On Friday October 18th Cliff wrote from Camp in Whangarei. They were sleeping three to a Public Works tent and he was enjoying himself, meeting lots of men he knew from Bible Class, the Post and Telegraph, and Hikurangi.
Now he was in the Army he was unsure what he’d like to do, assuming he had any choice. It looked like it might be hard to get into Signals — he knew a Postmaster who’d tried and failed. The motor cycle platoon would be interesting but the blokes in it were a motley lot. Meantime he liked the blokes in C Company, although at times he complained about their bad language and behaviour.
But the Army was on the lookout for P&T staff for Divisional Signals, and he was soon transferred to HQ Platoon as a Signalman.
Camp was invigorating and his letters were animated. Drill exercise, the rifle range, PT and signal training. Letter-writing and yarning with his mates. Singalongs and a concert. The officers were good sports and put on an item for the men. The Maoris did the best haka he’d ever seen. There was a sports day and Cliff came second in the hundred yards and won the 220.
The food wasn’t always up to much. One day there was stew for breakfast, onion soup for lunch (“raw onions in hot water”) and for tea the remainder of the soup with added carrots and meat. “At least there was supposed to be meat in it. I was unlucky.”
He was seeing more of Dorothy and his family. She stayed a fortnight in Whangarei, but the fact he had to first apply for leave and then get back to Camp by 10.00pm limited his options. He did get to spend a weekend with her family at the end of the month, arriving back in the dark with his motor bike’s headlight turned off to conserve the old battery. He was grateful to her Dad for giving him the benzene to get home, and he told Dorothy he was learning to like him more.
He wasn’t quite ready to ask Dorothy to marry him yet, but the family relationships were building out all the same. In the back of their minds they must have known they wouldn’t be seeing much of each other — and for how long, who could know? His Mum and Dad visited the McCarrolls in Taipuha, and he wanted to take Dorothy to some of his old haunts — Creamy, his favourite horse, assuming he was still there, and one of the farming families he’d enjoyed working for.
§
There were rumours the North Auckland Regiment would be transferred to Waiouru, but instead, after a month in camp at Whangarei, they were on their way to Ngaruawahia, south of Auckland in the Waikato.
As the train passed through Taipuha Dorothy went down to the Railway Station with her parents, and there were plenty of comments, questions and teasing about the redheaded girl in riding breeches when Cliff got back to his seat.
Cliff’s mother had gone to see him off too — paid three shillings for the bus from Hikurangi to Whangarei, and another two shillings for a taxi — and arrived just as the train was pulling out. She’d been very upset about it.
§
In Ngaruawahia they hit the ground running. Cliff thought the place was a mess, the parade grounds rough and covered in long grass. Their Bell tents weren’t as good as the Public Works ones in Whangarei and he’d ended up with a lot of strangers whose bad language he didn’t like. There were route marches, manoeuvres and signal practice. His Morse was fine but his semaphore not so good. He’d had a swim in the Waikato river, but It flowed very swiftly and he wasn’t tempted to try swimming across it just yet.
On a battalion exercise his bunch got lost in the Waikato fog and were “wiped out” by a machine gun post.
§
On the 4th December he wrote that he’d been drawn for service overseas.
“Lucky guy aren’t I? … I’m not worrying very much about being drawn in the ballot, but I’m very worried about Mum. She will take it very hard.”
§
Those drawn in the ballot would be able to take a break from Camp provided they qualified for overseas service — were classed fit etc. Cliff thought about asking P&T for a transfer somewhere between Paparoa and Whangarei, which would mean he’d be nearer home for a while, but they were just as likely to post him pretty much anywhere. He decided to stay in camp.
By the middle of December he was interested in just three things — getting into Div Sigs, becoming an officer or NCO, and catching up with Dorothy over Christmas. Dorothy’s Dad had been an officer during the last war and he offered to help Cliff, but nothing came of it. In fact nobody seemed to know how NCO selection worked.
But if he could get time off over Christmas, and see Dorothy at Hikurangi, that would be great. He thought his Mum and Dad would go on holiday to the beach. They’d have two tents and Dorothy and Evelyn could share one — he’d find somewhere else to sleep. He wanted to see Dorothy‘s parents too. His motorbike, poor old Gertie, needed a good run. No point letting it rust from lack of use, but he’d have to sell it once his future was settled.
