Captured Indon weapons taken after contact by Andy Bracken's section.
After pulling me out from under the basha where I’d been hiding I reluctantly consented to let him operate on my head. He’d only been snipping for a couple of minutes when the signaller called out “airdrop coming in figures five” Arthur asked Sinky if he should pack up to help with the drop but Sinky said scalping me was more important.” Good idea whispers Arthur “we should be able to spin this out a bit and get out of some heavy work”. Then off he goes again doing the full barber bit, talking about football, politics and so on and me starting to doze off from the drone of his voice and the sound of the plane coming in for the drop.

Then I realised Arthur had stopped talking and the snipping had stopped. “What’s wrong Arthur, run out of conversation at last?” No answer “Arthur?” still no answer. Looking up I see a great roll of Dannet wire Heading straight for me with a torn parachute trailing behind and Arthur’s over on the other side of the airstrip. I must have looked like a chicken with it’s head chopped off running round in circles trying to work out it’s point of impact. I think it missed me (despite what people have said about me in latter years.) There was a ready made slit trench where it landed (not a bad bit of digging for three seconds work). I asked Arthur why he didn’t give me a heads up and he said “ I cracked you on the scone and took off” everyman for himself when the ship goes down I suppose. He never got near me with a pair of scissors again and I walked around with half a haircut for the next couple of weeks. If anybody’s in contact with him ask him if he remembers.

We built a beautiful long drop toilet on the other side of the airstrip, even made a wooden thunderbox to sit on. Willie Wilson and Ken Savage were best mates, (hardly ever saw one without the other tagging along) It was Kens job to burn it off every morning, This consisted of pouring petrol down the pit and setting light to it, kept the flies down, supposedly.

Anyway this particular morning Ken did his routine and came back over to his basha, Five minutes later Willie went for his morning dump. Next thing there’s a terrific WOOMF and Willie comes roaring out of the scrub Sans eyebrows and other parts of his body hair and doesn’t stop until he hits the river. Turns out that Ken was a bit sleepy when he did his job that morning and the petrol ignited then blew itself out. Willie came along, sat down, lit a fag, dropped the match down the hole and became part of 2Pl history.

Another time the boss sent our section off to another longhouse (Long Balong I think). Our job being to patrol out from there and keep the world safe for democracy. Willie’s a solid little bloke, legs like tree trunks, walk all day and still do a bird dance at night. This day we’re having Tiffin in the longhouse and Willies eating his makan with a fork. He’s the most placid feller you could ever meet and sometimes Ken would try to needle him and get a rise out of him, break the boredom so to speak .This is one of those days and he starts in on Willies
legs.

He kept prodding away until Willie flew into rage, jumped up fighting iron in hand and shouted “Shut up or I’ll stab you” Ken says “You can’t stab me, that’s a fork”. Then I’ll stab you four times yells Willie. It broke everyone up and we rolled around with laughter.

Hornets, Ants & Babies
We choppered into this longhouse one time and landed on a small hill a few hundred yards away where we were to dig in and set up camp. Sinky set the harbour position but before we could start digging in a swarm of hornets came right over the hill. He tells everyone not to move and we’re frozen in tableau while these great big insects in rugby shirts float past. It was the eeriest thing I’ve ever seen, we were right in the middle of them for what seemed like minutes, and then they were gone and not one sting among us. They frightened me more than the Indons though.

We dug in and re-vetted with trees and dirt. We were to stay in the area for a while so we made pretty solid bunkers. We were on stand to on the third or fourth day when there was a hell of a commotion, shouting and yelling but no shooting. Seems that Arthur Jones ,Terry Nichols and I think Mick Grainger had used a fruit tree for re-vetment and their doover was full of ants. When it got light we were amazed to see a long column of soldier ants about two feet wide snaking down the hill and over at least two other hills in the distance, a sight I’d only ever seen in pictures. We poured diesel on them and within ten minutes they were gone. Scary.

On a lighter note while we were at this location an event occurred that could have been straight out of a carry on film. Mick Ellis had scored the medical bag which made him the platoon medic even though he never had any first aid training, somebody had to carry the bag and he was it. Not that it contained much more than a few bandages, Aspro and shit tablets. The border scout brought an old bloke up one day saying he had a headache so Sinky told Mick to give him an Aspro. Next day we had about a dozen people lined up. This became a daily sick parade and Mick, after a shaky start as medic developed a Dr Kildaire manner.

He got real cocky bullying them into line, taking temperatures, checking pulses and such while the rest of us would encourage him, at the same time trying not to laugh and destroy his new found confidence. By this time all he had left to give them was shit tablets but that didn’t worry Mick. One afternoon about an hour before stand to a local came running up the hill saying a women was ill and needed the doctor (Mick) “Doctor Ellis” someone calls out”, Okay, okay I’m coming “says a bored sounding Mick and saunters nonchalantly off down the hill with the border scout ,medical bag over his shoulder and orders to be back before stand to. Ten minutes later he’s running back up the hill screaming “She’s having a baby! She’s having a baby” That was the end of Mick’s medical career. He flatly refused to carry the medical kit again. The source....