By Peter Jesser

By December 1942, the PIB were wreaking havoc on the Japanese along the Kumusi River in northern Papua. In five months they had come from raw soldiers, new to modern conflict, to masters of the jungle and jungle fighting. They had very few battle casualties but the conditions took their toll on both the Papuans and their Australian Officers. Malaria, tropical ulcers and abscesses affected everyone. By January 1943, the PIB could muster just ten officers and about 100 other ranks. Still they did not flinch from the task at hand. The northern beaches strongpoints held by the Japanese were beginning to fall. First it was Gona, then Buna, before the pressure finally came on Sanananda Point. The defeated Japanese who fled the fighting hoped to be evacuated by barge from hastily prepared positions in the delta at the mouth of the Kumusi River – or else they plunged into the swamps in their desperation to get to Salamaua in the north. The barges offered some hope of escape but the swamps offered none.
The Commanding Officer of the PIB, Major Bill Watson, split his men into eight patrols, each of ten to twelve men, in a ring around the 40 by 40 kilometre area of sago swamp that barred the Japanese escape route to the north. Watson had his headquarters at Ioma, on the west side of the swamps, close to the Mambare River. His patrols were positioned along the Kumusi River to the south, from the mouth of the Kumusi up the coast to the Mambare River, and back along the Mambare towards Ioma. Captain Harold Jesser was involved in patrol work. He based himself mid-way up the coast, with his Headquarters on a small island back in the swamps near Opi Creek. His base was opposite Watson’s Headquarters which was about four days walk away, skirting around the swamps.
Several of the patrols were led by Papuan NCOs. No Japanese could travel down the Kumusi or up the very thin strip of coastal beach without a fatal encounter with the PIB.
The PIB patrols split themselves further to do their work. Sometimes four men, sometimes only two, would scout towards the Japanese to locate parties of escapees. They would send back word to their patrol leader who would arrange for the Japanese to be tracked to a chosen ambush point. And then the men of the PIB would set about their work.
On 18 January 1943, Sergeant Kari was at the village of Sabari, with a patrol that had the task of denying the enemy a possible escape route to the north. A large party of enemy was being tracked by Kari’s scouts and they walked into his carefully prepared ambush. In the fierce battle that followed, Kari’s actions led to the enemy being eliminated and the track denied to them. Kari was personally responsible for killing 31 Japanese. He was awarded the Military Medal for his bravery and leadership.

Click on the map to see an enlarged view.

Earlier, on 24 November the PIB had attacked a Japanese barge base at Ambasi Mission (in the area of No. 3 patrol). The PIB had killed six Japanese and destroyed a number of barges, although Lance Corporal Borage was killed in the action. The Japanese had not attempted to retake Ambasi. But now, as the pressure increased on their last stronghold at Sanananda Point and their evacuation sites at the mouth of the Kumusi, they may have decided to re-establish their barge base at Ambasi. The Japanese did not know it, but Ambasi was close to Jesser’s Headquarters on the Opi. As the fall of Sanananda drew closer, Jesser anticipated a Japanese move to retake Ambasi. He brought in his patrols and assembled 40 men there to meet them. It was hardly what you would call a strong force, but this was the PIB. (The force appears to have been an aggregation of 3, 4, 5 and 6 patrols.)

In little more than 24 hours between the 21st and 23rd January 1943, Jesser and his men saw off three attempts by the Japanese to land at Ambasi. But this time the Papuans were better armed. They had at last received a couple of Bren guns. A few days previously they had also captured a grounded Japanese barge just to the north of Ambasi. Two Japanese had been killed and the contents of the barge recovered. Those contents included boxes of belted Vickers .303 machine gun ammunition. The markings on the boxes suggested it had been captured in Singapore. This was unbelievable luck. The PIB had sometimes been reduced to using captured Japanese weapons. Now they had more ammunition than they knew what to do with. And the belted ammunition contained tracer. That gave the inventive men of the PIB some ideas of their own.

