The Paladin

By Reginald Pierce

For 7 year-old Raymond Johnson, born in India of Anglo/Indian parents, his migration to Sydney, Australia, in 1949 is the start of a great adventure. The story follows Raymonds early life as he struggles through harsh treatment at boarding school and at the hands of his often-violent fathers alcohol induced rages. After marriage at a young age, he joins the Commandos and later sees service with the AATV in Vietnam.

The aftermath of that bloody conflict is his continuing nightmares; a drift into alcohol dependence, marriage break-up and years spent aimlessly drifting from job to job in tough outback-Australian country towns.

A troubled man trying to get his life back together, a man with an honourable code, a modern day Paladin. This is a tale of abuse, love, mateship, courage, degradation and redemption.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Aug 8, 2012
• ISBN: 9781456772505

Reginald Pierce

Reg Pierce, as a migrant boy, grew up in similar circumstances to the fictional main character in this story. He was in the Commandos, but did not serve overseas. These days he’s happily married with 4 children and 8 grandchildren. He still plies his trade operating a very small auto-body repair shop. Reg is heavily involved in Rotary and has served as President of his local club twice as well as being involved at District level for over 8 years. In 2008 he was awarded “Paul Harris” recognition. When it came to writing this book, he was greatly influenced by the life of Keith Payne VC, whom he met in the Commandos. As a non-combatant himself and with the storyline he’d chosen, Keith’s story, ”Where to for Valour,” by Stan Krasnoff, published by Shala Press, fitted the bill when it was necessary to describe the actions of a man in combat conditions. He hastens to add that his main character in no way mirrors Keith who, was and is, a soldier’s soldier and a man of great integrity.

Book preview

THE

PALADIN

REGINALD PIERCE

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© 2012 by Reginald Pierce. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 07/27/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4567-7247-5

(sc) ISBN: 978-1-4567-7250-5 (e)

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Contents

The Paladin

Leaving

Sydney

Suburbia

Formative Years

The Army

A Changing World

The Family Man

Vietnam

The Darkness

Road To Nowhere

Beginning of the End

The Healing

Valhalla

The Paladin

In mythology, The Paladin was a Knight-errant. A champion of the underdog, a lighter of wrongs. A man with a sense of purpose in the rights of the common man. A solitary figure, who, because of the quest he has set himself, finds it difficult to surround himself with friends and loved ones. He uses his martial skills and physical strength against the forces of injustice, which are directed against the weak. His own searching for inner peace and meaning of life keep his mind in a state of constant turmoil.

In his travels he has seen much of the evil of man, but also evidence of the essential goodness of mankind. He has acquaintances in high and low places.

This book is dedicated to those who have influenced me throughout my life. Wilma, Gary and Linda, Frank, Bob, Brian, and the most loyal person I have known, my wife Margaret. But in particular, to the modern soldier, especially those who served in Vietnam, a dirty war, and came back to open hostility from their fellow countrymen.

Except for necessary reference to actual historical events and mention of several people from real life of the period, most of the elements in this book, both military and civil are fictional. I have taken the characteristics and traits of the many, and various people I have encountered over 40 years, and blended them into a composite of each of my characters. Any resemblance to a living person is purely co-incidental. Obviously some may identify with certain parts of a character. But I believe that all humans share similar traits. Parts of us all can be seen in other people. All men have different breaking points, and various levels of courage. All have different reactions when exposed to brutality and hardship. The trigger to one man’s nightmare may mean nothing to most. In all of us can be found the joker, the philosopher, the priest, the toiler, the sadist and the humanitarian. That has been the basis of all the characters in this book.

I was quite influenced by the book: Where to For Valour. The story of Keith Payne, VC. by Stan Krasnoff, published by Shala Press.

Leaving

Raymond Henry Johnson was born in Bombay India on the 24th of May 1942 to an Anglo/Indian father who had been a Sergeant in the Indian Army, and who had been discharged as medically unfit. His father was one of ten surviving siblings, and the youngest boy. His Anglo/Indian mother he never knew, and she conjured up no memories. Like his father, she too was one of ten siblings. Large families in those days were common. The father was head of the house in all ways. He was the bread winner. The defender of the hearth. All decisions were made by him, and were final. Children were to be seen, but not heard. Duty to King and Country was instilled in children from birth. Women of course, were mere extensions of their husbands, an asset. Women ran the household and reared the children in the manner their husbands prescribed. They were also expected to entertain guests, and in general, be supportive of their husbands. Though both sides of his family had lived in India for hundreds of years, they still referred to Britain as The Mother Country. In some ways they were probably more British than the British. Pursuing such activities as cricket and Big Game shooting, and of course the attendance to, and membership of, various clubs. The Anglo-Indian displayed a willingness to serve in the interests of the Crown in all ways.

