Historical Nobodies Live!

[Australian soldiers’ photos taken during Vietnam War at Robert Taylor’s Museum of Worldwide Arms in Vung Tau]

Man fudges, embellishes, withholds, denies, invents or, simply, misremembers. Knowing himself to be a chronic liar, this small time weasel somehow believes those with much more ambition, and much more at stake, are telling the truth. Working two jobs to afford cases of Budweiser or Miller, he’ll send $20 to help millionaires or even billionaires get elected.

Feminist #Me Too divorcees cheer sexual predators Bill Clinton and Joe Biden because they’re all on the same team. My body, my choice ex hippies snarl at those who would rather not be injected with body wrecking “vaccines.”

Neocolonialists or even sex tourists call themselves global citizens. According to Oxfam, this is “someone who is aware of and understands the wider world—and their place [in] it. They take an active role in their community and work with others to make our planet more equal, fair and sustainable.” Notice the “their” instead of “his.” Just as war mongers and profiteers speak of spreading freedom and democracy, tyrannical globalists tout “equal, fair and sustainable” diktats.

Misuse of language is already lying. To destroy someone’s genitals is now called gender-affirming surgery. For ten centuries, the Chinese used death by a thousand cuts, lingchi, to punish those most hated by their kings. If revived today, it should be rebranded as patient holistic pampering to stimulate all your nerve endings with multiple public orgasms guaranteed. Going along with every linguistic abuse, English professors have become the vanguard of idiocy and pseudo literacy.

Just about everything contributes to our pervasive miasma of mendacity: personal and collective vanity, terror of repulsive facts, shame at nearly all our functions, inclinations and thoughts, and denial of our incurable stupidity and cowardice, etc. It’s an infinite list.

These truthful reflections I arrived at, all by myself, after a recent visit to the Robert Taylor’s Museum of Worldwide Arms. Though a magnificent gift to Vung Tau, it’s another elaborate lie about war. All these handsome mannequins in impressive uniforms have nothing to do with how war is endured. Within minutes of a firefight, your average soldier may find his last beverage or meal inside his pants, if not his entrails or brain plopping out. He’s just praying for it to be over. All these British, Russian, Prussian, Dutch, Japanese, American, Australian, French, German and Viet Cong soldiers constitute a static parade for couch slugs with thick glasses, ditzy teens and video game junkies. The most awesome outfits have been invented worldwide to mask the most wretched of human experiences. Here and there, though, sobering truths seep through.

During the Vietnam War, Americans were stationed just north of Back Beach, three miles from where I’m sitting. Aussies were in Đất Đỏ [Red Earth], 25 miles away. Since Australia is close enough, many Aussie vets have returned to establish a colony in Vung Tau. Their two main hangouts are Belly’s Watering Hole and Ned Kelly’s Pub. Getting up there in years, their number is dwindling.

At Robert Taylor’s museum, there are albums of photos taken by these Aussies. Before cellphones with their digital cameras, taking pictures was a lot less convenient. Cameras weren’t automatic, had no viewfinders and photos had to be developed. Though amateurish, these images constitute a touching historical record. In one, there’s a white singer in a lime green dress that couldn’t have been cut any higher. Enjoying the show and view are all these white faces further blanched by the overexposed camera. This whiff of pussy and female voice from home was too brief a respite from being shot at from thickets or bamboo groves the day before and after.

There are pages called “500—THE AUSTRALIANS WHO DIED IN VIETNAM.” Accompanying black and white ID photos are the briefest biographies. Four samples:

Barry R. George, 21, Rylstone, NSW. As a youngster, George was a keen cricketer and boxer. He loved horse and dog racing and had a greyhound. He was drafted in May 1968, was assigned to 9RAR and left for Vietnam in February 1969 where his only brother was also fighting. Two months later, the private rifleman was killed in action in Long Khanh Province on the morning of April 7 1969 when he was shot in the chin and throat.

Samuel Graham, 22, Glasgow, Scotland. Graham was a brickmaker when he was drafted in July 1967. The private rifleman with 4RAR was killed in action in Bien Hoa Province on January 31 1969.

John F Gillespie, 24, Melbourne, Victoria. On April 17 1971, an Australian dustoff helicopter hovered above an insecure landing zone, trying to pick up wounded Vietnamese regional force soldiers. As the first soldier was being winched up, the helicopter was hit by ground fire from Viet Cong. The helicopter crashed and the crew evacuated, but Gillespie, the medic on board, was pinned in the twisted metal.

