Staff Sergeant Dick Medcalf, NX150851, SMS

By his daughter Helen Milne

I only saw my father cry twice …

The first time was when he saw his faithful old Fergie tractor, which he had just traded by phone on a new model do a full roll over a 20′ embankment into the Murrumbidgee River …

My father, Dick Medcalf, was born in the Trundle Hotel on March 21, 1922 in the central west of New South Wales where his great grandfather had selected land in 1853. His family owned grazing properties in the Dunnedoo and Trundle districts and his fond childhood memories of that rural lifestyle were to stay with him for the rest of his days.

One of his earliest recollections at the age of 6 or 7, is of a trip the family made to ‘Lolworth Station’ in Western Queensland:

“In those days ‘Lolworth’ was the only property at the end of a long and  lonely rutted track crossing stony ridges and dry watercourses. Fences were just a couple of strands of barbed wire strung between scrubby trees. The beautiful old homestead was surrounded by a stone wall and the lovely garden watered by an ever running spring, even in those drought times.

“The two identities of the property were two full blooded Aboriginals, Daisy and Peter, whose parents had asked Mr Connolly to take them from the mission on Palm Island and provide them with training and and education. To these fine people, the Connolly’s became their foster parents and Lolworth their ‘country’ home. Peter would take me on an old draft horse along the creek to pull drought stricken and hogged cattle from the spring before the dingoes killed them. Mrs. Connolly and Daisy took us for walks to the spring source bubbling from a pile of rocks on the plain where we would see the brolgas, (native companions) dancing in the afternoons. Another walk was to a steep rocky hill not far from the homestead where the Pretty Faced wallabies were peeping at us from behind the rocks. Wild pigs and brumbies were always a curse – breaking down fences, killing newhorn calves and always fouling up water holes.

So the stockmen had to shoot all they could. They were tough cattlemen and women in those days out in this wild country, where they had no wireless or telephones, no Flying Doctor. Mrs. Connolly gave the  children lessons and doctored everyone’s ills and accidents.

“This then, was just one of the large isolated cattle stations of North Queensland in those far off days – and it has always been a reminder to me throughout my life on other properties, and my own when I have felt that things have been getting a bit tough, a great help, believe you me! It does us good to remember how our grandparents and pioneers had to live and work, and still enjoy their lives together long ago.“

After attending local schools, Dad boarded at Mudgee High School and later attended Randwick High in Sydney. He joined Phillips Lamps X-Ray Division to train as an X-Ray Technician. He studied Physics, Chemistry, Anatomy & Physiology at Sydney University, and X-Ray Position and Technique at Royal Prince Alfred Hospital.

In June 1940 Dad joined the Army along with thousands of enthusiastic young Australians determined to fight for their country, flag and honour. He spent several years as an X-Ray Technician doing medical checks for Army recruits. Later, to serve on the Centaur, he was trained as a Medical Technologist at Greenslopes Military Hospital in Brisbane.

The Centaur story we all know so well. Dad’s personal recollections have been documented in his obituary written by Dr Jonathan King (Sydney Morning Herald, March 15-16, 2008).

After the sinking of the Centaur he was given two weeks “Survivor Leave” – there was no such thing as emotional support and counselling in those days, it was just “get over it and get on with life’. [the ongoing nightmares, which followed, were with Dad until the day he died.]

Following this brief leave he was sent to 114 AGH (Australian General Hospital), Townsville, later recommended to OTC, but instead transferred to 9th Division on Atherton Tableland in the 2/1 Casualty Clearing Station. He spent the remainder of the war in the Pacific Islands – Moratai, Brunei with a surgical team. Then Labuan Island in Borneo fighting the Japanese until the end of the war

”I came home from the War in February 1946. The long voyage from Borneo was over, with a millpond sea down past the Trobiands and Ambon with not a ripple on the ocean. I’d stood at the bow of the Liberty ship and watched the flying fish stream out from the bow and its spray. At Thursday Island it rained and kept up most of the way down the Queensland coast and through the Whitsunday Islands. The Queensland portion of our troops went ashore in Brisbane and we went on to Sydney – with the Heads welcoming us at the harbour, the ferries “cockle-doo-dl-dooo!” and then we went to Marricksville Depot and were given our leave passes for a couple of weeks.

“So, that afternoon I found myself in the city and walked into a pub on the corner of King and Pitt Streets. It was a kind of ceremonial drink, and I thought quite clearly – ‘Well, 6 years of the War and the Army are over – what next?’

