Chapter 15: The Bottom of the Pit

Journey of an Ordinary Man Chapter 14 p.1 ©Norm Wotherspoon 2011

Chapter 15–The Bottom of the Pit

Falling Down, Falling Apart – 24 December 2011

So long ago, my world came crashing down on me;

My dreams and happiness both disappeared, like smoke upon a summer breeze;

Struck down by enemies I felt, but could not see;

My guilt, my shame, my memories, had brought me to my knees.

I hid my emptiness from those who knew me best;

I staggered through my life each day behind a sullen face;

My thoughtless sarcasm the only weapon I possessed,

I lived inside my loneliness; I could not find redemption, nor any saving grace.

It took all my strength, my energy, to maintain my fragile self-control,

Despair, depression, nightmares all kept poisoning my core;

There was no way that I could wash Vietnam from my mind or soul,

Until one day I saw no point in living any more. Journey of an Ordinary Man Chapter 14 p.2 ©Norm Wotherspoon 2011

1968 - Age: 22-23

Some parts of our lives seem too painful to remember, so we do our best to block them out. It has been, for me, a titanic struggle to even focus on 1968. I have spent the past few weeks trying to recall that year, but very few specific incidents came back to me.

Superficially, my life continued along the path of late 1967 – I worked without great enthusiasm in the Publicity Section of the Queensland Government Tourist Bureau; I drank a lot, especially from Fridays after work through to late on Saturday nights. I had no goals, no dreams, no savings plans.

Home life in the New Farm flat, with Ron, Graeme and Gary1 gave me the comfort, the security and the friendship that I so desperately needed, but it could not compete with the inner demons of memory, guilt and shame, which haunted me nights and much of my secret waking thoughts.

1 Gary has confirmed that he and I first met on January 20 1968.

The Hitchener home in Burbong Street became my sanctuary, where it was possible to sometimes to push Vietnam from my mind for a few hours, because the absolute love of Bunty, Wendy and Peter was so strong, so constant, so absolute.

One thing that the Hitchener household encouraged/engaged in was a sense of zaniness (occasionally – okay, OFTEN fuelled by alcohol). We had a running joke, which ran for more than 40 years, about stampeding, rampaging elephants, who, when charging, loudly trumpeted „M‟TUK! M‟TOOK‟ (I was never entirely sure about the spelling).

It led me to write several other of my nonsense poetry, the following one about a war that I singlehandedly averted. The following, I would like to say, is, of course, a true story: Journey of an Ordinary Man Chapter 14 p.3 ©Norm Wotherspoon 2011

Vegetable Wars

"Excuse me, beg your pardon,

But there‟s trouble in your garden.

And I thought that I had better let you know."

So I quietly thanked the stranger

Who had warned me of the danger,

And calmly ventured forth to fight the foe.

I walked through the garden gate

Into an atmosphere of hate;

Where the carrots and potatoes were engaged in battle royal!

Cried I "Stop this wicked war!

Fighting‟s not what you‟re here for!

You‟re supposed to live in peace beneath the soil."

Then a potato, softly sighing,

Whose eyes were red from crying,

Whispered, "Sir, please do forgive our present state –

But you see, my youngest daughter

Isn‟t doing what she oughta:

She wants … she wants to take a carrot for a mate."

"Now, do not think that we are fussy, Journey of an Ordinary Man Chapter 14 p.4 ©Norm Wotherspoon 2011

And I assure you, she‟s no hussy;

But I feel we must uphold the colour bar.

She is white in every pore,

While he is orange to the core,

And an inter-vegie marriage would be taking things too far!"

Up spoke the leader carrot:

"Can‟t you hush that ageing parrot?

Potatoes think that they‟re much better class than we.

Yet, if we had half their chances,

We‟d make unforetold advances,

But, whoever heard of carrot chips for tea?"

"No, they get all the breaks –

Chips, and crisps, potato flakes;

The thing to munch while watching television.

Whereas, all that we are known for,

Almost all that we are grown for,

Is because Bugs Bunny likes us, and we help improve your vision." Journey of an Ordinary Man Chapter 14 p.5 ©Norm Wotherspoon 2011

"And if my son, Junior Bluey,

Who is crunchy, firm and chewy;

Couldn‟t make a better chip than her young daughter,

We‟ll concede that we‟re defeated,

And we won‟t get overheated

When you boil us in a saucepan full of water."

