They were to wait there until the other 13 were well enough to travel and join them. Keith put me in charge of the Iboki camp and the next morning five of the Australians who were well enough left for Cape Gloucester. I found the 18 Australians there and met the Assistant District Officer, Keith McCarthy. I overloaded dangerously because I had 15 tons by measurement on a 5½ ton boat and at midnight on the Sunday, with three natives and a half-caste girl, Emma Leahmann, we crossed to Iboki. I immediately loaded the pinnace with food and medical supplies. The Australians, the head boy told me with tears in his eyes, were ‘Sick fella masters too much’. The boys told me of 18 Australian soldiers who were at Linga-Linga Plantation at Talasea. I got back to Langu and two days later the cutter returned. I saw then that three of the boys had spread a sail over the decking and pretended to mend it all the time the Japanese were on board. When I came up my face was covered in a black scum of oil, and pitch from the decking had blackened my back. The Japs seemed satisfied with my boys’ explanations, gave them a cigarette and a biscuit each, went back into their plane and took off. I bit my lip till blood ran to prevent myself screaming and giving myself away to the Japanese. Perhaps that was because a rat in the bilge water was running about and brushing against my bare leg – I was wearing only shorts and shirt. I remember that strangely enough I was not frightened of the Japanese. The native boys told one of the two in answer to his questions that their master had gone to Sydney a long time ago and that they were going back to the plantation on Witu to pick up a load of workers to take them back to their villages on the mainland. The Japs had boarded us and were questioning the natives. Next I heard footsteps on the deck accompanied by a flood of fluent Pidgin. There was a slap as the seaplane landed and the motors roared as it taxied close. I hid in the bilge under the after-decking. I told the boys what to say in case the Japanese did land and come across to investigate us. On my return trip on 14 February a Jap seaplane circled my small pinnace and looked about to land. I left a cutter on the mainland with eight boat’s crew – boys from my own plantation – with instructions to return to Witu immediately and tell me if they had any news of Australian soldiers. I had with me a boat’s crew and we established our dumps along the Aria River. Langu the Second had only 9 knots and was 27 feet long. I was sure if any Australians escaped from Rabaul they would make down the coast. On January 24th I loaded my pinnace – Langu the Second – and set out for the mainland to make food dumps which I was sure we would require later. There was a small steamer anchored at Witu – the Lakatoi -and I tried to persuade the crew to leave for Australia but they thought the run would be too risky. The following day all radio news from Rabaul ceased and later I learnt from the natives Rabaul had fallen. It was a clear day and they had seen the smoke signals on the mainland 64 miles away. The news came by drums and smoke signals down the mainland of New Britain and my boys picked it up. On 19 January the natives told me that Praed Point at Rabaul had been bombed and gave me details of the bombing which I later found to be accurate. As far as I knew I was the only woman left. The last ship carrying women and children had gone. Just after Christmas I was granted permission to remain in the Territories. Some Zeros came too with the Rising Sun glinting on their wings and I hated the scream as they dived to look at Langu and at the plantation anchorages. In case of bombing I made the natives take shelter in the reinforced concrete culverts I had helped them build. Nearly all of them would come down low and circle the house at Langu. Almost a week before Christmas the first of many Jap reconnaissance planes came over. I arranged the usual sing sing for the natives but I doubted if we would ever have another Christmas on Langu for a long time. That last Christmas of 1941 at Langu was the closest I could make it the same as all others. I thought maybe there might be use for my medical knowledge and I thought that my ‘mud-ticket’, which I gained because of my knowledge of New Britain waters, might be required. Her husband, Bill, an ex-serviceman from WWI, died from blood-poisoning in Rabaul about 1934.Īfter Japan attacked and when women and children were being evacuated from New Britain I asked permission of the Administration to remain. Glad was a widow with no immediate family. This is the story of Gladys Baker’s escape from the Japanese as she described it on Radio 2FC at 7.45pm on Sunday night, 27 August 1942.
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