Meanwhile Dorothy’s Gran had come to stay at Taipuha and wasn’t the best of company. “Cheer up. We will probably be just as irritable when we are so old.”
There was a parade to hand out the Sports Day prizes. Cliff got 12/6 for winning the 220, and for the 100 yards, brilliantine, shaving cream, toothpaste and 50 cigarettes.
“The winner got very much the same. In fact all the prizes were similar. The winning team on the Relay got a tin of tobacco each.“
§
Training continued.
“We were out on another stunt on Thursday and got our telephones into action. They’re quite good too. You can get messages through in one tenth of the time. All you have to do is haul your Commanding Officer along to the phone and switch him through. Div Sigs have portable wireless transmitters too, so that will be interesting.”
In another week they’d be up for a fortnight’s leave over Christmas and New Year, but first they went on manoeuvres near Clevedon, marching and bussing there from Ngāruawāhia. There was a 17 mile route march around Kawakawa Bay. The weather was bad with heavy rain and thunderstorms, and they slept in barns, wool sheds and even pigsties. One man ended up in hospital with pleurisy.
“It’s 4.20pm now and raining like the Dickens. We’re going out again tonight. Hope the rain stops. We’ll be out until 12 tomorrow. Great life eh?
“…I should be dead though. Yesterday two of us were operating a signalling station and a plane dived at us. It was a great sensation too. He came straight down to us and straightened out when about 20 feet from us… Normally though a plane couldn’t get near us for anti-aircraft fire.“
§
There was another challenge to face — he’d have to spend most of his final leave with his parents.
“Do you think you could go through to home with me for a few days, Dot? It’ll be asking a lot of your Mum of course, but I can reassure her that it won’t happen again for quite a time. Would you like to go Dear? I must spend most of my time at home of course, and I couldn’t enjoy it if you weren’t there, and we could have lots of fun if you were.
§
On Thursday the 27th there were two telegrams, one to say he’d be arriving at Taipuha that afternoon on the express train, the second to say he’d missed it and was coming by bus.
On 7 January 1941 Cliff was back in Camp after leave, and writing this time from Trentham, up the Hutt Valley from Wellington.
He’d been sick as a dog on the train down to Auckland. A meat pie at Helensville had started things off properly. A lady on the train had suggested he have some brandy, so when they arrived in Auckland he and another boy went to the Station Hotel, broke all the rules and had a brandy and port wine. He was okay after that. Brandy and port wine became a lifelong tonic.
The train left Auckland at 8:30 pm and arrived at Trentham about 3.00 the following afternoon.
He enjoyed the second part of the journey, especially the scenery coming into Wellington. He thought the city was quaint in some respects.
“The houses are perched on the steep hillsides, just like bird nests, and look very pretty indeed. I haven’t noticed it any colder yet, although I saw snow on Mount Ruapehu this morning. It’s been sweltering this afternoon.“
At camp they were issued with blankets, mess gear, pay book, denims etc.
“I have a nice spring bed and a good palliasse, a chest of three drawers and quite a big locker, so should be very comfortable.”
The camp would take time to explore. They were sleeping in huts this time and there seemed to be hundreds of them. “It’ll be quite easy to get lost at night.”
There was a fair mix of men in Hut 71 — sailors, stationmasters, a postmaster, radio operators and an announcer from 3ZB. One had received his morse training on a naval training ship, a borstal institute. Apparently in England they sent some of the bad boys into the Navy. “He’s quite a decent chap though.”
There was a man from Hikurangi, a Cockney who managed a hotel in Dargaville, and another bloke from Paparoa — a bank teller destined for Fanning Island, an atoll in the Gilbert and Ellis islands, now Kiribati, where a NZ garrison was defending a cable station.
At 22, Cliff thought he was one of the youngest in the bunch.
Soon the men had visited the dentist and the eye specialist, made wills, and had their first anti-tetanus vaccinations. They’d been issued with battle dress, tin hats, gas masks, rifles etc.
“So we are ready for battle. Not being a fighting unit we aren’t issued with bayonets. That will make infantry training much easier.”
He was still keen to get into NCO training, but his Captain said there was a big demand for signallers in the Western Desert, so Cliff thought he was more likely to be shipped overseas quite quickly.