Raymond was a slender lad, but with a steady gaze out of very blue eyes. He had an inquisitive mind, an engaging personality, and a streak of stubbornness that would cause him much grief in his later life. The boy could never be labelled a coward, but he loved peace and quiet, and was not one to rock the boat. He respected authority, and the necessity for one to obey. To do one’s duty was instilled into him from his earliest years. His family came from a long line of soldiers. Indeed, the family tree was well leafed by men (and women) who had served their monarch and country for hundreds of years. His sergeant father, and his uncles had impressed upon him the role he must play as a man. He must not cry. He must stand up when a woman or an adult entered the room. He must open the door for a lady. He must walk on the street side of the footpath. Then, should a passing vehicle spray mud or water, he, not the lady would be spattered. He learned to speak when spoken to by an adult, and to always obey his father. Always. The qualities of honour, honesty, and the binding of one to one’s word, were strongly impressed on him. Due to the war, and his father’s injuries, he had little contact with that man in his early years. His tutors were his paternal grandmother, aunts, and the Indian nanny employed with the other servants. His uncles taught him to box. He would be made to spend an hour a day sparring with a soccer ball suspended by springs in a doorway. He was taught how to stalk small animals, and identify them, and birds, by sound, tracks and behaviour.

His grandmother was a short solid woman. She was the classic Victorian woman of her era. Deeply religious, she ran a strict household, and brooked no nonsense. Her hard exterior masked the inner, sensitive woman. She was a champion of those who were wronged, or could not speak out. The servants, tradesmen, and indeed the family, all knew that she could be tough, but that she was more than fair. The moral standard she set and lived by had a great influence on the young Raymond for all of his life. Daily, she demonstrated the practicality of listening before acting. Of never forming an opinion without all the facts. In all her dealings with others, everyone was assured of a fair deal.

His sister Paula Emma was much smaller, with light brown hair and blue eyes, and she idolised her brother.

He in turn loved his little sister, and would look out for her all day and night. Most times they were to be seen hand in hand. She was a bubbly little thing, always chattering to the point that, now and then, he would snap at her to Do stop chattering! at which, silence would reign for about 30 seconds. Both he and his sister attended a private school run by Catholic nuns, as their father, Henry Maurice Johnson, believed that the Catholics were better tutors. The children were happy. Their father could afford several servants, and a Nanny was always hovering about. Prior to the War, Henry ran a successful auto repair business, to which he returned after his discharge. Henry was not a wealthy man, but he certainly could well afford his life style. In families where money is not an issue, there is an atmosphere of assurance and certainty bordering on arrogance, and so it was in the Johnson household.

The two children would remember very little about India. In fact, Paula would remember nothing. Ray would always get fleeting images, never knowing if they were fact or phantom. He could remember being taught to write on a slate. Lightly on the upstroke children, firmly on the down the nuns would intone. He could remember being taken to the river which was in fact, the Ganges, sacred to the Hindu and vital to India. Then there was the time his Uncle fired his shotgun into a crowd of natives. What a night! He could only remember the huge crowds, people hanging from trams, clinging to their roofs, nearly falling off. There was yelling, and a lot of noise. Sometimes he’d get an image of a woman leaning out of an upper window, or of a motorcycle ride behind one of his uncles. Then there is the image, or memory, of sitting by the ocean under palm trees, and the haunting sound of Begin the Beguine coming from nearby. The memory is a gentle one filled with warmth. Not all the fragments he could remember were so peaceful. Somehow there was always an undercurrent of violence and unease. There were fleeting memories of soldiers, Ghurkhas, who visited the house. Small, brown men who had the reputation as the most ferocious fighters in the world. These memories had no continuity, no sense or meaning. They never bothered him, they were just there. The lad was no trouble. He was obedient, polite and quiet. Gifted with great curiosity, he was always poking and prodding around, asking questions. He absorbed knowledge as if his mind was made of blotting paper.

He would become fascinated in later years with trivia.

Henry Johnson was a small, wiry man with fierce blue eyes and a violent temper that became immolated with alcohol. Henry loved alcohol, but it didn’t like him. He was a vain man, who fancied himself a Dandy. True, women were attracted to him, but he really was a bit of a joke among the men. He was an amateur boxing champion in the lighter divisions, played guitar in a local band, and entertained lightly. He was not well read, and an ordinary scholar. And he was poor at cards. Henry loved big, flashy cars and jewellery, and was totally enamoured of all things American. If it was made in America, it was the best. The American way was the right way. No one, least of all himself, could explain why this was so.

