Story 89 - Back to the World
Rest and Recreation
By Ken Mackenzie OAM
During the Vietnam War, the normal
leave available to Australian Soldiers serving in Vietnam was: Rest
and Recreation (R&R) - a five-night ‘Out of Country’ leave, and Rest
and Convalescence (R&C), a three day ‘In-Country’ leave.
R&R was normally the first time
Vietnam war ribbons were worn.
Photo supplied by Ken Mackenzie.
R&C was normally taken in groups, and
spent at the purpose-built R&C Centre. This was located in the
southern beach-side city of Vung Tau, not far from the 1st
Australian Logistical Support Group (1 ALSG) base.
In addition, individuals could also be
granted a ‘stand-down’ of not less than 48 hours at the R&C centre
As a rule, R&R was generally taken
around the six-month mark of our one-year tours of duty. Although
for practical purposes and manning issues, it could be taken earlier
or later. R&C could be taken much more frequently, e.g., every
couple of months depending on the nature of operations.
In 1971, our choices of R&R
destinations were: Australia; Bangkok; Hong Kong, and Chinese Taipei
(Taiwan)1. US
Servicemen could also travel to Australia, the Philippines and
Hawaii.
Looking at an R&R Poster for
Australia. Internet Source.
Due to the unrelenting pace of 4RAR/NZ
(ANZAC) Battalion's Operations, I hadn’t been able to take R&R
and was going to give it a big miss. However, by late August, we’d
been in the field for three and half months. We were tightly wound;
bordering on feral, and it was showing.
I needed a break away from the
Battalion.
The answer seemed obvious: spend some
time in a ‘normal’ environment around ‘normal’ people, again. So, I
contacted 104 Sig Sqn and asked them to set the wheels in motion for
an R&R to Australia.
It would also be a good opportunity to
check on my recently-widowed Mother and my elderly Grandparents.
Within a couple of weeks, I was on my
way.
The Journey begins
The area south from Courtenay Hill to
Duc Thanh was a notorious ‘hot zone’.
The view from Courtenay Hill,
Long Khanh Province, South Vietnam 1971.
Photo supplied by Robert Florance.
Movement from Courtenay Hill to Nui Dat
coincided with that of other Battalion members also moving out on
R&R and R&C. We travelled down a very dusty and increasingly
dangerous Route 2, sitting back-to-back in centre-seated Mk5 Trucks,
eyes peeled, facing east and west; each of our weapons in the
“Action Condition”3.
Mk5 Trucks in South Vietnam with
Troops in the Motor Transport
Ambush configuration. AWM EKN/69/0140/VN
Fortunately for us, the trip down
through XA Bang, Ap Ngai Giao, Duc Thanh, Binh Gia, Binh Ba and Ap
Suoi Nghe, went without incident. Around an hour later, we rolled
into Nui Dat caked in red dust, unscathed and relieved.
It was no surprise when I later opened
my secure trunk back at 104 Sig Sqn, that my khaki polyester uniform
and civilian “R&R” clothes were mouldy and smelled worse than I did.
They were quickly washed, dried and
ironed in a couple of hours.
Pay
During my document check at the
Squadron Orderly Room, it dawned on me that I didn’t have any money.
Like most soldiers in Vietnam, the majority of my pay was allocated
to a bank account. We didn’t draw pay in the field and as I’d been
in the field for the last three and a half months, I had a tidy sum
due. So, the unit pay clerk sent me across to the Det AFV Cash
office at the TFMA,5
where I was paid in US Dollars.
US Dollers (Greenback).
Internet Source
Early the next morning, along with 20
or so other soldiers also proceeding on R&R, I took the RAAF
‘Wallaby Airlines’ Caribou from Luscombe Field to Saigon’s Tan Son
Nhut Airport. On landing, some were taken directly to flights
leaving for Taipei and Hong Kong, the remainder of us were bussed
around to the US Army’s Camp Alpha for ‘Out- Processing’.
Camp Alpha
Camp Alpha was the home of the US
Army’s 90th Replacement Battalion, a unit whose lineage
stretched back to WW2 in Europe. It was located on the south-eastern
side of Tan Son Nhut Airport and was the US Army’s main Transit
facility in Southern Vietnam.
Camp Alpha, Tan Son Nhut Airport.
Interent Source
We were greeted by a US Army SGT who
checked our Army ID Cards6,
International Health Certificates (IHCs) and confirmed each of our
destinations. He gave us our various report-in and departure times.
We were briefed on the Camp layout and Open Mess location, allocated
bed-spaces in a double story barrack block, and left to our own
devices.
