Corporal Leslie ‘Joe’ Moss, SMS

“Uncle Les was banned from turning up to Parade because they couldn’t find any boots big enough to fit his feet,” writes Fiona Mount who shares his story with the Centaur Association.

Cpl Moss’ father was Louis Moss who was born in the New Hebrides and brought out as a sugar slave in the 1860s on the ship ‘Denise’. Les only ever had one sister, Patricia, who was a nurse in the army. Their mother left their father when the children were quite young, and moved back to Sydney to start a new life.

As my great-great-grandfather, Jonas Thomas Wogas, was South Sea Island heritage like Louis Moss, and around the same age, they became friends. Jonas’ eldest daughter, Ella helped raise Les and Patty (Patricia), as she had a child herself not that much older.

We’ve always grown up believing that Uncle Les and Aunty Patty were my grandmother’s half brother and sister, but after Aunty Patty died and subsequent family research, we discovered that they are not blood relatives at all. However, in South Sea Island culture they were ‘adopted’ into our family and to call them anything other than Uncle and Aunt just seems foreign.

I’ve listened to many a wonderful story about Uncle Les and remember my grandmother speaking very fondly, and sadly, of her ‘brother’ lost at sea. Even my father could remember the send-off for him at the local hall in Murwillumbah before Uncle Les caught the train to go to Sydney to board the Centaur. My father, who was only five at the time, said he couldn’t understand why his mother, Aunty Patty and his grandmother were all inconsolable, why the men were so quiet and serious and why they were calling this a ‘party’ when all they did was cry. Innocent memories of a child.

My father told me that after Les’s mother disappeared to Sydney and his grandmother Ella, took the kids on to help out there used to be some “issues” with this. Apparently Louis didn’t want any help raising his children so sometimes Ella had to wait until the middle of the night, walk to Kingscliff, walk the children back to her house, wash them, feed them, change them, put them to bed then Uncle Louis would turn up and take them back, making them walk back in the middle of the night to Kingscliff.

My grandmother Phoebe, her sister Beverley and Aunty Pat all grew up quite close so this situation must have torn at their hearts as the children wouldn’t have wanted to leave Phoebe, Beverley and their mother Ella, but then they would have loved their father too.

Uncle Les used to play the ukulele, even on board the Centaur, and he had a very good singing voice too, and was fond of yodelling.

He was a bit of a joker. We have a photo somewhere of him playing

the ukulele and wearing only a grass skirt made out of banana leaves!

He was obviously very family-orientated too. Many letters sent home to Uncle Louis Moss have been archived and displayed at the Tweed Museum. I believe that Aunty Pat donated them when Uncle Louis passed away.

One thing that really stands out is the number of letters and cards of condolence Uncle Louis received from such a diverse group of people when Uncle Les died on the Centaur. Aunty Pat must have kept those because there were ones from crew mates, patients, high ranking officers, local government representatives, local store keepers, friends of Uncle Les who had never met Uncle Louis, friends and commanders from different locations where Uncle Les had served or trained. It was just amazing to read them all. All of these people spoke of his love of family, always talking to everyone about his father and sisters, his humour – a little politically incorrect by todays standards, his gentleness, his calm and caring nature, his love for the Tweed / Chinderah area, his love of singing and music and discharging his duties with respect, humour and efficiency.

On the wall in her lounge room my grandmother had the big beautiful portrait of Uncle Les (above), the one now hanging in the Centaur Primary School foyer. My mother used to comment on how handsome he was and she asked my grandmother, Phoebe, Les’s unofficially adopted sister, who it was. My grandmother always used to say in a very sad voice that it was her brother Les.

I remember the portrait and I remember asking her myself but she never answered and neither did Aunty Pat. My father told me some years later but I don’t think it was something that they wanted to discuss – it was too painful.

A funny aside – Aunty Pat taught me to pick little things up with my toes.

Apparently this was a skill that Uncle Louis taught them both when they went pippying as children.

