For me growing up in a small country town in rural Australia during the 1960’s I was surrounded by the heroic stories of the Second World War. Many of those stories were from the strange assortment of exotic locales that were talked about in hushed whispers – Singapore, New Guinea, Borneo and the “infamous Thai Burma railway”…..whatever that was. It was all a bit confusing to a young lad who dreamt of adventure in far-away lands. Quite often if I had accompanied my mum and dad to the local pub (remember these were the days of a bygone era with 6:00 pm closings, the “Ladies Lounge” – women weren’t allowed in the front bar, cigarette smoke so thick you couldn’t see the other end of the bar for the blue haze), you’d sometimes see an older guy (probably in his 40’s by then J……okay don’t start!) who got a little crazy and wild eyed after a few beers, ready to fight anyone but mostly with his inner demons. More often than not he was a veteran and most of the others at the bar would give him a wide berth and try to calm him down, in general people would give him a break cos “they done it tough up there”. Looking back, this was also the time when Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome (PTSS) wasn’t even part of our vocabulary let alone psyche.
It’s strange how those stories stuck with me, the strange wild eyed look of those men and what did “doing it tough” really mean? God only knew……..
Fast forward to 1977 and my first year of college…… (Stick with me now). My first year was spent in residence where I fortuitously ran into one - Craig Phillip Darrell in the hallway of my residence of all places late at night. In fact after a couple of weeks of running into him on a pretty regular basis – he had been studying with his long time girlfriend and was now heading back to his residence, most nights close to 11:00 pm. Some could say he was an avid student, however somehow I think it was more than regular study that brought him into our residence each night if you know what I mean ;). We struck up a conversation and before you knew it we were both perched on the front seat of his 1967 Datsun Bluebird headed to Frangos for a burger and dim-sims, the conversation thick and fast. Nothing has changed since then, the conversation is still constant, no matter what the physical distance between us, we are and will always be on the same wavelength. This unexpected meeting and burger run has turned into a lifelong friendship and a story that brings me back to “why New Guinea?” This is probably the most common question I get (at least 3 - 4 times per week on average)
It was mid January this year when I was back in Australia visiting my dad; he was not doing great, the initial success we'd had with his brain cancer treatments was losing its effectiveness and time was beginning to get short. I had come back to Canada for Christmas to be with my family whom I’d all but abandoned when dad got sick, spending the majority of the prior three months helping him through the initial diagnosis, during the day car pooling him to his radiation/chemotherapy sessions with my brother and sister, working at night to keep up at work albeit remotely and generally being with him each day trying to coax a conversation. My dad was a man of a different era, a man of very few words that had a physical and mental toughness that I just can’t put into words.
One afternoon as I was leaving the hospital my phone rang - it was Craig. There was an edge to his voice as he told me that he’d heard that there was a trip to Kokoda coming up later in the year and that if we wanted to go we had to sign up today – no time for thinking, I need your answer now......... otherwise we’ll miss the chance. Bloody hell, as you can imagine I was a little stunned at the immediacy of the request – he and I had talked on and off over the years about doing Kokoda, but nothing firm - just talk mind you.
There was no time to check with Jodie and the kids, no time to really think about it. My mind flooded with the memories of my childhood and those hushed and long forgotten stories, I thought of my dad who’d never had the opportunities to travel and see the world, I thought of his illness and what it had done to him and of the absolute randomness of his cancer. Finally I thought of the adventure – sometimes life comes to you in unexpected ways and this was one on of them, my answer could be nothing but a “yes”.
After our lifelong friendship what could be better - Craig and I tackling the track together, two mates ready to help each other survive the long punishing days of hiking this incredibly steep, wet, muddy path through the jungle they call the Kokoda Track, and nights content in the belief that this is what life is all about.
It’s strange how those stories stuck with me, the strange wild eyed look of those men and what did “doing it tough” really mean? God only knew……..
Fast forward to 1977 and my first year of college…… (Stick with me now). My first year was spent in residence where I fortuitously ran into one - Craig Phillip Darrell in the hallway of my residence of all places late at night. In fact after a couple of weeks of running into him on a pretty regular basis – he had been studying with his long time girlfriend and was now heading back to his residence, most nights close to 11:00 pm. Some could say he was an avid student, however somehow I think it was more than regular study that brought him into our residence each night if you know what I mean ;). We struck up a conversation and before you knew it we were both perched on the front seat of his 1967 Datsun Bluebird headed to Frangos for a burger and dim-sims, the conversation thick and fast. Nothing has changed since then, the conversation is still constant, no matter what the physical distance between us, we are and will always be on the same wavelength. This unexpected meeting and burger run has turned into a lifelong friendship and a story that brings me back to “why New Guinea?” This is probably the most common question I get (at least 3 - 4 times per week on average)
It was mid January this year when I was back in Australia visiting my dad; he was not doing great, the initial success we'd had with his brain cancer treatments was losing its effectiveness and time was beginning to get short. I had come back to Canada for Christmas to be with my family whom I’d all but abandoned when dad got sick, spending the majority of the prior three months helping him through the initial diagnosis, during the day car pooling him to his radiation/chemotherapy sessions with my brother and sister, working at night to keep up at work albeit remotely and generally being with him each day trying to coax a conversation. My dad was a man of a different era, a man of very few words that had a physical and mental toughness that I just can’t put into words.
One afternoon as I was leaving the hospital my phone rang - it was Craig. There was an edge to his voice as he told me that he’d heard that there was a trip to Kokoda coming up later in the year and that if we wanted to go we had to sign up today – no time for thinking, I need your answer now......... otherwise we’ll miss the chance. Bloody hell, as you can imagine I was a little stunned at the immediacy of the request – he and I had talked on and off over the years about doing Kokoda, but nothing firm - just talk mind you.
There was no time to check with Jodie and the kids, no time to really think about it. My mind flooded with the memories of my childhood and those hushed and long forgotten stories, I thought of my dad who’d never had the opportunities to travel and see the world, I thought of his illness and what it had done to him and of the absolute randomness of his cancer. Finally I thought of the adventure – sometimes life comes to you in unexpected ways and this was one on of them, my answer could be nothing but a “yes”.
After our lifelong friendship what could be better - Craig and I tackling the track together, two mates ready to help each other survive the long punishing days of hiking this incredibly steep, wet, muddy path through the jungle they call the Kokoda Track, and nights content in the belief that this is what life is all about.
you were in collage when i was concieved
ReplyDeleteGreat post, Ters. I see a book in your future (post trek completion!)
ReplyDeleteI never knew you had such stories to tell...
I'm with Carrie. i think it would be a great one!
ReplyDelete-rhae