John Hall, 31, Teralba, NSW, was the last Australian to die in Vietnam, murdered in a brawl with a Vietnamese national at Vung Tau, Phuoc Tuy, on October 27 1971. When he was 16, at the completion of his school certificate at Newcastle Boys High School, Hall entered the Army Apprentice School to make the Army his career. He served two tours in Malaya, where he married his wife, Jenny, before volunteering for Vietnam.

Rylstone is 140 miles from Sydney. In 2021, it had less than a thousand people. From barren, rural Australia, 21-year-old Barry was wrested from his cricket, boxing, dog racing and greyhound. Suddenly, he was in a country and war he couldn’t possibly have any grasp of and, just like that, he was dead.

Sam didn’t emigrate from Scotland so he could die in Biên Hòa.

John Hall, though, didn’t just choose to be a soldier, but had volunteered for Vietnam after two years in Malaya. Of course, it’s goofy these deployments are called “tours.” Experience gaurs, proboscis monkeys and Commies in lush jungles. Dry biscuits, margarine, vegemite and jam will generally be available. Please note tour may end most abruptly. Some have hardly landed before they’re sent home.

We don’t know if John had kids, but he’d rather be at war than with Jenny. Some men need these thrilling breaks from home. There’s this humorous composition in one of the albums:

TO MY DEAR WIFE,

During the past year I have tried to seduce you 365 times. I succeeded 36 times. This is an average of once every 10 days. The following is why I did not succeed more often—

We will wake the children                      17 times
It’s too hot                                                15 times
I’m too tired                                              5    "
It’s too early                                              52   "
It’s late                                                       15   "
Pretending to be asleep                            49   "
Windows open neighbours will hear      9      "
Backaches                                                  2     "
Headaches                                                 16   "
Sunburn                                                      6    "
Too full                                                       10  "
Not in the mood                                         21  "
Wake the baby                                            17  "
Watching late T.V. show                            7    "
Too sore                                                      9    "
New hairdo                                                 4    "
Wrong time of the month                          7    "
You had to go to the toilet                        9     "

                                       TOTAL               329 times

During the 36 times I did succeed, the activity was not entirely satisfactory, because 6 times you just laid there, 18 times you told me to hurry up and get it over with, 6 times I had to wake you to tell it was finished, and once I was afraid I’d hurt you because I thought I felt you move.

Darl, it’s no bloody wonder I drink too much.

Your loving husband.

There’s also a letter from “B. LUCKIE” addressed to “Bastards.” An excerpt:

In 1930 my father died, my brother was hung for raping an old-age pensioner. A tramp filled my daughter and I had to pay the doctor fifty ‘Oxford Scholars’ to keep the bastard from being a relative.

In 1932 my boy got the mumps and they went to his balls and the doctor had to castrate him to save his life. Later I went fishing and the boat upturned, I lost the biggest schnapper I ever saw and two of my boys were drowned, neither being the castrated one.

In 1933 my wife ran off with an Irish sheep farmer and left me with a pair of twins as souvenir. Then I married my housekeeper to keep my expenses down, but I had trouble trying to fill her in. I went to the doctor and he advised me to create some sort of excitement about the time she was ready. That night I took the shotgun to bed with me. When I thought she was ready, I shoved the gun out of the window and fired. She shit the bed and I shot the best bloody cow I ever owned.

This avalanche of misfortunes mirror, funhouse fashion, what these men had to endure. We’re not just talking about the Aussies, of course, but all the armies, USA, NVA, ARVN, ROK, NDZF and Thai. The last actually suffered 351 killed. Castration, rape, losing your sons, soiling your pants or having your wife run off with another man is much more intrinsic to war than looking brave in a uniform.

Since winners write history, the ARVN is only represented at Robert Taylor’s museum by two small photos tucked into a hidden corner. Not one in a hundred visitors see these. At Ned Kelly’s Pub, South Vietnamese soldiers also appear, but barely. It’s good these Aussies remember their unfortunate allies.

Children are miseducated, soldiers are pawns and most voters are fools. The best we can hope for is to be left alone to earn a few bucks, crack bad jokes, sip coffee and salve each other’s miscelaneous pains. Here in Vung Tau, any man can still sleep peacefully in public as breezes wash over him, with his lullaby the breaking waves.

[Australian soldiers’ photos taken during Vietnam War at Robert Taylor’s Museum of Worldwide Arms. Top left photo is of Back Beach. All those swimmers are Vietnamese. American soldiers had their own compound and beach just beyond. Nurse is American.]

[in an album at Robert Taylor’s Museum of Worldwide Arms in Vung Tau]

[two uncaptioned photos of ARVN soldiers tucked into a hidden corner of Robert Taylor’s Museum of Worldwide Arm]

[Vung Tau, 12/12/23]