I’ve been asked over the years by friends and family as to how or why I spent 6 years in the army when I was 17 years old. There’s 2 reasons for that query…firstly I’m a pacifist and secondly I spent most of the 6 years as an aircraft mechanic, and I can barely change a tyre on my car!

Valid questions, but the decision to join the army as a virginal, naïve 17 year old from Kwinana, an industrial town 40km south of Perth was very spontaneous. It’s only now when I look back as I approach the 40thanniversary of the enrolment on 29th July 1980, that it’s clear there was much more driving this seemingly insane determination.

Fundamentally I started losing my way at around the age of 16. Up to that point I had been a high achiever both academically and in sport but suddenly in Year 11 I can remember looking at a formulae on the  blackboard in an advanced maths class and absolutely nothing computed upstairs. I persevered over the next few weeks but it felt like I was getting dumber by the day and with that came the usual teenage distractions of parties and girls.

Within a month I had left school and was on the dole. My parents were shattered which only exacerbated the situation and frustration and anger grew. There was so many unemployed youth in WA at the time that the Court Government hired a heap of cheap buildings and youth workers and called the scheme the Community Youth Support Scheme (CYSS) in order to keep us unruly youth off the streets. Kwinana’s CYSS hub was a 1 minute walk from the high school and a constant reminder of my own failure. We spent most of the week smoking, playing pool and making stubby holders, all for $6 a week which we spent on Friday afternoon’s at the only junk food outlet at the time, Red Rooster.

The remainder of the week was spent shop lifting. The new Kwinana Hub Shopping Centre was the perfect place to snatch cassettes, food and clothing and a couple of us made the most of it until one day I pushed my luck too far and tried to steal a pair of jeans. I was called out by a lady staff member outside the Boans department store and even though I could easily have run, I gave up and allowed her to take me upstairs and wait for the police. I think my capitulation was due to my disgust and self-loathing more than anything. What have I become?

The cops drove me home and I begged them to let me run in and explain to Mum what had happened before they came into the house. I sprinted inside and It went something like this. “Mum, don’t panic but I’ve just been caught shoplifting and the police……in fact here they are now.” Enter 2 x cops into the kitchen. A few weeks later I was in the Magistrates Court and in the dock looking to the back of the room at my poor Mum who had high hopes for the second youngest of her 9 children. The magistrate basically lectured me and read out my academic record, the fact that I was the Dux and Head Prefect of my primary school and was playing football at South Fremantle. He warned me to get my shit together before I went down the slippery slope that so many of our local youth were heading in the Kwinana region.

The rest of 1979 consisted of some volunteer work and a short lived job as a process worker but most importantly staying out of trouble. At the start of 1980 I enrolled in a Mechanical Engineer’s Degree in Fremantle. Within 3 months, again my concentration levels were appalling and my extra-curricular activities were increasing. It was around this time that a couple of good friends Jim and Pete were wanting to go to Fremantle to visit the Army Recruiting Centre. It just so happened that my parents were going somewhere near there that day and offered to drive the 3 of us the 20 minute trip north. I had a day off college so was just happy to find an excuse to not be doing homework and go hang out. We were dropped off at a café opposite the train station where they had a few pinball machines which we loved playing. We entered the café, put our 20c in the machines and lit a cigarette. Suddenly my mum returned from outside to remind me of something and saw the smoke. My mum wasn’t a swearer but she teed off in her own inimitable way that could make you feel 2 inches tall, then left. My life had hit a new low. 

I followed the boys to the recruiting centre and as they started filling out the paperwork, I grabbed a form and did the same. When I look back now it was an act of sheer desperation as opposed to a well thought through, strategic career move. Within 3 weeks I was notified I was “in” and Jim and Pete had missed out. (Jim successfully  joined 2 years later). 

Acceptance letter page 1

Acceptance letter page 1

Certificate of Enlistment

I can remember a couple of car loads of mates picking me up from 23 Crabtree Way Medina to drive me to the airport, cold cans of Emu Export at the ready. I was wearing beige flairs and borrowed cowboy boots from Jim. I can still see my folks on the front lawn waving goodbye and my little brother Glen nowhere to be seen, no doubt delighted to be getting my room, the “sleep out” with the Led Zeppelin and Malcolm Blight posters on the wall.

23 Crabtree Way, Medina 6167 WA

About to leave for Perth airport

At Perth airport there was the WA members of the Australian Test Cricket team drinking at the bar waiting to fly out to somewhere. The great Dennis Lillee was at the bar and Pete returned after a long absence to tell us he’d had a beer with the legend himself. His chat had actually consisted of, “G’day Den”. “G’day mate”. 10 minutes of silence passed. “Seeya Den.” “Yeah seeya mate.” 

