As we came towards the end of our time at Wagga we were
instructed to fill in our posting preferences. That didn’t take me long –
Williamtown followed by Richmond and Amberley but I can’t recall the order of
the second two. These selections were made for one reason – to get me overseas.
In 1969 this meant Malaysia or Vietnam and I figured that Williamtown was an
almost certainty for Butterworth, and that while Richmond and Amberley gave me
a chance of Vietnam the odds depended very much upon which unit I ended up in
at either of these. As it turned out Williamtown was the smart choice. I didn’t
know it at the time but Vietnam was coming to an end and very few, if any, of
my apprentice intake got there.
The dream was fulfilled in September 1971, four days after
my 21st birthday. On the morning we left Sydney I was picked up from
my Aunty Aileen’s place, by taxi if I recall correctly, for the short ride to
the airport. Here I boarded a Qantas 707 that had been chartered by the RAAF
for the trip to Butterworth. The Qantas ‘charter’ was a monthly occurrence,
transporting RAAF personnel and their families to Butterworth and returning
with those who were being repatriated to Australia at the end of their tour.
I can’t recall how long it took, but it was probably around
8 hours. After leaving Sydney we first landed in Singapore so the jet could be
refuelled and to allow crew change for the return trip. One thing that struck
me as we came into Singapore were the number of thatched roof houses sprouting
television antennas. It struck me as rather odd.
 |
| A singlies house off Green Lane. Two ex-21 Intake blokes out front. |
I still feel for those Qantas cabin crew. RAAF families were
largely young families. In those days, and even now, I doubt if there would be
many other flights with the percentage of young children that were carried on
those charters. By the time we arrived at our destination the children were
rather restless. After all, it was a long day and to be couped up inside a 707
for so long tried their patience. To this day I wonder if Qantas didn’t use
those trips as a disciplinary measure for misbehaving staff – the Qantas
equivalent to the Corrective Training we experienced drilling on the bull ring
at Wagga after hours for disciplinary breaches.
The first thing that struck me on arrival at Butterworth was
the aroma that wafted through the open door of the aircraft as we disembarked.
I really don’t know how to describe it. Needless to say, high rainfall, high
humidity and an abundance of decaying matter left a lasting impression. And as
we stepped down from the plane there was the welcoming committee – our mates
that had gone before us and who were now waiting to show us the ropes.
The baggers were placed on buses and taken to their married
quarters – or to be billeted at the Hostie until one became available. Those of
us who were single were shown to our barracks on the base. Then the education
began.
My bags had barely hit the floor before I was on the back of
Darrel Heffernan’s bike heading for the Island. This was a first in itself – I had no prior
experience on a bike, either as a rider or a pillion. The first point of call
was, I think, a restaurant out Green Lane way. I know a few of the blokes had
houses out that way, including Garry Green. I can’t recall who else I was with
that night other than that they were mainly, if not solely, blokes off my
apprentice intake and one was probably John Meredith.
I can’t recall the name of the restaurant, but I clearly
remember the meal. I ordered a sizzling steak and was rather surprised when the
waiter place a bib around my neck, but I soon found out why. The steak was
delivered on a cast iron hotplate shaped like a bull. Never before had I had a
meal that literally spat at me. It was, indeed, a sizzling steak.
 |
| Butcher shop, Penang |
After that it was into town to check out the night life. We
probably started with the Tiger Bar – that seems to have been the standard
operating procedure. Then we moved on. I can’t recall the name of the
establishment but I was introduced to a young lady who went by the name of Fat
Annie. She asked something about ‘Cherry Boy’, my mates answered in the
affirmative, and Annie took a special interest in me. And that is all the
information you’ll get.
We returned to base and hit the sack. Singlies were expected
to report for work the morning after arrival, baggers were given the day off to
help get their families settled. I had spent my first night in Butterworth.
Again, the posting preferences were filled in. This time
Pearce was at the top of the list. I knew the family were on the other side of
the continent but I wanted to see some of the world. When the time came I was
posted to 38 Squadron, Richmond. As it turned out that was probably a good
move. I enjoyed my time on the Gravel Trucks (Caribous) and got a six week trip
to New Guinea out of it. At a reunion in Wagga on Anzac day 2013 I met one of
our number who did time at Pearce. Pearce as a training base and suffered some
of the same type of nonsense we put up with at Wagga. He had planned to
reenlist after our initial nine year term and was on his way to the orderly
room to do so when someone with a bit of authority reminded him that he was not
acting in an airman like manner. ‘I’m not putting up with this bullshit any
longer’ he said to himself, and that was the end of his RAAF career.
I had been at Richmond for about three years when I got the
message, ‘Corporal Marsh, they want you in the orderly room’. ‘You’ve been
posted to 75 Squadron in July’ I was told. This news was more than welcomed.
Butterworth had been at the top of my posting preferences since returning to
Australian and I had submitted a request for posting based on the fact that my
wife was Malaysian and it would allow her to spend time with her family. We
had, the weekend before, agreed to buy a house in North Richmond pending approval
of finance, so that approval never came.
The trip went much the same as before, except that I was now
one of the baggers with two young billy lids. We landed at Butterworth, got on
the bus and were taken to our married quarter. I wish I could remember the
address but all I can remember is that it was a short street on the left hand
side of Jalan Gajah somewhere near the top. The upstairs floors had been
freshly painted black – very freshly so I found when I dropped a suitcase on
the floor. The bottom of that case had black paint on it until the day we
disposed of it.
After a long day there was no chance of an early night. We
were met by the welcoming committee. There were some basic food stuffs provided
and our new neighbours were there to tell us the things we needed to know – and
to share a beer or two. This was appreciated, because although we had been
there before the experience of moving to a new posting with a young family was
not always easy. But one thing was a certainty with the RAAF, you were not on
your own. There were always mates who made you feel welcome and who helped you
make that transition to the new location.
So that was it, my first night in Penang as a bagger.
Different in many ways to my first night as a singlie, but both spent in the
company of friends.
 | ||
| One of the many temple scenes in Malaysia. Some beautiful | artwork |
All together I spent five years at Butterworth. Those years
stand out in many ways as the most memorable of my life. Of those, it is the
first posting that really stands out as the most memorable, and it is this one
that I seem to have the better memory of. I think there are certain things that
make that so.
Obviously, it was my first time outside Australia. But I
believe it was also the people I was with. A lot us had been through Wagga
together, spent our time at Williamtown and ended up in Butterworth. Darryl
Heffernan, John Meredith (we had been in 2 flight, ITS – Initial Training
Squadron – in our first six months at Wagga), Garry Green, and Garry Davidson –
the list goes on. Then there were my fellow sumpies – Jack Clarke, Steve
Perrin, Lew Crowe, and more. Please forgive my failing memory if I have left
you off the list. That’s over six years together in one way or another. And then
there were the blokes I met at 77 who also spent considerable time at
Butterworth with me – John Mantel, Butch Connolly and Bob Anderson to name a
few.
Richmond took me out of the Mirage loop for a few years.
When I returned there were still blokes there I knew, including those from the
first trip. As the main route for a techo to Butterworth was through
Williamtown there were a lot more blokes there I hadn’t met before and I find
it harder to recall names. Still a lot of great blokes, a lot of good times,
great memories, and a great experience for those kids old enough at the time to
remember it.