On the night of 21 January, Jesser split his men into three groups covering the bay at Ambasi in a cross-fire. Gabriel Ehava was on the beach with a platoon. He was under orders not to fire until the Bren gun on the eastern bluff about 200 metres away had opened proceedings. A further squad was in the village on the opposite side. The villagers themselves had gone up onto the western bluff in anticipation of a show. It was not long in coming.

At about 10 pm two Japanese barges attempted to land at Ambasi. Jesser was lying on the bluff beside the Bren. The Bren was under the charge of Lieutenant Hooper, but he had difficulty operating it and it was taken over by Sergeant John Ehava. Jesser allowed the barges to get well into the bay before giving the order to fire. The range was about 200 yards. Each barge carried about six riflemen and one carried a light machine gun. When the Bren got going, Jesser said, suddenly something that looked like a band of light leapt from the beach towards the barges and the sound of a loud “whoosh” like an explosion carried up to the bluff. He said “I thought what the hell was that?” and then suddenly away it went again – the loud “whoosh” and the band of light slamming into the barges. The Japanese machine gun only got three bursts away before it was silenced and the rifle fire from the barges was not accurate. The barges were forced to retreat. When Jesser went down to the beach after the action he found out what had happened. Gabriel Ehava had lined up his men and had them firing volleys. Some thirty men were under orders “Load, fire!” But what they were firing from their rifles was tracer recovered from the Vickers machine gun ammunition. Thirty rounds of tracer in one volley would certainly look like a band of light from up on the buff. How it looked from the barges is anyone’s guess.

The squad in the village and the local natives watching from the opposite bluff reported that one of the barges had been sunk. Voices were heard in the water which seemed to confirm this. As Jesser said later in his report “No doubt the barge that got away will have a tale to tell.”

A few hours later, two large, fast barges appeared. They stayed well out to sea and Jesser thought they may have been looking for survivors from the barge that had been sunk. After a time the barges made a run in towards Ambasi. But immediately they ran into crossfire from the Brens. They retired out to sea and out of range. For a time the Japanese hurled abuse at the Papuans. They had learned some lurid Australian profanities since arriving in Papua. The Papuans responded with their own swearing and insults aimed at Japanese in general. Jesser let it go. It was good for morale and, as he said in his report, now that the PIB had Brens, the Japanese did not have the noise-making all their own way. Spirits were high and “C’mon PIB” had become their war cry.

But Jesser did not think that the Japanese would accept defeat so easily. He kept his troops on the alert. At 3 am on 23 January three large, fast barges made another attempt to take Ambasi. This time they were heavily armed. Jesser said each had a machine gun in the bow and another amidships. In addition, each carried at least six riflemen.

The PIB reception was the same as the night before. The barges kept close together as they made towards the beach, making excellent targets. But each time they ran into the crossfire from the Brens and massed fire from the beach. Each time they turned away until, on the third run, a fire broke out on one of the barges. They retired out to sea with the glow of the fire still visible. Two of the barges then retreated to the south while the third barge, still burning, drifted from view. A short time later a dull explosion was heard.

That was the last time the Japanese tried to take Ambasi. Sanananda Point had fallen on 22 January. Ambasi might have seemed a logical place to set up an evacuation point. But the Japanese probably realised that if Ambasi was too heavily defended for them to take, escapees were not likely to make it that far.

The Papuans staged a victory dance to mark their success.

But the PIB still had to clean up the parties of Japanese who were on the run from Sanananda Point and their other defeats. The last of the senior Japanese officers had tossed wounded men from barges and saved themselves. The remaining soldiers were left to die in Papua. Many of them headed for the swamps because they believed there would be tracks that would take them to Salamaua. But Watson’s eight patrols had other ideas.