There had been many times while working in hospitals and hospital ships in the operating theatre and in the Casualty Clearing Station as well as in the infantry, when I’d been terribly tempted to go on to university and do medicine when I came home – but then the thought of six more years of study after 6 years in the Amy was a bit too much to face. No, the bush was where I’d come from and that was where I belonged – so, ‘Here’s to the bush and a new period of my life. Down the hatch!”

The yearning for the quiet of the bush drew him to work for a time as a jackaroo near Burren Junction and the Pilliga Scrub in North West NSW. Dad then returned to X-ray work at Lismore, Casino and Mlllwillumbah Hospitals. His spare time was spent sailing on the Richmond River at Ballina at weekends. In the winter he skied in the Victorian Alps, hiking into the Falls Creek and Mt Hotham ski fields.

Royal North Shore Hospital in Sydney was his next workplace and it was here, in 1948, in the Medical Library, that he met his future wife: the tall, elegant, red headed Shirley Smith.

Dick and Shirley were married at St. Stephens in Mosman on December 4, 1948 and spent their honeymoon hiking and skiing large snowdrifts in the Mt. Kosciusko high plains.

Once again the call of the bush rang out when he was offered an overseer’s job at ‘Cuppacumbalong’ near Canberra. I, Helen, their eldest daughter, was born on August 30, 1949 in Canberra.

When the job at ‘Cuppacumbalong’ was completed, we moved back to Sydney and Dad worked in X-Ray Depts at Manly Hospital, Mona Vale Hospital and Macquarie Street. It was in Sydney on October 21, 1951, that my sister Diana was born.

While professional work in Sydney had it’s attraction, Dad, once again, could not resist the call of the bush when an offer came to manage a sheep property near Narrandera in South Western NSW…

In 1952, we sold all the furniture for £600 and bought a 1937 Ford car and travelled to ‘Kyola’ (near Darlington Point) with the family, a distance of about 500 miles from Sydnry. Kyola property consisted of one homestead and 8,000 acres cut into 4 paddocks. Trying to draft sheep in open paddocks, some as large as 3,000 acres, added to the challenges of the bush. I had to cut timber to build the sheep yards. Unfortunately, droving the sheep 13 miles to a neighbouring properry for crutching and shearing forced the necessity of building shearing shed.

Throughout the early 1950‘s drought was not a way of life. The rains came in all their profusion and did not stop for weeks. Roads were cut, farmlands flooded and dams overflowed. Basic supplies were ferried in by a plane which landed on the nearest open area, Jerilderie Main Road; supplies were then transported to the property by horse and sulky. The overabundance of water produced so much stock feed; the paddocks were feet high in grasses. The sheep, not only hard to find, didn’t make a dint on the overabundance. The necessity for diversification into cattle was paramount. I travelled to Dunedoo and purchased 300 cows and calves.

“They were railed part of the way and then travelled the ‘long paddock’ to Lyola. ‘Big Dam’ paddock housed the cattle and after 3 weeks, the results of plentiful feed and water were astonishing. From the sale of the cattle, sufficient funds were obtained to finally build the long-awaited shearing shed and more stockyards. “

In Leeton, on August 28 1955, their first son, my brother Stephen, was born. Now, with a family of 5 to feed and clothe, Dad, after long negotiations, had his Manager’s salary raised to 12 pounds per week.

Mum was a creative, well educated and inspiring mother, and with managing 3 children, making their clothes, preserving fruit, cooking for shearers and stockmen and the mornings spent with lessons, life was extremely busy. In those times, (early 1950’s), the social life in the district was active. Tennis parties, country Balls, Picnic Races, Polo Crosse Tournaments – Dad was a talented horseman and represented the region in Polocrosse – and of course the long fortnightly trip for supplies to Narrandera meant a very full and fulfilling lifestyle. When I was four years old I remember him making my very first pair of skis, bending the tips over a steaming boiler for my first ski trip to Mt. Buffalo in Victoria.

‘But the good time had to end. The Coleambally Scheme was introduced. The scheme’s aim was to build a new town on part of the property and to this end the property was proclaimed by the Government. This meant that, should one wish to sell their land, only the government had the option of buying it. This was the beginning of the Murrumbidgee Irrigation Scheme.“

In 1956, Dad, Mum and the family, packed up, and with 8 chooks, 2 sheepdogs and all their goods, moved east to Wantabadgery, halfway between Wagga and Gundagai. This was to their very own Soldier Settlement Block with 800 acres of prime Murrumbidgee riverfront land. It was part of a larger holding called ‘Tenandra Park’ that had been subdivided into three properties. They called it ‘Warralonga’. At first, with no home, we all lived in the old shearers quarters – dirt floor, a huge old open hearth fire, possums everywhere and one tap for cold running water. Rather too much of a challenge even for our ever resourceful parents!