Camp Alpha was an absolute eye-opener.
It was over-flowing with US Army soldiers; those arriving as
replacements from the USA, those rotating back to the USA on DEROS7,
US Army slang for ‘going home’. Or going on, or returning from,
various R&R destinations.
Their huge, Open Mess was simply
incredible: Fresh Fruit, Fresh Bread, Fruit Juices, Cereals, Milk,
Ice-Water, Ice-Tea, Ice Cream, Coca Cola, Pepsi, Dr Peppers, Steak,
Roast Beef, Pork, Bacon, Ham, Chicken, Turkey, Salads and
Vegetables. Incredible food cooked to order and you could eat as
much as you wanted. Prominent Signs posted throughout the mess hall
read “Take what you want. But eat what you take.” There were
three cooks just doing eggs. Scrambled, fried (sunny-side up/over
easy), Poached – all done to your fancy whilst you waited.
I have never seen anything like it
before, or, since.
Camp Alpha operated around the clock.
However, you could feel a tension in air. Heroin use amongst some US
Service men had become a serious issue and an escalating problem. It
was dirt cheap and readily available in Saigon and major base areas.
In an effort to reduce the numbers of addicted servicemen returning
to CONUS (Continental United States), all DEROS personnel had to
undergo a Urine Test. Those who passed, boarded planes home.
Those who failed were refused exit and
confined to the Base Stockade, where they were held until such time
as their follow-up urine tests returned negative results.
This did sit well with many of the US
servicemen whose tours were over and who just wanted to get the hell
out of Vietnam.
As a consequence, there were a lot of
very angry men in Camp Alpha.
One of the interesting things I noticed
at Camp Alpha were the elaborate greeting rituals practiced by many
Black US Army Soldiers. They called it the “Doing the Dap”, or
simply “Dap”. It was a very involved system of hand and arm
movements which could take several moments to complete. Two fellas
who tried to teach me dissolved into laughter at my attempts to pick
it up. “You need to hang out here longer, then you’ll be cool, man!”
I was told.
The plane was full of US Servicemen. As
I recall, there were only a handful of Aussies on board.
Welcome to Sydney
We touched down at Mascot around
2230hours. As we pulled up at the terminal, we were ordered to
remain seated. Moments later, two very big Customs men entered the
plane spraying cans of aerosol insecticide right and left as they
walked the length of the centre aisle. This didn’t go over well with
some of the yanks, who took it the wrong way. None the less, it was
‘standard procedure’ for all arriving international flights,
regardless of country of departure.
USA Military arriving in Sydney
during the Vietnam War. Internet Source.
Once we’d deplaned, the US Servicemen
were ushered away for further briefings. We were quickly walked away
by Army Movements NCOs who checked our movement documents, navigated
us through Customs and into the terminal proper. As we emerged, we
were greeted by a very small, but vocal group of anti-war
demonstrators. They were waving signs as they chanted slogans, and
yelled various insults at us from behind a single rope barrier,
watched over by a couple of bored looking cops.
We fired back threats and gestures of
our own, only to be berated by an overweight, ‘ribbon-less’,
Movements Warrant Officer for being ‘ill disciplined’.8
Each of us were escorted away to our
various terminals for further travel. In my case, the TAA terminal
and boarded a flight to Melbourne.
My brother Ray9
was waiting at Essendon airport for me and drove me home.
Back Home
I was surprised to find our house
crowded with young male and female American School Teachers.
In the early 1970s, Victoria
experienced a severe shortage of High School Teachers. To ease this
shortage, the Victorian Government had recruited heavily in US
Colleges.
School Class in the 1970s.
Internet Source.
They promised graduating Mathematics
and English teachers’ minimum two-year contracts, with excellent
conditions and generous ‘no tax’ salaries (The Victorian Government
paid their US tax, as I recall).
Ray was dating one the said
young ladies (whom he later married) and a crew of them decided to
call my mother’s place, ‘home’.
Most were staunchly Anti-War and would
have been drafted if they’d stayed in the USA. We had some lively
discussions about Vietnam. Regardless, they were upstanding people
and great ambassadors.
It was good to see my mother again. She
was an AWAS10 Operator
in Signals up on the Atherton Table Lands during WW2 and tough as
old boots. Not much fazed her. And I could see my brother was taking
good care of her.
I asked Mum why she didn’t tell me
about the American School Teachers – “I wanted to surprise you,
dear”, was her simple reply. Mum had a soft spot for anyone from the
USA.
It was extra bloody good to lay down in
my old comfortable bed again, too. However, I couldn’t get settled.