On 24 January, a patrol of four PIB soldiers under Papuan Sergeant Nicholas Farr disrupted a large enemy party attempting to cross the Kumusi River. The enemy scattered and Farr and his men followed one half of them into the swampy jungle, picking them off one at a time. Farr personally accounted for 11 Japanese while his patrol killed 22 in all. The remainder of the Japanese took to the river and were eliminated by a PIB patrol further down. For his outstanding leadership and bravery, Sergeant Farr was awarded the Military Medal.

The killing continued. On 8 February Sergeant John Ehava was leading a patrol which attacked more Japanese trying to cross the Kumusi River. During the engagement, John Ehava saw about 50 of the enemy approaching on the Papuans’ left flank. He immediately detached himself from his patrol and circled around and behind the approaching Japanese, armed with a Bren gun. When the Japanese had passed by, he stepped out onto the track less than 40 yards behind and poured fire into them, killing 30 and repulsing the attack. John Ehava was awarded the Distinguished Conduct Medal for his actions. A couple of weeks later, on 21st February, Gabriel Ehava was awarded the Military Medal for a similar single-handed flank attack to defeat a Japanese assault on his patrol.

Watson’s ring of small patrols around the sago swamps was paying dividends.

John and Gabriel Ehava were brave men and good leaders. Like Kari, they came from Moviavi Village in the Gulf District. It was said that Moviavi was the most decorated village in Papua.

There was one further incident involving Gabriel Ehava which always made Jesser smile. It involved the attempts of escaping Japanese to cross Opi Creek. It was a formidable obstacle. “She flows pretty fast, the Opi”, Jesser said. It could only be crossed by canoe. But the PIB had removed all canoes that they did not need for their own use, and hidden them back in the swamps – “out of harm’s way” as Jesser put it. He told the story: “But Gabriel got a canoe. A good one it was, too. And what he did was put a peg in the bottom of it and attach a wire which he ran back to the bank on the Japanese side, where he tied it off to another peg under the water. But the wire would only reach half way across the creek.” Ever the gentleman, Gabriel stuck two paddles in the sand beside the canoe and retired to his side of Opi Creek to wait.

In due course a small party of Japanese arrived. No doubt they could hardly believe their luck to find a canoe and paddles just waiting for them. But half way across they suddenly realised they were paddling but not moving. That was when Gabriel and his men opened fire. “He got them all” Jesser said. Whether in the canoe or the water, there was no escape. And Gabriel reused the canoe until it was too shot up to be useful. Then he attached a grenade to the bottom and let the grenade do the job. Like a lot of the PIB men, Gabriel had style.

Jesser would shake his head when he recalled that incident: “They were funny fellas” he would say.

But it was a deadly game. As the PIB decimated the larger parties of Japanese, the survivors tried to make their separate ways north in ones and twos which the PIB would track down and eliminate.

The records show that the PIB accounted for at least 450 Japanese in the weeks following the fall of their Northern Beaches strongholds. The total was probably far higher because the PIB could not count the many Japanese who were shot from their rafts or died in huts that were riddled with PIB fire, and there is no way of knowing how many Japanese died in the rivers or swamps trying to escape. Watson’s ring of eight highly mobile patrols was an effective cordon. Jesser was adamant that no Japanese made it past the PIB on land. There is no record – Australian or Japanese – to suggest that any did. (The Japanese suffered more than 12,000 battle casualties in the Kokoda and Northern Beaches campaigns. In comparison there were some 2,000 Australians and 900 Americans killed in the fighting. Australian War Memorial records show that the PIB lost just six of its Papuan soldiers in the same period – four of them to illness.)

It was now clear that the PIB was a force to be reckoned with. In April 1943 Jesser was promoted to the substantive rank of Major and appointed 2/IC of the battalion. Watson was still Commanding Officer and a Lieutenant/ Temporary Major. One can only wonder what the Army was thinking. Not that that affected the working relationship between Jesser and Watson.