Over that winter Dad and Mum designed and built the weatherboard cottage that was to become our home for the next 17 years.

Sheep yards, cattle yards and a woolshed all had to be built. Stock had to be bought and oats and lucerne crops needed to be planted – which meant machinery and a tractor. A great deal to do and so little money. October 24, 1957 brought another son, my brother Andrew, born in Wagga. One often wonders how Mum and Dad ever managed over those years. Our primary schooling was spent at the tiny one-roomed, one-teacher school, in the village of Wantabadgery, 5 miles distant. Mum and Dad were very active with the school P&C, we all attended the local church and helped out at the annual Gymkhana. Dad was usually a Steward and we helped Mum make hundreds of sandwiches. Dad was also a Steward at the Wagga Show for many years.

Dad (who loved to make and fix anything) and Mum, were both extremely practical and amazingly resourceful and expected us all to be part of the working of the property. We learnt so much: turning the milk separator very carefully to separate the cream for butter making, shearing, sweeping the wool floor, mustering and drafting, marking lambs, stacking hay bales, moving irrigation pipes and learning to drive on the old Fergie tractor. He even made me change a perfectly good tyre on the car – just to know how!

As time went by, and after much hard work, life became easier and we have many fond recollections … of a wonderful childhood, e>rploring creeks, the river, hills; surviving droughts, floods, bushfues, thick heavy winter fogs, and even a few snowflakes; skiing on the winter frosts, swimming in the creek and river, catching yellow bellies, making bows and arrows from willow trees; billycart races, meeting friends from neighbouring properties, woolshed dances, gymkhanas, rabbit trapping, camping holidays on the South Coast of NSW ….

One of those memories is of helping Dad build small sailing dinghies in the hot woolshed over the summer months. We all sailed in the creek and nearby dams, Lake Albert in Wagga, and the huge Blowering Dam, after it had filled, near Tumut.     

An ever enthusiastic skier, Dad founded the Wagga Alpine Ski Club in 1961, with a membership base from all around the Riverina. He was President from 1961-65 and helped build the lodge at Falls Creek in Victoria. I remember many exciting weekends and family holidays at the Lodge and these continue to this day. In 1967 Dad was made a Life Member of the Ski Club, a position he held with pride.

He was an excellent horseman. Having been a polocrosse player out West, now, with his own property, he was able to breed his own horses. Most of the early work on ‘Warralonga’ was done on horseback and, as children, we learnt to ride, though none as well as Dad. Mum and Dad loved gardening and were enthusiastic admirers of the designer Edna Walling. This love of gardens and plants was to leave a lasting mark wherever they went in the future.

They created almost an acre of gardens and sweeping lawns at ‘Warralonga’, along with a large orchard, vegetable garden and the ‘tennis court’ – an area fenced off for ‘the future’. As young, but not so willing helpers, I remember we were paid 3d a wheelbarrow load for weeds! Dad later designed and planted another beautiful garden at his property near Cowra.

A great drought struck in the mid 1960’s and I remember the paddocks, all brown, dirty, grassless and lifeless. The river flats were fine for corn crops but income was difficult without stock. At this time, ever enterprising, Dad began to provide an X-ray service to a small number of country hospitals in the area. These included Gundagai, Junee, Tumut, Adelong and others. It was through his resourceful planning that we managed to survive a very long drought.

But there were insidious changes. As children we had been told by Mum never to ask Dad about ‘the war’. Sometimes there were difficult times at home. No explanations were ever given. The stresses of the drought and extra work, brought on worsening nightmares from the past, though we were never told what the problem was.

Diana and I left school and began working and studying in Sydney. Stephen was studying Surveying and, at that time, was not interested in staying on the property, and Andrew was in Wagga working as a mechanic. Mum was tired of all those hard years of work and felt that it was time for them to relax a little.

So, in 1973, they sold ‘Warralonga’ to a neighbour and moved into Wagga. Dad worked at Breusts Real Estate as a Rural and Property Adviser and built some units. Mum enjoyed studying art, which had always been a passion, and took up golf again. A 20′ Compass Careel trailer sailor yacht was purchased and Dad spent many enjoyable days sailing on the local lakes and dams as well as in Canberra, Pittwater and the South Coast of NSW.