§
His first leave in Wellington didn’t start off too well. Wellington people raved about Oriental Bay and he expected a nice sandy beach, but it was terrible. Cold too. On the way back to the station a man directed him to the British Sailors’ Society for tea. He was very doubtful, but it turned out to be nicely run by Christian people, and the soldiers, sailors and air force chaps there were all very decent fellows. He stayed for a good tea, a singsong, a service and supper, all free. There were books to read and plenty of entertainment.
“I was even shown the way to the station after supper. The skipper asked me if I’d give a little talk next time but I didn’t relish the idea.”
Back at Camp they were only holding church services once a month, and on those weekends leave was cancelled.
§
Dorothy’s well connected father had been an officer in the First World War. As he had only one eye he hadn’t served overseas, unlike his brothers. He was still interested in things military and Cliff asked Dorothy to pass on his army news to her Dad, including the names of his commanding officers, Captain Harewood, who would be going overseas with the Company, and Captain Wilson, who would remain at the Camp.
There were three parts to Trentham camp, the Army school, the Mobilisation camp and the Territorial camp. The “Terry” camp was commonly known as Chinatown, and the Terries were very unpopular. Most unpopular of all were Divisional Signals. Div Sigs set a very high standard in Infantry Drill and general behaviour, and were held up as an example to other units, to general resentment.
They wanted the signals unit to be really fit, Cliff reckoned. On one route march and overnight bivouac they were pushed so hard that one man collapsed.
“Do you know if your Dad has done anything further about getting a recommendation from Mr Reid yet? I’m getting along okay I think. The NCOs aren’t, or in the 14th Reinforcement they weren’t, picked out until they had been at camp about two months. If I keep on working hard, I ought to make it at any rate. The trouble is, they may want me for an operator, if they are as short as they say they are.”
The status of NCOs was temporary, Cliff thought, and subject to further evaluation. On departure overseas all NCOs would be demoted by one rank, Sergeant to Corporal for example. And before posting to units they’d undergo further training. If they failed they’d revert to the ranks, or in the case of Sergeants to a lower rank.
§
He was missing Dorothy and his family more than ever. His sister Evelyn had been staying at the McCarrolls since the holidays and really enjoying herself.
Judging by a comment on January 11th, Cliff had given Dorothy his copy of The Mastery of Sex, and he hoped her mother wouldn’t mind too much. “We ourselves know we are morally decent, and that is the main thing.”
§
“Do I have to ask Dad’s permission before we become engaged?” he asked on the 22nd.
He wasn’t sure that was the right thing to do when he could be on the other side of the world somewhere. But he knew that she had as much say in it as she did.
“You must find me hard to understand at times.”
Dorothy had written a description of him that Cliff thought was too flattering. He found it very hard to describe her in words but he tried, apologising for his effort.
Height: about 5‘6“.
Weight: 7 stone 8 pounds (48 kg).
Eyes: hazel. “I didn’t know what colour they were until you told me once, but I always thought they were very, very nice.”
Hair: red. “Doesn’t describe it. I think to call it red is an insult. Golden would be better. Very well cared for and looks exceptionally nice.”
Complexion: slightly freckled, but “very nicely freckled”.
Well built. “I would say, looks exceptionally well in riding breeches. Very energetic, and very strong, much stronger than one would expect. Of good disposition. A very nice smile. Full of fun. Frank and a jolly good sport. The best pal I ever had.”
She thought he could have done better, especially about the colour of her hair.
§
But Dorothy was a good sport. Cliff’s letters have frequent references to her travel around Northland for show jumping competitions. She had her fair share of success, too, but without her letters back it’s impossible to know how much. He wouldn’t be able to take them away with him, he wrote, or send them back as a bundle, and he certainly didn’t want to burn them. From later comments it seems he may have left them with his parents while on Final Leave, but at any rate they’ve disappeared.
They were both adamant that his wartime letters be preserved but perhaps she destroyed her own. They were writing two or three times a week, and hanging out for the mail to come every day. Writing that frequently, with little real news to pass on, meant their letters were, as much as anything, expressions of their love, inexperience and mutual insecurities — maintaining by letter and the occasional phone call a relationship that was still only about eight months old.
§
By mid February the earlier reinforcements were close to leaving, and the rumour was that they’d be leaving too, as soon as transport became available. The cruiser Achilles was in port and another two ships, although those turned out to be freighters.
On his last route march he’d been fooling around wrestling with a mate, Joe, and cracked one of Joe’s ribs. “Poor old Joe! It’s really very amusing because he must be nearly 3 stone heavier than I am and we only wrestled for a couple of minutes.”