Jesser was replaced as OC A Company by Captain Ernie Hitchcock MC DCM. Jesser described Hitchcock as “a good man”. And it seems he was. Hitchcock soon won the confidence of the Papuans and he had the same confidence in them as Jesser had. Hitchcock took A Company further up the coast towards Salamaua, attached to the US 162nd Infantry Regiment, doing the typical PIB work of reconnaissance and winkling out stubborn pockets of resistance. In late June 1943, Lance Corporal Bengari bravely volunteered to infiltrate a major Japanese camp by joining one of their carrier lines. He spent two nights and one day with the enemy observing and gathering information before slipping away and returning to his unit. He said that he left when he thought a Japanese officer had noticed the tan line on his arm from his shirt and become suspicious. For his courage and devotion to duty Bengari was awarded the Military Medal.

Bengari was never far from the action. Two months later, as the Australian and American forces were closing on Salamaua, they ran into a problem. The Japanese had a powerful artillery piece dug into a hill overlooking the coastal approaches to Salamaua. The gun was mounted on a railway track which ran into a tunnel in the steep hill. A tractor was used to push the gun out for use and pull it back to protect it from air attack.

Hitchcock gave Bengari the task of guiding an Australian patrol which had been detailed to knock out the gun.

Bengari did some preliminary scouting and formulated his plan. The gun was heavily defended, but he led the Australians in and set them up in ambush positions around the Japanese defences. Then he slipped through the Japanese lines with a companion to get himself to a point on the steep slope above the gun and its crew. Having done that, he sent his fellow PIB soldier back to tell the Australian commander to wait until he heard grenades go off and then launch the attack.

Bengari was just one Papuan soldier, undetected in the midst of a large number of Japanese, at a heavily defended site. But he lined up six hand grenades in front of him and loosened the pins. Then he took a grenade in each hand, pulled out the pins with his teeth and dropped them down onto the Japanese gun. They exploded, damaging the gun and setting off a chain reaction which detonated its ammunition. Six Japanese crewmen standing nearby were killed.

The massive explosion from the gun position caused confusion among the defenders. Then the Australian launched their attack and pushed the Japanese out of their positions. While this was happening, Bengari – who was carrying a Bren – stood above them emptying magazines into the ground at the mouth of the tunnel and then into the face of the cliff above it. He caused a minor landslide which blocked the tunnel and carried the gun down the steep slope into the gully below.

Japanese reinforcements attempted to retake the site but the Australians now had the advantage and the enemy eventually gave up the fight. One Japanese, who had probably been in contact with Australians before the war, yelled out in English: “All right you bloody bastards – if that’s the way you want it, you can have the damn place. We don’t want it any more.”

The Japanese would not hold Salamaua for much longer either.

The Americans were full of praise for the work done by the PIB which saved many lives and made it much easier for them to achieve their objectives. Captain Hitchcock was recommended for and received the US Legion of Merit.

There were many other PIB soldiers who showed great courage or displayed exemplary conduct and initiative. Often they were not awarded a medal. Sometimes there was a written citation, many times there was nothing. One example is that of Private Dai-a of the PIB and Corporal Oresi of the RPC who received a written citation for their work. Some time after the defeat of the Japanese in Northern Papua, Oresi and Dai-a had been performing an unrelated task near Dobodura (inland from Buna) when they came upon some Japanese escapees who were living off native gardens. Although outnumbered by the Japanese, Oresi and Dai-a managed to shoot five of them and take two prisoners. Oresi and Dai-a received a written commendation which was placed on their files. There would have been other such incidents. For the PIB it was all in a day’s work.

