OUTPOST DUTY

Wairarapa Times-Age, 24 December 1942, Page 2

OUTPOST DUTY

NEW ZEALAND TROOPS IN NEW CALEDONIA “NOT SUCH A BAD SPOT” INTERNATIONAL CONTACTS. (Official War Correspondent, N.Z.E.F.) NEW CALEDONIA, December 9. New Zealand land forces today hold a more prominent place than ever before in the barrier of Pacific island defences which block the Japanese from further southward aggression and are being developed as potential bases for offensive action. The New Zealanders are serving as protective forces on several South Pacific islands, the most important of which is the Fighting French possession of New Caledonia, 1000 miles north of the Dominion. The New Zealanders have set new links in the chain of fortifications which puts a semi-circle of steel round their own country and Australia and the supply routes from America. Their arrival here is another milestone in the Dominion's growing share of responsibility in the Pacific theatre of war, where units of the Royal New Zealand Air Force have been actively engaged for several months. Composed to a large degree of officers and many who had training in garrison duty and island warfare in Fiji, the New Zealand expeditionary force landed here with less fanfare than has accompanied any other major overseas draft. From a military point of view its arrival was no novelty to an island which has known for many months the hurly-burly of preparations for war, and. whose skies and highways have long been filled with the din and dust of combat aircraft and military traffic. The felt hats of the New Zealand troops, however, excited warm interest when they began to appear among the soft caps of the Americans and the peaked headgear of the Fighting French. The wearers of all three greeted one another enthusiastically. They found that they could get along together very well. The Americans have a frank and sincere admiration for the war effort of the Dominion, and the reputation of its fighting men; the New Zealanders like the way the Americans get things done and their ungrudging generosity and helpfulness; and the men of both forces respect the Fghting French for their intense faith in their motherland and their determination to continue the fight. American Naval Escort. The transportation of the force from the Dominion to New Caledonia was a United Nations achievement in itself. I journeyed here in an American onetime world cruise liner which was packed with New Zealand troops and was under escort provided by the United States Navy, and we were ferried ashore in barges flying the Cross of Lorraine, the symbol of Fighting France. Memories of the voyage of the First Echelon to Egypt came crowding back as we sailed north into the steadyily warming waters of the Pacific. The boat drills, the crowded decks, the mess queues and the green faces of seasick men were all the same. The songs that rose from one group after another at sunset were the same in spirit, though the tunes were new —and sometimes better, such as the one the gunners had about “bunging 'em. in and bunging ’em out.” If I missed anything, it was the boyish excitement that went with us that first time when the.war was very young and we were bound for destinations really unknown. This time, now that troop convoys are no longer novel and overseas service is not so much an unknown quantity, the atmosphere was subdued. Scraps of information about the nature of New Caledonia went the rounds of the ship, and one result was the brushing-up of schooldays’ French. Minds were racked for phrases like “Bonjour, m’selle” and “Comment al-lez-vous?” A little knowledge became a precious thing. “As long as you can remember a few words,” said an infantryman in a tone of authority, “it doesn’t matter how you make ’em sound.”

The rails were thickly lined with men as the ship passed through the reefs and the high, rugged mountains which dominate the island loomed ahead. It could have been North Auckland or the East Coast district, they said, gazing at the steep, barren hillsides and the sparse bush. It was not nearly as tropical-looking as Fiji, and not nearly as hot. There were pebbly streams and farmsteads like the ones at home. It “might not be such a bad spot." And that first impression held fast as they stepped ashore in the bustling port, welcomed by a “Hi ya, Noo Zealand?” from a grinning American, and it lingered as trucks whisked them to a transit camp through streets lined with shuttered French shops and flame trees and signs with words like “Etablissment” and “Couturier” and “Paris Bar.”