Sleep only came in short, restless patches. Deep sleep completely
eluded me.
The next day I went to see my
Grandparents. They were ‘salt of the earth’ people.
My Grandmother was a wonderful woman.
She had waved goodbye to her husband in WW1, waved goodbye to my
father and his brother in WW2 and hugged me tightly before I left
for Malaya and later, Vietnam. She sent my dad fruit cakes in WW2
and sent them to me in Malaya and then Vietnam, too. They were
always perfectly baked, wrapped in brown paper, placed into a round,
dimpled, “Willow” cake tin, the lid of which was then sealed. The
tin was covered in a tightly-sewn, thick white calico cloth. My
address was written on the top and bottom in indelible ink.
She wrote me two letters every week for
the entire time I was in Vietnam.
Next item on the agenda was to retrieve
my car, which I’d stored in their garage, the previous year. My
Grandfather had taken good care of it for me. And it was great to
drive it again, but I had to concentrate hard, because out of force
of habit, I kept drifting across to the right-hand side of the road.
I’d been corresponding with a girl I
knew in Melbourne. She was midway through her teaching degree. So,
just on spec I called her up. She seemed pleased to hear from me and
invited me to a teacher’s college party in South Yarra. However, I
was asked not to mention that I was in the army, and most
especially, in Vietnam.
Against my better judgement, I decided
to go.
The party was going extra well and my
prospects were looking extra good. That was until I made the mistake
of remarking that I was home on R&R from Vietnam. You could have
heard a pin drop. A particularly obnoxious anti-war idiot and his
long-haired offsider, got right into my face and it was on.
As fortune would have it, a Navy CPO11
by the name of Mick, was also at the party.
Between the both of us, we sorted them
and a couple of others out. But the party had fallen as flat ‘as a
shit-carters hat’ and nobody wanted anything to do with us. Least of
all the girl who’d invited me to the party. Mick and I left, shook
hands, and went our different ways.12
The other boot hits the floor / The penny
finally drops
Anti-War sentiment was ‘over the top’
obvious and along with daily news reports from Vietnam, was widely
reported on radio and TV.
Save Our Sons Woman Marching in
Meibourne. Internet Source.
Victoria was notorious for its huge
Vietnam moratorium protest marches. And was the home of the “Save
Our Sons” antiwar movement.
I travelled into Melbourne and walked
around the city. The centre of town was packed with bustling crowds.
The hair on the back of my neck constantly prickled.
A mob of Vietnam Moratorium
demonstrators, sprouting VC/NVA Flags, were congregated on the steps
of parliament house, eagerly soliciting donations of money from
passers-by.
Vietnam Moratorium demonstrators
in Melbourne during the Vietnam War.
Internet Source.
These ratbags were blatantly stabbing
us in the back and getting away with it. I wished I could gather
them all up along with Bob Hawke, Jim Cairns, Bill Hartley and
Albert Langer, dump them all in the middle of the De Courtenay
Rubber Plantation, or down on Route 2 at Xa Bang, and see just how
long the bastards survived.
From what I could gather, people seemed
either totally oblivious to, or completely fed up with, the war we
were fighting a mere seven flying hours away.
Didn’t they realise what we were doing
for them? Did they even care?
Something had definitely changed here.
Maybe it was me. I felt completely out of place. Like I’d landed on
a different planet.
And the colours. Everything was a
palette of wild, vibrant, colours. I was used to olive drab, shades
of green, dull browns, blacks and red oxide dirt.
And maybe I’d been away too long, but
things seemed to be more expensive. A packet of Marlboro cigarettes
and pack of chewing gum cost me 52 cents!
It was a totally and completely different world to the one I’d just come from. I was a stranger here. Waves of guilt, anger, and disappointment washed over me. I felt terribly guilty for being ‘back in the world’. And worse, for leaving the Battalion and Vietnam. I constantly worried about them and how they were faring.
Coming back here was a big mistake. It
quickly dawned on me that I’d come back for all the wrong reasons. I
wasn’t really feral at all. I’d merely adjusted to my environment.
If you didn’t adjust, you simply wouldn’t survive. We were all
‘tightly-wired and switched on’. It was that kind of place in that
kind of time. And I couldn’t wait to get back there.
I missed the heat and humidity; the
earthy, mouldy smell of my bunker’s sandbags; the pungent odour of
burning diesel/petrol mix; sweat-stained clothes and unwashed
diggers; the language and the constant radio transmissions; the
thump of Huey rotors; the spectacular
electrical storms; the ever-present and ingrained red dirt; dust and
mud; the Vietnamese bush bee swarms; the artillery and mortar
contact missions, gunfire and explosions; the mad minutes; the
nightly fireworks; the incredible sunrises and sunsets; the eerie,
white ground-mist stand-to’s; the closeness and the camaraderie; and
the pure adrenalin of living in the boondocks.
