have been a serious discipline problem.
The combination of small groups of men being thrown together for the first time and the presence of a couple of bad apples meant there were always fights. It's a sad fact that men who have a tendency towards bullying are sometimes drawn to uniform. It was something I would not tolerate, but you can't be there all the time. Anyway, some of the men found their own solutions.
Dennis Ayoub – who is not the biggest man who ever took up arms – had his own answer to the problem of one brute whose favourite sport was to get blind drunk and then bash up someone smaller than himself.
"He started on me one night," recalls Dennis. "So I said, 'Listen mate, you're bigger than me and you can beat me in a fight. But don't forget I know where you sleep. You lay one finger on me and I'll come round and blow your bloody brains out and nobody will know who it was. ' He looked at me and he could see I meant it and he never gave me any more trouble after that."
Day by day, the numbers in 3 Field Troop grew, and the men started forming little cliques – a bunch of blokes had just been together with a field squadron in Borneo and they stuck together. Some of the men had been with me in PNG. For someone in my position, trying to blend a cohesive operational unit out of so many disparate individuals, was a constant headache.
I assumed that the men were as good engineers as they were ever likely to be, so I concentrated on turning them into good soldiers. It was vital to all of them that they could operate as an effective fighting force, and that meant trying to meld them into an engineer with infantry skills.
I made a point of giving the men exercises to develop their teamwork, forcing them to depend on each other. But still, at night, they would return to camp and team up with their mates.
On the engineering side, I trained them hard on booby traps, mines and explosives, but they still seemed to lack the conviction that they would ever hear a battle let alone be involved in one. It may be that the feeling from the senior officers, that they really didn't know what they could expect in Vietnam, was filtering down to the men. Whatever it was, there was an air of unreality about their preparations.
Our jungle training was restricted to two cold, wet nights in Frenchs Forest, north of Sydney. That was a virtual waste of time, but I had little say in the matter.
It may seem pointless to the uninitiated, but I parade marched those men as well as any infantry group. The simple act of walking in step and in line helps to foster interdependence. Even so, they still looked like the hotchpotch they were.
I sent them on long crosscountry runs to build their stamina. But it was seen more as a disciplinary exercise than anything that would benefit them in Vietnam.
And when it came to discipline, I was an absolute stickler for the rule book. As a group, engineers work hard and they play hard and every so often somebody goes a bit too far and ends up in trouble. So I made it my job to let them know where the line was and when they had crossed it. And I was consistent.
But these were 18 to 20 year olds, in the main. Nothing was taken all that seriously. At that age you are immortal and life is there for the fun you can get out of it.
Some men were still joining us only one week before we left for Vietnam. However, in the main, I had about six weeks to train those men before they went to Vietnam and by the time they set sail they were fitter, stronger and knew their own and each other's capabilities better. They were better soldiers, of that there is no doubt. But they were still far from being a team.
However, I was sure that my hardline approach to training had united the men in one respect. They all hated my guts.
* * *
When the day finally dawned that saw 3 Field Troop embark for Vietnam, I flew ahead with one of my sergeants, Gus Sant, while the body of the troop sailed on the HMAS Sydney, a dilapidated aircraft carrier, long overdue for decommissioning. It was on board the ship, when they were just a small number of men amid hundreds of others, that they started to show signs that they were coming together as a group.
Dennis Ayoub tells the story.
"We had been at sea for a few days when an announcement was made at the evening meal. The 105 Field Battery, Royal Australian Artillery were on board and the gunners, who always fancied themselves, had decided to telegraph the Queen to inform her that they were on their way to Vietnam. A reply had been received from the Palace and silence was demanded while one of the artillery officers read it aloud. 'From the office of Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth II,' it said, or something like that. 'Her Majesty has learned of your embarkation to join the conflict in Vietnam. She wishes you God Speed in your voyage, a successful completion of your mission and a safe return to your loved ones.' The artillery blokes applauded but they were drowned out by hoots of derision from the Engineers and other units."
Engineers and artillerymen are about as far apart as you can get in the Australian Army. The Artillery see themselves as an elite, with a long historical tradition and a great pride in their personal appearance. But to the larrikin Engineers they are "dropshorts", whose inaccuracies are as likely to harm their comrades as they are to hit the enemy.
"Anyway," continues Dennis, "the next night the parade was hushed when (Staff Sergeant) Laurie Hodge got to his feet and yelled: 'Could we have some quiet please. 3 Field Troop has received the following telegraphic message which I would now like to read out. From Big Julie and Technicolour at the Railway Hotel. 'Bon voyage. Try not to get killed and we'll see you when you get back. Hope you don't mind if we screw your replacements while you're away! Cheers! ' ".
Big Julie and Technicolour were what Keith Kermode called "Railway Debs" at the troop's favourite drinking hole, the latter having earned her somewhat insensitive nickname from the large and livid birthmark on her face.
The gunners were furious and Laurie was whisked away by some officers. He didn't reappear for a couple of hours and, as far as Dennis knows, never told anyone what was said to him.
Throughout the voyage, the men were given lectures by 1RAR's Chaplain on the evils of communism and the need to defeat it in SouthEast Asia. The men's responses were varied.
"I really didn't need any convincing," says Mick McGrath. "I already hated commies."
Young Sparrow Christie had a different attitude, although it amounted to the same in the end.
"I thought it was all bullshit," he says. "It didn't mean anything to me. I just wanted to get there and see some action."
Meanwhile, life was proceeding as normal – which means it was organised chaos.
Keith Kermode claims he was the first member of 3 Field Troop to be put on a charge. He won this singular honour by accidentally firing his gun between Waxy Rayner's legs during target practice, which involved shooting at balloons off the stern of the Sydney.
Mick Lee remembers enjoying blood and thunder games of deck hockey and tripling his ration of one beer per day by swapping his icecream coupons for the teetotallers' beer rations.
And Snow Wilson, horror-struck at being appointed Lieutenant Geoff Stewart's batman, wriggled out of the assignment by getting the medical officer to sign a "no sweating" chit, which meant he couldn't go to the ship's laundry with Lt Stewart's sheets because it was near the engine room.
Snow also recalls the sailors on the Sydney making a very strange request.
"Remembering that she was