I thought deeply on the question,

And came up with a suggestion:

"This war must be resolved with utmost haste!

So, with complete impartiality,

I‟ll have two kinds of chips for tea,

And my connoisseur‟s palate will pass judgment on the taste."

Now, should you visit, when I‟m cooking,

And the meal seems funny-looking,

You may be in for quite a culinary surprise;

For, if my place is the venue,

There‟s a special on the menu –

Golden flounder fillets, with Supreme French Carrot Fries. Journey of an Ordinary Man Chapter 14 p.6 ©Norm Wotherspoon 2011

At some time during the year Ron, Graeme, Gary and I had moved from „Evelyn Court‟ our New Farm flat, and I returned briefly to Bert and Carmel, at Newmarket.

A little tale of coincidence: In chapter 14, I mentioned a young girl named Kerri, who had designs on me. Not long before I went back to Bert and Carmel, Kerri returned to her parents, who were living in New Guinea.

A week after moving to Newmarket, I received a letter, re-addressed from the New Farm address. The letter came from New Guinea, so I assumed it was from Kerri. I opened it, and found a sizzling love letter, which opened, „My dear and only Darling‟, and signed by „Your Loving Honey‟. Wow! I thought, I never realised just how deeply Kerri felt for me.

Two days later, an even more explicit letter arrived, which contained material certainly not fit for sharing with a family readership. When the third letter arrived the following day, I became VERY suspicious. I travelled back to New Farm, where our landlady, Mrs. Piccolo, greeted me with the words I dreaded to hear – "Oh, Mr. Wotherspoon, you wouldn‟t believe it, but ANOTHER Mr. Wotherspoon has moved into your old flat!"

I wrote a little note of apology to the unknown Mr. Wotherspoon (including my work phone number), and left his opened letters under his front door. Four days later he called me, and we met for a drink at the old National Hotel. He was Job Wotherspoon, an older man, an Englishman and a Civil Engineer, who thought the whole matter was a great joke. When he foolishly told his New Guinea lady friend, however, she saw no humour in the situation, and dumped him.

He told me it was my responsibility to find him another girl friend, which, given that I had never found a girl friend for ME without assistance from someone else, this seemed a greater task than I could ever complete.

When I told Bunty of my dilemma, she solved it. Just. Like. That. At her invitation, I took him out to Burbong Street, she had a long private discussion with him, he went home soon afterwards, and I only ever heard from him once more, some 25 years later. Journey of an Ordinary Man Chapter 14 p.7 ©Norm Wotherspoon 2011

As the year wore on, I found it impossible to escape Vietnam. My one foray into an R.S.L. Club2 had resulted in my leaving abruptly, ashamed and deeply upset by my contemptuous dismissal at the hands of World War II Veterans. Twice people had spat at me (not on me, just meaningfully and deliberately in my direction), and the anti-war voices became louder and stronger in Australian society

2 This was mentioned in Chapter 14.

Some 20 year old men had accepted jail sentences in preference to fighting in what they considered to be an unjust war. Simon Townsend, the creator of a popular children‟s television show, „Simon Townsend’s Wonder World‟, was the most high profile conscientious objector, and he spent time in jail for his stance against the increasingly unpopular war.

My mother and step-father would still not talk to me, and I felt incredible alone, ashamed, guilty and depressed.

I could not escape Vietnam – every day there were new stories about the war, about the anti-war movement, and every day someone made negative comments either to me or in my hearing. I also had flashbacks, and I lived in dread of loud noises and crowds. My nights were haunted by nightmares and bitter, self-directed thoughts of guilt, anger, shame.

I found no welcome home for me, and it too often seemed as if I had never returned from Vietnam.

Thirty or forty years later I wrote the following story that seemed to sum up how I felt about my life in 1968.