“The engineers are up on the hill tunnelling, and every now and then we hear an explosion and the hut shakes. They are working all tonight in shifts, so we will get awakened quite a bit. It is for training purposes and the hill up here is absolutely riddled with tunnels.”
§
It wasn’t all drill, and marches, and signals training, and scrub-and-polish, and motor vehicle picquet duty.
He enjoyed going to the pictures in camp and in Wellington. Goodbye Mr Chips, Errol Flynn, The Wizard of Oz and more. And he liked going on weekend leave with a friend to the McKenzies, a couple whose son he’d met in Camp, training to be a cook. Mr McKenzie worked as a caretaker up at the Kelburn Observatory, which they visited.
There were dances on Saturday nights too, “mainly married couples”. Free soft drinks and ice creams. Good items between dances — singing, elocution, highland dancing. “One little girl did the Sword Dance very nicely.”
By late February Hut 71 had a wireless, and he was enjoying it. He hadn’t heard much music since he’d left Paparoa six months ago. But it was hard to concentrate on his letter writing in the hut, with the radio, dirty jokes, talk about girls, arguments and general conversation, so he’d often head down to the YMCA hut.
Meals weren’t always interesting. One day, he wrote morosely, tea consisted of cold meat, lettuce, bread, butter and jam.
§
But finally there was leave to look forward to again — maybe before the end of the month. Captain Harewood had lectured the Div Sigs unit on army organisation, military units, their commanding officers, equipment and duties in action. And he’d advised them what to take on board ship. Final Leave would be very soon but he couldn’t give them firm dates.
The previous reinforcement were certain that theirs would be the following week. Cliff hoped he’d be home for Dorothy’s birthday. But he was also keen, still, to be selected for NCO training, and if he was, wasn’t sure he’d get leave at all.
He’d heard that commissioned officers would no longer be trained in New Zealand for service overseas because they weren’t coming up to standard.
He’d heard that his Signals posting amounted to a promotion too, but he wanted to verify that.He was worried about his future in the P&T after the war, and wanted his Cadetship. He’d applied for telegraph school five times, been recommended by two Inspectors and a Post Master, learned morse code in his own time, and still missed out.
§
Meanwhile life went on in the world outside the army. Dorthy’s older brothers, Don and Ian, were married and starting families. Soon she’d be “Auntie Dorothy!”
§
On the 19th February he was writing with real news. Their final leave would start the following week — Cliff didn’t know for how long or how he could fit in everything he wanted to do.
His other news was disappointing.
“I hope you won’t turn me down sweetheart, but I have disappointed myself and all of us. Six were picked out for the NCO class yesterday and I wasn’t one of them. They are all very decent chaps though, so I don’t mind so much because of that. They have been picked mostly upon their ability to be infantry and weapon training instructors I think, because on the whole they are fairly poor at signal work. For that matter our present NCOs are very poor at that too. I haven’t any excuses to make for my not being picked of course. I did my best. I hope you and your Mum and Dad are not too disappointed. I was. This is very early in the journey so I’m not going to break my heart over it…”
§
Cliff was worried he might not be accepted by Dorothy’s parents. Hugh and Violet driving their daughter round Northland to compete in the shows was evidence enough that their two families were from very different social classes. Or the fact that Dorothy had horses at all, or that the McCarrolls were substantial landowners. Or that Mr McCarroll was an officer and Cliff was “other ranks”. It would hardly be surprising if they thought the coal miner’s boy wasn’t a good enough catch for their girl.
It didn’t help his peace of mind that Dorothy had written to say that an incident had “tested her faithfulness” — but not found her wanting. That didn’t make Cliff feel any better though, and he felt the need to say again that he too had plenty of temptations to resist.
Nevertheless their engagement was moving forward. He’d had been wondering what to do about an engagement ring. He’d been told by a mate that you could get a card with holes in it to work out the size. That at least was practical thinking.
And he had to ask Hugh for Dorothy’s hand.
“Asking a man if you can marry his daughter is no small undertaking, believe me. Most men are very loath to part with their daughters. I know I would be and it would take a very excellent young fellow to persuade me. I hope I can come up to expectations. If he knows that we really and truly love each other I don’t think he could possibly make any protest though. Do you? If your Dad likes me as much as I like him I’m sure we won’t have any difficulty.”