However, as I had moved with my family to Tweed Heads, Mum and Dad also decided to move at that time to escape the extreme climate of the west and be nearer their two grandchildren. So in 1977 they moved from Wagga to 6 acres on the hills of Cudgen behind Kingscliff in Northern NSW. With an old abattoir to renovate into a home, land to cultivate, a tropical garden to create, noxious weeds to banish, creeks and broadwaters to sail, dinghies to build, fabulous views of the sea, and family nearby, life was very busy. Mum began some casual work with her love of cooking and continued her art. Dad resumed X-ray work (part-time) at local hospitals.

Without warning, in 1989, Shirley, our mother, and his wife of 41 years, passed away… Dad, feeling at a loss, moved back to the West to the land he had always loved. At 67 years of age he purchased a small holding near Cowra and once again, built a home, dug dams, fenced, planted luceme, ran some cattle and began another garden – this time full of his favourite roses. He loved his cattle and land with a passion. His friends were the country neighbours, the townsfolk he did business with and the Cowra Hospital Staff for whom he did some relieving X-ray work.

He also became a great correspondent with the national and local newspapers and his name was well known in Letters to the Editor. His political views became even stronger and he maintained a long correspondence with numerous politicians. He won first prize with a wonderful story published in the RM Williams book celebrating ‘100 Years of the Drizabone’. His stories and poetry of the bush have left us with some sense of the inner man.

When, in his early 80’s, this property became increasingly difficult for him to manage, he sold, subsequently building another house in the village of Wattamondara, near Cowra. It was only 2 years later that he again sold and moved to Murwillumbah to be nearer Diana, in Tweed Heads and the rest of the family who lived in Brisbane, Sunshine Coast and Kingaroy. Dad had lost many of his friends by this time. Both his brothers had very recently passed way, and he began to feel more and more isolated and lonely, plagued with the recurring nightmares of his past.

He died suddenly at his home in Murwillumbah on February 11, 2008, aged 85 years.

It was not until May 1993, when Dad attended the unveiling of the Centaur Memorial at Point Danger, that finally the scars that had been hidden from the world broke through the fraying seams to reveal so many unspoken horrors:

“We’d had a beautiful evening with a concert on the foredeck, (the ship) was lit up like a Christmas tree, the hull’s large red crosses lit by floodlights,” but at 4.10am there was a “crash and a roar of flames. I find myself reaching for the life jacket and haversack and streaking across the deck in the light of the flames to the companionway. God, two decks down. Halfway up the first flight, I hang onto the handrail like grim death as a deluge of water comes down through the gratings and stairs. My haversack is gone but I still have my lifejacket and tie it as I reach the top of the second flight. I take one step out onto the deck and the waves surge across, then the ship goes down dragging me with her. I gag and swallow what seems to be gallons of fuel oil, then kick like hell and, after what seems to be ages, I start to rise then I can see clearly against the horizon the left third of the ship heading vertically downwards. Centaur is gone. That’s all it takes, about 2 ½ minutes.

“Now I’m straddling a panel of hatch grating. I hear shouts and start kicking and paddling to them. Suddenly, figures appear on a Carley float and hands drag me on board.

“Then began the second stage of the horrific experience: trying to survive in the ocean. I am sitting, hunched on a Carley float, huddled against a shivering companion, with more shivering bodies knee to knee. We are a filthy, oil-covered. Most are naked, some in half pyjamas, one with a piece of canvas over his shoulders, but all have that vacant, shocked, staring look. Later, a couple of two-man rafts are paddled to us with two more survivors on each; one badly burnt dies later. My mate next to me is naked and shivering so, as I have on a singlet and pyjamas, I give him my lifejacket. We’re not cold, just very shocked.

”lt’s morning, and we realize we have visitors. Sharks. One circles each raft and rubs his back on the rope between; no wonder we’ve lost nearly 300 mates. Then two more survivors, one at each end of a flooded lifeboat, with a shell hole straight through with sharks all around.

“What was it? says a voice. ‘Bloody Japs – a torpedo*,’ says someone. ‘Not a bloody hope – God knows how I got out.’ Then it all comes back, flooding over me with a rush and I shake all over, and vomit fuel oil again.“

And, as he told his story …

I saw my father cry the second time.

Dick Medcalf is survived by his four children: Helen Milne (Buderim), Diana Storey (Tweed Heads), Stephen Medcalf (Kingaroy), Andrew Medcalf, (Sunshine Coast), as well as six grandchildren and 2 great grandchildren

*the deliberate torpedoing of an unarmed, fully–illuminated hospital ship whose credentials had been recognized by the Japanese Government was so utterly unbelievable that at first it was thought Centaur had struck a mine. Ed.