Big-hearted Joe met a Watery Grave

By: H.C. Baker

From an article published at the time in the Sydney Morning Herald sent in by Fiona Mount.

Nobody will ever know how Big ‘Joe’ Moss died, for nobody in his portion of the ship lived to tell about it.

But nobody who knew the gigantic New Hebridean would dispute the words of the Darwin Digger who said, “One thing is for sure; if Joe was able to barely crawl after the explosion he would have been doing just one thing – trying to help the injured.” February 19, 1942: Japanese bombers destroyed most of the shipping in Darwin Harbour, smashed the wharves, bombed the RAAF and damaged almost every building in the area. The raid had a demoralising effect on the service personnel as well as the civilian population. Most of the latter left for the safety of the south or were ordered to evacuate.

The servicemen – and women – remained to await – further raids? Enemy landings? Who knew?

A group of AIF officers organized an impromptu concert to boost morale. The hit of the show was Corporal Les ‘Joe’ Moss, a young giant of a man carrying a guitar. He shuffled his big, bare feet to the edge of the stage – and grinned. It was the widest most good-natured grin ever seen, and it won the crowd instantly. By some amazing talent the dark-skinned man appeared to be able to sing and still retain his watermelon grin.

Joe became one of the most well-known identities in the camp. At every concert he was requested to give an item – and was always enthusiastically applauded. However, it was in his capacity as medical orderly at the RAP (Regimental Aid Post) that Joe made his most sincere friends. He became known as “the Gentle Giant.” Joe could lift the heaviest man in and out of bed as easily as an ordinary man would pick up a four-year-old. Yet no mother ever handled her baby more gently or tended the mite with more kindness. One of Joe’s patients once said, “The very sight of him made you feel more cheerful. He’d come into the ward – and it was like seeing a huge white smile with a dark face somewhere in the background.m“Then he’d chuckle, ‘And how are my little white boys today?’ he’d say, and go through the actions of counting us off on his fingers.

“Then he’d laugh – the most infectious booming laugh I ever heard in my life.” Standing Orders proclaimed that there would be a battalion parade. Every man would turn out – and be correctly dressed in every detail, even to having bootlaces tied in the correct military fashion. It was doubtful whether Joe had ever worn footwear in his life. The biggest boots in Darwin would not have gone on his proportionally large feet.

“You’d need the boxes they come in Joe,” grinned the QM Sergeant.

Joe did the only thing he could do – he turned up on parade in bare feet. The CO almost had a stroke at the sight, but short of ordering an amputation there was nothing he could do. Joe was not only excused from turning out on parade, he was emphatically forbidden to do so. Towards the end of 1942 Joe’s Unit was transferred to Corrimal while waiting to embark on the Centaur. He was missed. His was a ‘hard act to follow’ even in the RAR.

Wartime censorship held back most war news but rumours spread. One of the grimmest to reach Darwin was that the Australian Hospital Ship Centaur had been torpedoed off Moreton Island Queensland, with appalling loss of life. When a newspaper with the story in it eventually reached Darwin the troops read that the rumour was true.

Shocked as the troops were there was one paragraph which struck them with the impact of a personal tragedy. It described an interview with a survivor, Able Seaman Alfred Ramage. The seaman mourned for a medical orderly named Corporal Les ‘Joe’ Moss, a native of the New Hebrides who had been caught below decks when the explosion occurred. He was, said Ramage, “the very soul of kindness to every sick soldier he attended.” Scores of servicemen would agree.

Fiona continues her story: I am President and Secretary of our local branch of the Australian South Sea Islander Association. As there are family members older than I am to represent my great-great-grandfather Jonas Wogas and

ensure he is not forgotten, I always move to the side of Moss to ensure that little family of three lives on as neither Aunty Patty nor Uncle Les ever married or had any children.

Moss House (Red House),at Centaur Primary School is a living memorial to Cpl Leslie “Joe” Moss.