These were elements that formed my
world.
As I look back now, that’s probably why
I was so angry. I was angry with myself for being so stupid. Angry
for thinking it would be any different.
I should have gone to Bangkok, Hong
Kong or Taipei, where I’d have been amongst my own kind, comfortable
in the company of fellow soldiers on R&R. And could have lost myself
in an alcoholic haze for 5 days and nights.
I split the remainder of my R&R between
home, my grandparents and the bar of the Croydon Hotel.
Back to the War and Back to Reality
We flew back to Vietnam on another MAC
DC-8 Charter, this time via the Philippines. There was a welcome
stopover in Manila. I spent a very pleasant sojourn drinking
ice-cold San Miguel beer in the transit lounge, smoking excellent,
thin, cheap, local cigars (liked them so much I bought a box),
yarning with our American Brothers-In-Arms, several of whom I’d met
on the flight down.
Manila International Airport in
the early 1970s and San Miguel Beer
Both photos from
internet sources.
They raved about just how well they
were received and treated in Sydney. Many were making plans to go
back there permanently.
They absolutely loved the place.
Consequently, I was a tad the worse for
wear when we finally landed at Tan Son Nhut. However, a couple more
San Miguel’s, and a ‘Heppo’Roll13
from the cafeteria and another cheap cigar, seemed to do the trick.
Two Sappers equals Double Trouble
Amongst the passengers at the RAAF
Movement Control Section waiting to catch the RAAF Caribou to Nui
Dat and Vung Tau, were two drunk and boisterous engineers. I’d
noticed them sky-larking in the cafeteria earlier.
There was also a rather
officious-looking Army Ordnance Captain who, it seemed to me,
regarded us with some distain. In stark contrast to our crushed,
sweaty polyesters, scuffed boots and rumpled slouch hats, he was
immaculately dressed in perfectly pressed polyesters, khaki cap and
wore highly-polished shoes, which he sporadically dusted. His
demeanour, dress and pallid complexion, screamed ‘Saigon Commando’.
I wondered what sort of pittance he
paid his Vietnamese laundry maid to do all his gear.
He kept looking at me, nodding his head
towards the two engineers, obviously expecting me to quieten them
down. The sappers weren’t doing any harm, so I ignored him and
stared off into the distance.
The captain gave me another dirty look
then loudly braced the sappers up and threatened to charge them if
they didn’t quiet down and behave.
Both settled down somewhat, and moments
later we boarded the Caribou. We sat at the back of the aircraft,
just up from the loading ramp.
I was closest to the ramp. Next to me
were the two engineers, who were sitting directly opposite the
captain. He was still scowling at the two sappers, who were becoming
a bit ‘chirpy’ again.
To aid internal air circulation when
carrying passengers (in good weather), Caribou generally flew with
the top half of the loading ramp fuselage in the raised position.
About ten minutes into the flight, we
hit some rough patches of turbulence. Without warning, the Caribou
suddenly yawed, pitched and bumped as it fought its way through the
air.
The violent movements proved too much
for one of the engineers, who suddenly heaved-up the contents of his
stomach which splashed onto the shiny shoes of the crabby Captain
opposite him.
Ken's Caribou moment in time.
Cartoon supplied by Denis Hare.
I awarded the sapper a mental ‘A’ for
effort.
Unfortunately, the sight and smell set
his mate off next to me. He heaved-up and got the captain, too. This
sparked a chain reaction along the aircraft. Several other
passengers also began dry-retching. At least one of whom, a female
nurse, vomited as well.
The RAAF Loadmaster, who was going to
have to clean it all up, was doing a furious sick bag, arm-waving,
war dance. But it was too late.
The captain sat frozen in his webbing
seat; jaw dropped in horrified shock. All I could do was try not to
laugh and hold my San Miguel’s and Heppo roll down, too. God knows
what the sappers had been eating, because the smell was bloody
awful.
Audible groans of disgust and revulsion
marked the billabong of speckled vomit’s passage backwards and
forwards along the Caribou’s floor in time with the pitching,
bumping and yawing.
It was one of the funniest things I’ve
ever seen. And a salutary lesson in ‘Karma’.
Just three of us got off at Nui Dat,
the two chirpy sappers and I.