The flight over was silent but I was fortunate that another Medina boy, Kevin had joined up at the same time so I had someone to talk to. We had a 3 hour wait at Tullamarine waiting for the Tasmanian recruits who would then join us for the bus ride to Kapooka, the Army’s basic training base, approximately 10km from Wagga Wagga. I’ve never know a bus trip like it. 7 hours of excruciating silence. There are no friends here. No mates. Wasn’t that what the army is all about? Mateship? Not here mate. Every man for himself.

The bus arrives and we are greeted by 2 degrees celsius and large men yelling constantly at us. I had never experienced cold like it and it matched the temperature of the welcome. I felt like Goldie Hawn in Private Benjamin…”sorry this wasn’t in the brochures…” as another large moustachioed sergeant sprayed us with obscenities.

We were lined up in a standard formation of 3 x rows and a Warrant Officer (the most senior non-commissioned officer) stood out front and delivered what was nothing more than a giant warning to not fuck up or you will have your arse kicked from here to kingdom come. Thanks very much, it’s a pleasure to be here. Then came what is a regulatory statement given  in the army usually before leaving a rifle range and it goes something like this, “If anyone here has any firearms, ammunition or drugs on their person, hand it over now and nothing more will be said.” Right then, a surfie-looking WA kid who had travelled this entire trip with me put his hand up, moved to the side of the group and handed over 2 x bags of marijuana. To their word, he marched out 13 weeks later. 

After being marched to the 25 Platoon accommodation block which held 48 raw recruits, we were given a knife, fork, spoon and a green plastic mug for both hot and cold drinks. You shared a room with 3 other recruits, partitioned so there was 2 on each side. You had a single bed and a locker, no radio or TV. We were then marched to the mess for dinner with 2000 other recruits all at different stages of training. You could tell the duration they had been there by the length of their hair.

As you walk in the door of the mess, the first test of psychological degradation is clearly there to behold. You, in your civilian clothes and long hair confronted by 2000 short haired desperados in green, all whistling at you like jail bait. The supervising staff made feeble attempts to shut the abuse down but we all knew it was part of the plan. If I could just get off track a bit at this point and mention my old next door neighbour from Medina, Luka , who at junior football trophy night would always win Most Courageous, Most Fearless and Most Psychotic. Luka joined the army about 10 weeks after me and went through this same routine, but had arrived with long blonde hair and a ginger beard. I was in the “long haired brigade” by this stage having dinner and counting down the days till graduation when in walks Luka. The whistles started but someone went too far and Luka attacked him with brute force landing some heavy blows. 2000 excited recruits stood to see if they could get a glimpse of the action, except me steadfast in my seat. Once things settled and Luka was removed from the mess I was asked why I didn’t respond. “That’s my next door neighbour”  I said. Luka is a now a minister of the church in Perth.

On the first night at Kapooka the lights were out and the recruit in the bed directly opposite me was an 18YO guy from Sydney whose last name was Farrow. 5 hours from his home, and he started balling his eyes out. I was 3000km away from home and petrified. What the hell am I doing here?  The next day I found this letter my mum had snuck into my bag when I left. It’s one of the few times I’ve cried.

There is more to come in part 2 but I need a rest from the trauma! During long Covid walks with my partner Lynda I’ve told her some of these army stories for the first time and she reckons I’ve got PTSD! Well thankfully no, because I’ve seen PTSD for real during those 6 years as most of my brave bosses were Vietnam and Korea veterans, but what I do have is bi-polar disorder, formerly known as manic depression. It took 31 years to diagnose it thanks to my ex-wife Tina forcing me to seek help but the reason I’m mentioning this is because it now explains the sudden drop off at school. I genuinely loved studying and researching as a kid and I lost the love overnight. History has repeated itself with one of my daughters but fortunately we are on top of it as she moves into her 20’s. I can’t go back and fix my youth up now but if you are a parent and you are witnessing mercurial drop offs in your child’s attention span and an increase in reckless behaviour, don’t just put it down to hormones. Dive deeper.

Shaved head, near death experience, cruel instructors, accusations of pistol theft, sliding doors with a Long Tan Veteran, learning new obscenities, tear gas stuff ups, watching Zulu and the pride of the march out parade, in the next instalment of Child in a Man’s world-Kapooka 1980. 🙂