From mid-1943 the War moved on into the Territory of New Guinea. The PIB continued to operate as separate companies supporting Australian battalions. John Chalk, now promoted to Captain, took B Company up the Ramu. Philip Bradley in his book “Shaggy Ridge” describes how the 7th Division landed on a roughly cleared strip to commence operations in the Ramu Valley. The area was nominally in Japanese hands and, experienced as they were, the 7th Division troops were apprehensive at the thought of what might be waiting for them on the ground. But Bradley said they were relieved to see John Chalk’s PIB men securing the airstrip perimeter. The PIB had acquired a reputation among the Australian fighting men. If the PIB was on the ground, they knew there would be no Japanese to contest their landing. John Chalk’s men would be commended for their work in support of the Australians up the Ramu and in battles such as that for Shaggy Ridge.

A and C Companies of the PIB were also involved in pushing the Japanese from their footholds in New Guinea. A botched landing at Finschhafen cost the life of the Officer Commanding C Company, Captain Anthony Leutchford. Instead of following a heavily armed landing force onto the beach, the lightly armed PIB found that they were the first wave. But they still secured a beach head and were soon operating in their proper role, scouting ahead of Australian forces.

Ernie Hitchcock was still OC A Company and among his soldiers was William Matpi, a New Guinea native who had been coerced into working as a carrier for the Japanese. Matpi deserted from the Japanese with a large number of other carriers during the Northern Beaches campaign. His first contact had been with Sergeant Kari of the PIB. Matpi and a number of his companions joined the PIB. Matpi was looking to even the score.

But Matpi did more than even the score. He was an outstanding soldier. In February 1944 A Company was working along the north coast of New Guinea in the general area of Madang, mopping up Japanese resistance. Matpi was involved in several fights with superior numbers of Japanese. In one battle he and another soldier killed 30 Japanese in a running fight. In another they accounted for 44 Japanese including two officers. It was said that on one occasion Matpi used a bamboo stem to launch himself into the air above the Japanese and fire down on them. When he ran out of ammunition he continued to kill Japanese with his rifle butt. Such audacity lends itself to the creation of legends – even in the PIB where taking on and defeating superior numbers had become a regular occurrence. At the time that Matpi was awarded the Distinguished Conduct Medal, his personal tally of Japanese killed was 110. It was far more by the War’s end.

However by late 1944 the PIB, in whole or in part, had been in action for more than two years – in fact since July 1942 when they fired the opening shots of the war in Papua at Awala.

They were nominally under ANGAU for administrative purposes although they worked for the AIF in the field. The AIF was growing in its admiration for what the PIB could do. They wanted more of these soldiers. At the same time, ANGAU was alarmed by what they could do. The ANGAU officers did not want confident and competent Papuans and New Guineans in their post-war world. The “natives” had to be put back into what ANGAU considered was their proper place.

Watson was still the Commanding Officer of the PIB, and still a Lieutenant/Temporary Major. But he had grown tired of the battles, not with the Japanese but with senior officers who, in his judgement, were little more than fools promoted too far above their abilities. In March 1944, the PIB had been placed under ANGAU control – and ANGAU officers were, as Watson had plainly told them, simply civilians in uniform. There were a few who were very good. But most were just public servants looking after their own interests. And rank being what it is, Watson was beating his head against a brick wall trying to protect his troops.

Jesser said they were heading up to Madang on the Vendetta, drinking gin in the Officers’ Mess when Watson said “A man’s a fool to keep doing this”. He had put his age back by ten years to transfer to the AIF. Now he told them his real age – 57 – and Temporary Major William Thornton Watson, DSO, MC and Bar, DCM, was promptly discharged from the Army as a Lieutenant. The military system has few equals for small-mindedness.

Towards the end of 1944, after action continuing into the Sepik, the PIB was recalled to Port Moresby to regroup. ANGAU now made its move. It commissioned a report on the PIB which concluded that the unit lacked basic training and coordination – an astonishing charge against a unit that had killed hundreds of Japanese for very few casualties of their own, and which had been commended by both Australian and United States units. (The old public service trick of writing a report to suit what you want goes back a long way.) ANGAU had already decided that the PIB was to be broken up and the New Guineans transferred into the 1st New Guinea Infantry Battalion or 1 NGIB, which was in the process of being raised.