They’d both come good and we yarned as
we waited for our transport. Turned out they were a Splinter/Mini
Team14 and had been
through a pretty rough trot together. They were good fellas who’d
let their hair down after a well-earned break.
We laughed and laughed as we pictured
the officious captain walking stiffly bow-legged down the Caribou’s
ramp in Vung Tau.
RAAF Caribou DHC-4A at Luscombe
Field, Nui Dat. Photo supplied by Alister Campbell.
I always had a very soft spot for
Engineers; my maternal Grandfather was their WW1 equivalent. And
according to family legend, just as wild.
That night I stayed at 104 Sig Sqn and
had a few quiet beers in the SGTs Mess with Brian Fisher, Bill
Bannigan, Bluey Joseph and Laurie Harbridge. The main topic of
conversation was the Australian Government’s gutless decision to
turn its back and run away from the Vietnam War.
Early the next morning I flew up to
Courtenay Hill. By lunchtime, R&R was a memory. I was back in my own
world.
It was just so good to be back.
Notes:
1. Reference: 1ATF SOPS Part 2, AG Branch 1971.
2. IED – abbreviation for Improvised Explosive Device.
3. Action Condition is ‘Ready to fire with safety catch applied.’
4. ARVN – Pronounced ‘Ah-Vin’ - abbreviation for Army of the
Republic of Vietnam.
5. Australian Force Vietnam Cash Office Detachment was located
within the area of Nui Dat known as the Task Force Maintenance Area.
As I recall, the cash office had run out of Australian currency.
6. At that time Army personnel could travel in and out of Australia,
Malaya, Singapore and some other countries, on our Army Identity
Cards.
7. Pronounced ‘DEE-Ross’ - US Army Acronym for “Date of Estimated
Return (from) Overseas.”
8. I’ve read various accounts over the years by people attempting to
rewrite history. They seek to assert that incidents such as this
never actually occurred. Moreover, that the airports never had any
records of demonstrators abusing returning servicemen. Well, it did
happen and I saw it with my own eyes. And I wasn’t the only one by
far. It was one of the reasons why our flights were deliberately
scheduled to arrive late at night [1ATF SOP Part 2 AG Branch,
Section 7 (10) (c) “US Charter flights to Australia
normally arrive at MASCOT 2230 EST” (sic)], rather than in the
morning or afternoon. Interestingly, it came out in conversation at
our Manila stop over, that the US Servicemen on our flight were
taken from Mascot via a VIP exit which avoided any protesters.
9. At that time, Ray was a CPL in RASigs and a Vietnam Veteran. He
served with 110 Sig Sqn from 21 May 1970 to 19 May 1971. Ray passed
away in North Dakota, USA in 2016.
10. AWAS – Australian Women’s Army Service.
11. CPO is the Navy abbreviation for the rank of Chief
petty Officer. It is equivalent to Army Warrant Officer Class 2.
12. It’s a small world. Into our third day at sea on the aircraft
carrier HMAS Sydney, heading back to Australia. We were issued a
daily ration of two, large, 26oz (770ml) cans of beer per man. This
was done late each afternoon on the carrier’s flight deck. The cans
were opened in front of us and had to be consumed then and there on
the fight deck. Naturally, the cans were lukewarm to ‘warmer’. I was
sitting on the steel deck having just finished my second can. Felt a
tap on my shoulder, looked up and there was Mick, the Navy CPO from
the South Yarra Party! Turns out Mick was part of Sydney’s crew.
He took me down to the “Chief’s Mess” and introduced me to the other
CPOs. Their beer was ice-cold and there were no limits. Happy Days…!
13. Hepatitis or “Heppo” Roll. Was a
Vietnamese bread roll containing various versions of salad with
chicken or beef (both highly questionable). The hygienic/sanitary
state of the ingredients and their vendors, meant they were always a
health gamble…
14.
Splinter/Mini Team. 1 ATF Mine Warfare Booklet 1971, Section 2 – A
Guide to Mines and Booby Traps, para 34 (a) (b).
Splinter/Mini Team.
“A Team of two Sappers who are NEVER separated. One is known as
‘Number 1’ and is the more experienced of the pair. The other is his
‘Number 2. These men are equipped to travel with infantry and have
an amount of explosives, detonating cord, detonators and fuse. They
also carry ancillary gear for Engineers tasks such as tunnel search
torch and pistol, grappling hooks, long and short safety pins and
most importantly they carry in their heads a very large knowledge of
all likely mines and booby traps.” “When travelling with armoured
elements, they are referred to as a Mini Team, and are also equipped
with helmets, flak jackets and a mine detector.”
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