and of the possibility of sabotage by paratroops. I was exhorted to be on the alert and to see that my men received training in various preventive measures. 

I, therefore, arranged with Private Edwards to spread the story of an enemy landing to see how you fellows would react, and, although I was expecting your approach, I have to confess that I never heard or saw a sign of you until you were right upon us. I must congratulate you, Sergeant McPherson, and all your men upon the effective effort you turned on."

"V374799"

THE BALLAD OF MORIARTY'S BULL

• You may call the roll once more, lad, to check up the old platoon, 
  • As my thoughts fly back to the dear old shack where I plotted with Mike Muldoon;
  • For we improvised a Stokes, lad, the pride of the V.D.C., 
  • And I'll tell you the tale again, lad, if you'll bear awhile with me.
• I'm sixty-eight or nearly, and I fought on the Anzac coast, 
  • Our mob was the best at the landing, though I'm never one to boast. 
  • And after the war was over, I never forgot my drill; 
  • I could step it out with the best, lad, and I'll prove I can do it still.

• Well, they formed the V.D.C., lad, up here at Flanagan's Flat; 
  • They saw I was ready to lead it, for I knew all the answers pat; 
  • So they made me a blooming sergeant, and didn't the boys all stare 
  • When I turned up next night with my armband-it was all they gave me to wear!
• Then I taught 'em to march in threes, lad, and I put 'em to do P.T. 
  • I said if they couldn't touch toes, why, they'd soon pick it up from me. 
  • And they settled down in a fortnight, and soon got into their stride, 
  • Till the colonel sent a signal and called up his special pride.
• Then we asked him to issue rifles, but never a one turned up. 
  • And the boys were beginning to grumble; they thought they'd been sold a pup. 
  • We'd appointed a quartermaster, but there wasn't a thing in his store; 
  • 'Twould have done you a power of good, lad, to hear how that Q.M. swore.
• "There isn't a -- rifle, and there isn't a --- Mills. 
  • If the Japs were to come to-morrow, we'd all have to take to the hills. 
  • I haven't a -- cartridge, nor a - - - khaki hat. 
  • They call us a ragtime army, and they tell the truth at that."
• Yet somehow we weren't downhearted, and our broomstick army grew. 
  • Then we got an issue of rifles, and we called them "the first of the few". 
  • We sloped and shouldered and trailed 'em, and cleaned 'em with loving care,
  • And sang that good old chorus, "Australia Will Be There".
• Then the boys got somehow restive. They wanted a mortar now. 
  • We summoned the village blacksmith. He made us one. The cow! 
  • He collected a lot of gadgets and bits of ploughs and such; 
  • And when it was put together it didn't scare us  - much!

• We took it out for practice one night when the moon was high, 
  • And we traversed and aimed our mortar towards the western sky. 
  • There were beads of sweat on my forehead, but I cursed myself for a fool;
  • Then I gave the word to fire it-and stuffed up my ears with wool.
• The bomb soared into the darkness, and we tried to trace its flight. 
  • There came a great explosion that rent the silent night. 
  • We all fell flat on our stomachs, for it sounded - near, 
  • And stayed there for several minutes, till I gave the word "All clear".
• It was Moriarty's paddock where the mortar bomb had burst, 
  • And I reached the spot at the double, for now I feared the worst. 
  • A body I saw on the greensward by the light of the moon so full; 
  • 'Twas the body of Moriarty's champion Hereford bull.
• How Moriarty cursed, lad! His words set fire to the trees, 
  • He wept a strong man's tears, lad, in the paddock there on his knees. 
  • And he sent a claim to the Army, but such is the Army's way 
  • They sent it back to us, lad, and we couldn't do aught but pay!
• I'm only a poor old soldier, and I'm just as simple as most; 
  • It'd take a lot of rum, lad, to make me see a ghost; 
  • But I'll swear I've seen a thing, lad, some nights in the moonlight full, 
  • With eerie, reproachful eyes, lad, the ghost of that - - - bull.

"V366887"

COMPENSATIONS

People, the smart ones, the ones who said "It can't happen here", laughed at us in those early days; that hurt: a man doesn't like his patriotism to be ridiculed. It nearly "happened here" but it didn't get quite close enough for me to go down the street, girded for war, and have people know that this was real, not just another manoeuvre. I would have liked to prove our patriotism and our enthusiasm and our efficiency; I know we could have done a good job. Now each week when I put on my uniform I know that I am putting it on for a different reason. It is the garb of comradeship.

I have been in the V.D.C. three years. And I ask myself, what have you gained? I don't answer that without considering. I pause to consider because there is so much I have gained and I want to forget nothing, not a single item.

First, I have discovered that I have a love of country that slumbered for twenty years, submerged beneath an embarrassment of being thought sentimental. Some people could write of it; others could paint; I could do neither without becoming maudlin. And

so I was just an Australian who lived from year to year in a country he accepted without praise or gratitude. Till there came a chance f or me to regain it and then my patriotism reawoke and became articulate.

I have found too that one is not too old when one has passed forty. There is a certain sadness about being a spectator. You watch and you admire or you criticize but all the time, subconsciously, there is the thought that you should be in the scene, part of it, integral to the aim, and you sit and chew the cud of your own futility, bound by your lack of talent, the necessary permission, or your age. I felt like that when I saw the young men, echoes of my own youth, go marching down the street, and I welcomed the V.D.C. with an enthusiasm that is still fresh after three years.

There are other things I have gained. They are small things, like a knowledge of modern weapons, field-craft, Morse; inches off my waist-line-it would be more correct to say I lost there, rather than gained: the physical effort was the gain; a springiness about my step that wasn't there before; an analytical interest in the war. They all add up to the fact that I feel more useful than I did three years ago.

And I have found comradeship again. That is a big thing, one of the things I am most grateful for. We have been a body of men who came from milk carts and workbenches and office-desks and pottering in the garden to do a job, mingling with friendship and mutual understanding, welded in a common cause, and I have come to know and respect men who, but for this, would have been only the men opposite me in the morning tram, strangers behind a newspaper. I am richer in those blessings that arise out of human relationship, a man who has once again captured the spirit and comradeship of the first A.I.F., a man thankful for the V.D.C. and what it has meant for him.

"N318118"

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