The New Guineans in the PIB protested. Papuans and New Guineans had fought side by side. They had earned each others’ respect. What had once been many separate clans in two territories now considered themselves as one. That was exactly what ANGAU feared. The New Guineans marched to Port Moresby in a peaceful protest, but that only allowed ANGAU to say ‘See, there is a problem with discipline’. The New Guineans were transferred to the new battalion which was soon followed by 2 NGIB.

But ANGAU was not finished with the Papuans and New Guineans yet. The new CO of the PIB was Lieutenant-Colonel Sidney Elliot-Smith of ANGAU. The officers of the PIB remembered Elliot-Smith from their brief experience of him at Deniki on the Kokoda Trail. Jesser knew what was likely to happen, so he went to Elliot-Smith and said words to the effect of “we can’t work together, so why don’t I go back to being a company commander and let Major Ray Oliver replace me as Battalion 2/IC.” He said Elliot-Smith leapt at the offer. And, as Jesser said, Ray Oliver was a married man with three children. He had no place being on the front line.

But Elliot-Smith wanted the officers of the PIB gone. He did not want them around as a reminder of what had happened at Deniki. He promptly set about posting them all out to other units – in military parlance, “sacking” them. The sticking point was Harold Jesser. Elliot-Smith could not “sack” Jesser himself because Elliot-Smith was only a Temporary Lieutenant-Colonel. In his substantive rank of Major, Jesser was senior to him. So Elliot-Smith got Major-General Morris – who had overall charge of ANGAU – to do the deed for him.

Jesser knew what would happen if he left his soldiers under the control of ANGAU, so he called in a few favours from senior AIF officers who went in to bat for him. The other PIB officers had been re-posted in February 1945 and the battalion was preparing for deployment to Bougainville. It was at this time that Morris visited the unit on a day of ceremony with a battalion parade and lunch with the officers. Jesser said that just before the parade, a despatch rider arrived and handed a message to Morris. After lunch, Morris rose to address the officers of the Battalion. He looked at the message he had been handed and said “I came here today to perform a small task, and now I find I do not have the power …” General Blamey had taken the PIB away from ANGAU and brought them under the AIF. Jesser would stay. And Jesser had a lot of respect for Blamey because Blamey did the right thing by the PIB.

In mid-May 1945 the PIB was deployed in support of Australian forces on Bougainville. Jesser went ahead to do the recce – a job which would normally be done by the Commanding Officer. He divided the island into three sectors – the swampy north, the mountains of the middle section, and a somewhat uninviting south. He suggested A Company for the central section because he said he fancied a little time in the mountains by then. But Elliot-Smith looked at Jesser’s report and said, “No, I think you can go up there.” Jesser and A Company were sent to the swamps. It smacked of revenge. The place was called Ratsua. Captain Lance Robey, the PIB medical officer said: “And it really was a RAT SEWER”.

Jesser said that the last few months they spent on Bougainville were the worst of the war. But John Ehava was his Company Sergeant-Major and Gabriel was a platoon sergeant. Kari was now a Warrant Officer Class One and Battalion RSM but he chose to spend much of his time with A Company. So Jesser was surrounded by men he had fought alongside since the beginning – men he knew and trusted. But this was a different kind of war. The PIB and the Australian troops they worked with set up their bases in the swampy jungle, usually a few hundred yards apart. And sometimes they would find that a small Japanese strongpoint had been inserted between them. Each side would send out patrols to ferret out and attack their opponents. But there was always another strongpoint, another Japanese patrol snooping around in the same way the Australians did. It was nerve-wracking stuff. Reports often contained words like “Quiet night. No scurrying in the bush”. But the PIB performed as it always had, achieving a high kill rate.

Jesser went on leave at the end of July 1945 and was in Brisbane when the surrender occurred. He had a fair idea what it would mean for his men. He said he headed straight back to New Guinea – the first occasion on which he had returned from leave on time.