The Guest

Callaghan had never liked his guest, but somehow, he had never known how to ask the pest to leave. And so, every evening, they reflected on matters that Callaghan really didn’t want to think about. It was as though his visitor knew just what buttons to press, and how and when to press them. Journey of an Ordinary Man Chapter 14 p.8 ©Norm Wotherspoon 2011

For example, there was the night that attention focused on the Korean Army facility in Vung Tau, where they provided medical care for wounded Viet Cong soldiers. As usual, it was Callaghan’s guest who raised the topic, with the characteristic, casual, almost mocking voice that was both incredibly irritating but terrifyingly insistent.

"So tell me, Joseph, what did you see when you walked past that place? What did you hear? What did you feel?"

And Joe Callaghan would feel his body flooding with cold sweats and churning stomach juices. But he felt compelled to answer, in a small, shamed whisper.

"They just left them outside, in their beds and wheelchairs, in the rain, in the sun, in the wind. And no one ever came near them. They just lay there, or sat in their chairs, and they cried and moaned in their pain, and their fear. Until they died. And there was no treatment, or care for them. They were just … left there … to die. And I felt so, so useless, and guilty. One day, I tried to speak to the guards on the gate. But they just looked at me, and said I couldn’t go in. Dear God, why do you want to bring this up tonight?"

And that would destroy Callaghan’s sleep for yet another night.

Callaghan’s guest had a favourite subject – Long Tan. Time and again it would come up, and Callaghan found himself forced to justify himself over and over and over again.

"No, I wasn’t at the Battle of Long Tan," he would say, wearily. "My Company moved in the morning after. The battle was over."

"But what did you do, that morning after? What did you see? What did you feel? Tell me, Joseph." Journey of an Ordinary Man Chapter 14 p.9 ©Norm Wotherspoon 2011

We moved in, at first light, expecting to find D Company wiped out, expecting to find ourselves under that same massive enemy attack. But we found, 17 dead from D Company, and hundreds of Vietnamese bodies.

And what we did, that sunny morning in the cool green of the rubber trees, was, we buried 245 enemy bodies. It took us most of the day. And what I saw was death, and futility, and the emptiness of war. I did not see the enemy, just the shells of human beings whose time had come too soon, too violently. What I felt was guilt, and shame, and sorrow. And I prayed for each body that I buried, that he would find the peace beyond the curtain."

"But you lost something that day too, didn’t you?"

"Yes," whispered Callaghan. "I lost my faith. I prayed for the dead, and then, I lost my faith. What kind of God could allow this war to go on, to bring about so much pain and suffering and loss? My God had been a God of peace, of love. I could not comprehend that I was part of an army which believed it had God on its side."

Over the years, it became almost impossible for Joe to offer any sort of welcome or courtesy to his everyday guest. He grew solemn and morose, and at times refused to respond to questioning. But, it was no use. The visitor was persistent, and unruffled by silence, sullenness or anger. The questions just flowed on, until they all were answered.

Late one night, Callaghan came to understand the reality of his constant visitor. As always, the guest arrived unbidden, unannounced, just after two in the morning. Without benefit of hello, or any conventional small talk, the questioning began.

"What happened with your mate Billy, Joseph? Tell me about it. What plans did the two of you have? What stopped you doing that? How did you feel?" What did you do?" Journey of an Ordinary Man Chapter 14 p.10 ©Norm Wotherspoon 2011

At first, Callaghan simply refused to answer. Billy was nobody else’s business. He didn’t want to think about Billy, didn’t want to answer questions. For an hour or more, he paced the house, seeking respite from the questions at times by trying to read, to watch television, checking his email, and totally ignoring his visitor.

But the questions kept flooding his mind, burning themselves into his brain, with the inexorable purpose and pressure of water dripping away a stone. Like the stone, his resistance crumbled away, and he found himself responding, unwillingly, haltingly, despairingly.

Billy was my best mate in Vietnam. We were going to … Dear God, this is too hard! We were going to go on a giant pub crawl of all the RSL Clubs in Australia when we got home, and get free drinks, and be … heroes.

And then, he lost his arm, and came home so much earlier than me. And I never saw him again. He lost his arm .. it was just torn away, and with it went the dreams, the plans, the friendship.

It flooded back into Callaghan’s consciousness, as if it were a week ago. The numbness, the casual acceptance and unconcern, the soldier’s crude and callous humour that warded off the reality, the pain, the sorrow and the madness that war did not permit the common man to feel.

