THREE MILES OF MEN ON THREE-DAY TREK

Auckland Star, Volume LXXIII, Issue 237, 7 October 1942, Page 2

THREE MILES OF MEN ON THREE-DAY TREK

"TO-DAY, across the hills and valleys of Maramarua, along the white, winding roads between Mangatawhiri and Mangatarata, a Brigade of the Kiwi Division, N.Z. Army, are on the march. Three miles of heavy army boots, the feet within them weary and hot with plugging it along hard concrete and bitumen, are beating out a rhythm of war.

It. is not an easily attained rhythm. It is the rhythm of hard training and of fostered stamina. It is attuned to the note that the winning army is the army that can stay the course—that can march, and fight, and march again. All other things considered, it is held bv those who are responsible for these men that the route march is the finest hardening process of all for the fighting soldier.

And so the rhythm of the march is carrying these men forward at a steady gait of 2i miles an hour on the second stage of a three-day trek of 60 miles, en route to a concentration area where, in the next few weeks, their division will undergo highly important operations, including a period of bush warfare training. Sixty Miles to March During the next ten days or so that beat of marching feet, with its accompanying whirr and rumble of motor transport, and clatter of Bren gun carriers will echo almost constantly along the roads towards Thames Valley and the Waikato as other brigade units of the Kiwi Division move forward on the march to the concentration area—the biggest troop movement of the kind that has been seen in the vicinity of Auckland in a considerable period. The brigade now marching will take four days to reach its destination; three days on the march, covering an average. of 20 miles a day, and a final day when motor transport will be used to take it over the last stage of about 35 miles.

The men marched out from their base camps at an early hour yesterday morning, and when they joined up as a column on the Great South Road, near the top of the Bombay Hill, most of them had already covered about six miles of stiffgraded road. They looked then, as indeed most of them looked to the finish, fit for anything. Still the Silent Army These men are worth caring for to the extent of the nation's capacity. Straight, sturdy, firm-treading and in the pink of condition, they carried their rifles, tommy guns, light packs and other equipment easily and cheerily. It is still the Silent Army of New Zealand tradition. There was an occasional scattered chorus as their band played them past a checking point, but for the most part it was songless. It was not spiritless, though. The men "chipped" one another and passers-by, too. and

there was always the wave, the wink and the grin to tell lookers-on that the going might be hard, but they were not downhearted.

They represented a complete crosssection of New Zealand's manhood, aged from 21 to 41, and all of them physically grade 1. Two battalions had their greatest proportion of strength from the North Island, but a third was made up almost wholly of southerners, from Nelson to the BlufT.

At points along the route the line was inspected by the divisional commander, Major-General H. E. Barrowclough, in company with Brigadier L. Potter, and they joined in on the march over the last stage. It was no stiff and formal show— just a brigade on the march from one point to another, but it was a spectacle to stir the pride of any New Zealander. Few fell out on the march. Bivvies and Blisters Some of these men were kicking a football round within half an hour of arrival at their bivouac area in the afternoon, and one was heard throwing down a challenge to a race across the paddock! But dry throats and tender feet occupied the majority. As for the dry throat . . . "Where's the nearest pub?" they asked. "Five miles away," said someone. "Pass the water. Bill," they said and turned back to their feet.

"Any complaints?" And thev said, "Socks." Darns and holes in the line-up on the fence told their own story. »

Dry rations—bread, butter, cheese, jam and water—had been carried by each man, and this had formed their lunch. But now the cook fires were blazing and a hot meal was in preparation. Ground sheets and blankets were spread; the mail arrived; a piano-accordion started up a lively air; cards appeared, and the boys in their bivvies settled down for the night. Candles gleamed in one or two places, but not for long. Tired feet and ankles had their throbbing reminder . . . "To-morrow . . . And then another to-morrow." Another 40 miles? Heck!

The band rode in lorries from point to point, but it was no easy day for those men either. At three different places they played the parade past— fifty minutes of non-stop playing at each point. And that's a lot of music. Behind the story of that day's march and the others, that tale of "boots, boots, boots, boots, rising up and down again," there was another story—staff organisation. And there are headaches there to compare with the footache of the P. 8.1. Organising the Trek "0.K., boys. Let's march 60 miles." It isn't as easy as all that. Not by a long shot. But you can say it quickly. You mark from there to there on a map, and divide it up into day's marches. And you send out a reconnaissance party from brigade headquarters to arrange with property owners about bivouac areas,

% . areas with water and shelter available. And you aljocate various areas to various battalions, who send out reconnaissance parties to look over their area and allocate bivvies to each of their units.

And then they just march there? Not so fast. There is a little matter of timing. Your battalions are in different camp bases. They all have to merge into one combination at the meeting place, and you can't have a jumble of men there blocking traffic. Distances have to be calculated and units have to follow a strict timetable to the starting point. That means synchronised watches.

And then there's transport. It can't hang behind the foot-sloggers, and it can't hog the road passing them by. So sortie of it is timed to get through in advance, and the rest passes the marchers while they are at lunch.

A brigade of men would take up a lot of road if they drifted along, so there are rules to cover that. Sixty yards between platoons, 100 yards between battalions. And there are check points along the route to watch that angle. As it was, yesterday's column was nearly three miles long, and took 50 minutes to pass a point.

Add to that the organisation of traffic control points, transport dispersal points, supply column meeting points, and petrol points and you have the whole simple set-up.

Supply? That means the A.S.C., with eight to ten tons of food to bring forward as the daily ration for the brigade (at 8 Jib a man a day). It's just the daily round for the A.S.C. Units order three days ahead; the A.S.C. collects and delivers to the unit a day in advance. A march like this just means an extra distance to deliver—an extension of the supply line, with a map reference as the meeting point for delivery.

Supply arrived to schedule last night. To-day the army eats, as usual.