But before we pass to the events of the peace, there was one more award won by a PIB soldier – on the day before the surrender. On 14 August 1945, an ANGAU native reported that a party of Japanese had offered to surrender. Corporal Geai went forward with a section to take them prisoner. But when only a few metres from the Japanese he noticed a light machine gun covering the track and riflemen moving into position. The PIB had been led into a trap. Geai acted immediately. He called to his section to take cover, charged the light machine gun and captured it. The patrol was raked by mortar, machine gun and rifle fire. But Geai charged into the riflemen firing his Owen gun from the hip. Wounded three times – in the hand, arm and leg – and with total disregard for his own safety, Geai killed at least seven of the enemy and ensured the safe extraction of his section for the loss of one PIB soldier killed. Japanese treachery had continued to the last day. Geai was awarded the Distinguished Conduct Medal for his bravery and leadership. It was the last medal awarded to a member of the PIB and was won on the last day of the conflict because the next day Japan surrendered. It made a neat closing bracket after the Military Medal won by Katue on the first night of the conflict in Papua.

The guns did not fall entirely silent after the surrender. Japanese artillery still fired a few shots at the Australians but even that ceased in time. The PIB then had a role in rounding up and guarding enemy prisoners.

But even prior to the end of the war, ANGAU had continued with their agenda to put “the natives” back in their place. There were three main changes that they sought.

The first was to get the NCOs of the New Guinea Infantry Battalions out of the standard Australian Army uniform of shirt and shorts. (It was more difficult to do the same with the PIB uniform because they came under the control of the AIF.) Private soldiers had worn the wrap-around rami, but now all native troops were to wear it. At the same time, the soldiers would cease to wear the rank insignia of corporal or sergeant on their shirts. Instead they would have to wear bar chevrons on the thigh of their rami. The soldiers considered this a deliberate insult – and it was probably intended to be. The bar chevrons had been worn by sanitary workers before the war. The New Guineans were in no doubt as to the message they were being sent.

There were many ex-PIB men in the NGIB and their reactions were strong but measured. It was a clear indicator of their intelligence and sense of what was right and wrong. The highly respected Sergeant Tapioli, who had won the Military Medal, told his superior officer that telling him to wear bar chevrons on his thigh was like telling him to wear his stripes “on his arse.” He said he would rather give up his rank than wear bar chevrons. Sergeant William Matpi DCM shouted that if they wanted to shoot him they could. He had been a good soldier who had fought alongside Australians and Americans. He would not wear the uniform of a house servant. Corporal Diti pointed out that he wore his rank on his arm and he was accustomed to saluting with his arm. If he wore his rank on his leg, he asked, was he expected to lift his leg like a dog and flash his genitals at his officers? (Diti had been with Matpi during a number of running fights with the Japanese. He was a soldier to be respected.)

Together with these changes, ANGAU introduced new ranks so that the rank of Corporal, for example, was now Aurua and Sergeant was now Autul. The men of the NGIB were told they would face serious charges if they disobeyed these new orders.

Jesser told Elliot-Smith that the troops would “have his head off” if he pushed the same issue with the PIB. Elliot-Smith threatened to charge him with insubordination, but the other officers closed ranks behind Jesser and he could not charge them all. It was soon clear to ANGAU that they had to back down on the issues of uniform and the wearing of rank. But the seeds of distrust had been sown.

In the days and months after the war ended, there were rumbles of dissatisfaction with pay and ration scales. There were also complaints about what was considered police interference in the Papuans and New Guineans’ card games and other aspects of their lives. The trouble came to a head in 3 NGIB. Significantly, 3 NGIB had not seen any war-time action. It had been raised in Lae in August 1945.