He recalled the night the company came back to Nui Dat. Sitting alone for hours in the Other Ranks Latrine, crying out his grief to the unfeeling, uncaring, unforgiving darkness.

Then, when he did come home, he went, once, to an RSL, as an unspoken promise to poor, lost Billy. He found no solace there, no friendship, no free drinks. Vietnam vets were treated with contempt by the members of the RSL. Journey of an Ordinary Man Chapter 14 p.11 ©Norm Wotherspoon 2011

After a while, Callaghan emerged from his bitter reverie, and looked around his empty lounge room. It was almost four a.m., and he felt totally wrung-out, devastated, and all-round crap.

He closed his eyes, and cursed his unseen guest.

"Who the hell do you think you are?’ he asked. "You come into my life whenever you like, and just tear me down all the time. I never asked you here, I don’t want you here. You’re not a guest, you’re not a visitor, and you’re an unwanted, unacceptable intrusion in my life, so get out!"

You don’t understand, do you Joe? Let me make it clear. I’m not your guest, or your friend, or your visitor, Callaghan. In fact, quite the reverse. You are my prisoner, Joe. For I am Vietnam, and I will never let you go.

Callaghan sat silently for another hour, until the first grey tinge of the new day faltered through his window. Until he recognised the truth that had been told him. He saw his future bleakly etched before him, with his days spent in the importances of family, work, and normal living, and his nights condemned to the perpetual nightmare of Vietnam. The inescapable memories, and their constant companions of guilt and shame, pain and punishment.

Callaghan wept. Journey of an Ordinary Man Chapter 14 p.12 ©Norm Wotherspoon 2011

Somewhere in 1968, I came to believe that the world would be a better place without me in it. The only problem was that I did not want to hurt those very few people who still loved me, who still cared about me.

The solution came when a position was advertised for a Travel Officer in the Melbourne office of the Bureau.In those days, seniority was still a major factor in promotions, and I was the senior staff member who was willing to transfer to Melbourne. I thought that, if I moved so far away from my supports, it would somehow be easier for them when I took myself out.

In the Brisbane office at the time was a very tall, very broad-shouldered man in his early 40s, Alick McCarthy, who always wore dark black suits. He was known to be an obsessively hard worker, and he had just been appointed as the new Manager of the Melbourne office . I thought he would be a difficult man to work for, and, if I was appointed to the Melbourne position, that would give me another reason to dislike my life.

I applied for the position, after asking advice from several of my drinking mates who were themselves Travel Officers, but I was deeply disappointed when John Webster, a clerk in the Melbourne office, was appointed to the job.

The Travel Officers in Brisbane, who all were firmly in favour of promotion by seniority, DEMANDED that I appeal the decision, and to engage the services of one Charlie Seymour, who was the solicitor of choice for Tourist Bureau appeals. Apparently he had never lost an appeal. I was also told, by people who had worked with John Webster, that he would be a pushover in an appeal.

I didn‟t really care about much except getting away from Brisbane, and I was set to contact Mr. Seymour, when Barry Mcphee suggested I try a bright young solicitor named Barry Smith. I took his advice, which provoked strong criticism from my fellow Bureau workers, and I lost the appeal comprehensively. The primary reason was that I had no experience of working on the travel counter. Journey of an Ordinary Man Chapter 14 p.13 ©Norm Wotherspoon 2011

Afterwards, the successful appointee, John Webster, shook my hand, and invited me to a celebratory drink at the Embassy Hotel, and we had a pleasant hour there.

John was a short, lisping, balding Englishman, who called everyone „mate‟, and his nickname was „Johnny Mate‟. Sometimes, for variety, he was referred to as „Yarrabah Jack‟, because he had worked for some years at Yarrabah Mission near Cairns.

After my disappointment had eased, I asked the Director-General of the Bureau, Joe Wilson, how I could get that experience. He suggested that I apply for a transfer to a branch office interstate as an unclassified clerk, to gain the necessary experience. I successfully applied for a vacant, unclassified position in Adelaide, but, another classification 1 Travel Officer position in Melbourne became vacant, and I successfully applied for it.

So, at the end of this most dreadful year, I packed my few belongings for my move to Melbourne, for what I thought would be the last little stage of my life. How wrong a boy can be!