It was the typical revolution of rising expectations. It is unclear what promises the troops thought had been made, but they expected things to be different after the war. The men of 3 NGIB made their demands and barricaded their camp. The situation could have been handled very badly but the ANGAU Commander, Major-General Morris, was a career soldier and not a public servant like his ANGAU officers. Many later historians have criticised Morris for his handling of other issues. But it is hard to criticize him for what he did on this occasion: he called in William Matpi and gave him a free hand to sort out the situation. Matpi had become a legend in the PIB and NGIB. When Matpi spoke, everyone listened.

What Matpi did shows just what an outstanding leader he was. When he got to Rabaul, a jeep was waiting for him, at his disposal. Did he want to go to 3 NGIB? No. He would go to the mess and have dinner. But surely he should go to the camp? No, said Matpi, before he had finished eating everyone would know he was in Rabaul.

So after he had eaten Matpi went to the camp. He pulled up some distance from the sentry box and instructed his driver to stay there with his lights on. Because of the lights, the guards could not see what was going on. But Matpi left the jeep and circled around behind them. Surprising the guards, he told them who he was, that he was entering the camp and that there would be no trouble.

There was no trouble. Matpi assembled the NCOs and addressed them, telling them that they had to accept that the war was over, that the police were now in charge, and that if they could put their other grievances to him, he would do what he could to have them addressed. Then, backed by the NCOs he addressed all ranks.

Matpi repeated this process at each of the New Guinea Infantry Battalions and the PIB. It was noted, however, that there were few issues with the PIB. The difference lay in the way they had been managed from the beginning. And not even ANGAU had managed to crush them. At the end of the process, Matpi took their grievances to Major-General Morris. Some changes resulted and the situation became more settled.

But the PIB still had a job to do. They had gone down to the Solomons rounding up and processing prisoners. The work dragged on into 1946. When it was finished, the last of the PIB soldiers were demobilised, and the officers escorted various groups back to their home districts. Jesser took his Keremas – Kari, John Ehava, Gabriel Ehava, Paul Lafe, and the others – back home. It was a horror trip to Port Moresby on a little 200 tonne coastal freighter, buffeted by a strong storm. Records suggest that it was probably the massive storm that dumped 650mm of rain on Port Moresby over two days in April 1946. But their war was over, they said their good-byes, and, in Jesser’s words, he “switched out the lights and came home.”

His departure, however, was not immediate. He was offered a flight back to Australia. He rejected it. He had known too many men who had died in air crashes. He would wait for a big ship. While he was waiting, Lieutenant Peter Sheeky walked in. Sheeky had taken the Orokaivas back to Buna on the same 200 tonne boat and he also refused to return on it. Nor would he fly. Instead, he walked back from Buna to Port Moresby. So Jesser and Sheeky sat out their time for several weeks in the officers’ mess until one day a troopship – the “Ormiston” – turned up, headed for Rabaul. The “Ormiston” had been requisitioned for the merchant navy during the war and this was her last trip. She was heading down to Sydney to be handed back to her owners. This was what Jesser and Sheeky were waiting for. The ship called into Rabaul to take on other troops, including the remaining PIB officers. It was not a bad trip. They were together for one last time. Jesser’s fiancé’s cousin was the steward so, he said, they were well looked after. They disembarked in Sydney on 9 July 1946 and Harold Jesser was discharged in Queensland eight days later.

What more is there to say about the PIB? It had a rocky start as many military units do when they first go into combat. But within months the PIB had developed the skills and purpose that made them true jungle fighters – the “Green Shadows” of their enemy’s nightmares. They knew their abilities and, without being big-headed about it, they stood by their record – which included a kill rate of more than 30 to 1. It was said that the PIB was the equal of any battalion in New Guinea. But there really was no unit to compare them with. The Papuan Infantry Battalion certainly deserves more recognition than it has received, both in Australia and in Papua New Guinea.

—- END OF PART 2—-

Acknowledgement:  An earlier version of this material was broadcast by Radio Adelaide 101.5 FM “Service Voices” on 17 February 2020.