He had served in the Second World War as a Sergeant in a British Mechanical Corps, and sustained injuries to the abdomen which were never properly explained. He himself claimed they were the result of a bayonet attack, yet his service records show he was nowhere near the front line. In later years, whenever questioned about his War record, his story changed. However, he was medically discharged as a minor hero, at least to his immediate family and servants. Henry was an unpopular soldier, as he tended to be dictatorial towards the OR’s, or ordinary ranks, but was a sycophant towards his superior officers. A brown nose. Henry Johnson was in fact a cruel man of base instincts and morals, who aspired to be a great man, a man of note and worth. He was skilful in hiding his darker side behind a facade of decency, grooming and prosperity. As a father he was a good provider, but only in the sense that it was his duty. A self-centred man, he had very little time for his children. But his conscience was clear. They were well fed, clothed, tutored, and his own mother looked after them while he ran his business. His daughter Paula, he all but ignored, while little Ray was merely an extension of himself. Like an arm or a leg. It must do as it is told, when it is told. Throughout his teenage years, and most of his adolescence, Ray was no more than a source of cheap labour. When he did finally realise this fact many years later it caused him considerable pain, as all humans, being social creatures, require love and a sense of family and belonging.

Throughout most of her life Paula suffered emotional problems due to her father’s neglectful attitude. She craved the strength of a man as much as his love, but was usually (and predictably) taken advantage of. As an adult it is so easy to mistake lust for love. Receiving little love, and less attention from their father, the two children stuck to each other. Apart from a genuine love for each other, it was important that they look out for each other. No one else it seemed would. The two were almost inseparable. They played in the garden, or walked hand in hand. In the house they played games together, and Paula would try to keep up with her brother as he was taught to read. She being 2 years younger had no hope of doing so, but Ray seldom became irritable or impatient with his little sister. These first few years of their lives could honestly be called idyllic.

India in 1949 was a nation in turmoil. Ghandi’s doctrine of non-violent, civil disobedience was having a profound effect on India’s British rulers. Riots were taking place on an almost daily basis. Anti-British sentiment was running hot, even to the point that some of Henry’s servants deserted. The entire fabric of life in India as it was then known was in chaos. Over several months the Johnson family broke up. Most of Henry’s brothers, all his sisters, and their mother, decided to go to the Mother Country, Britain. One brother, married to an Indian woman with whom he had children, gallantly elected to remain. For some reason Henry had decided on immigrating to Australia. No one ever knew why, nor how he obtained passage on a cargo vessel leaving Bombay Harbour. The break up of the family was felt heavily by the adults. Although they considered themselves British, they were in fact all born in this troubled country. They all had friends both native and British, and they were all schooled here. Some (like Henry) even had businesses here. To leave a lifetime, indeed a life style, was very traumatic. Ray and Paula were unaware of the turmoil in which they were surrounded. Over a period of time Henry sold up his business and the family home. But by the time he had disbursed funds to his mother, and those family members who wished to sail for England, then provide his own passage to Australia, there was very little left. In explanation to his children, Henry simply stated that they were going on a long trip by boat. The two children were delighted!

Over the next few weeks Henry scuttled about getting the necessary paperwork in order. Not the least of these was legal custody of his children. Many years later Ray would realise that this too was done surreptitiously. In those days it was sufficient for a man to approach a magistrate with a tale of his wife’s infidelity, or alcoholism, or whatnot, and be granted temporary custody pending further legal action. His mother had come home and found her children gone. Regardless of what kind of woman Henry (or the family) perceived her to be, she was the mother of these two children, and he had deliberately planned on removing them thousands of miles away to a foreign country! Henry never spoke of his wife, the mother of Ray and Paula to his children. The reason for the matrimonial break-up was never discussed nor explained. When asked a question he would be vague, attempting to brush the moment away. If pressed he would become belligerent and begin to shout about better off, and be grateful …come thousands of miles to give you a better life.. etc. His actions had the desired effect. After a while the questions stopped, and the children seemed to forget. But Ray didn’t forget entirely. The memory certainly dimmed, but often enough he would wonder about his mother. What happened? Where was she? Didn’t she care for them? Why had his parents broken up?

The paper work was in place, and the children were taken to a doctor for their needles. They rolled their sleeves up and Ray watched as the doctor used an implement to scratch a noughts and crosses design on Paula’s arm and then rub a substance into the scratch. This was the procedure for inoculation against smallpox in those days. A couple of needles later, and it was all over. Then he was put through the same procedure. In two days the two children became quite ill with fever and severe aches and pains. The inoculations were taking effect. Henry had timed it all so well. It seemed that no sooner were the children well than they travelled to the Harbour to embark for Australia. The only person to see them off was an uncle, Henry’s brother William. The Harbour was a hive of activity. The air was electric, with noise and people yelling, some weeping, some laughing. Henry and his brother were sombre. As adults they realised that Australia being so far away, they may never see each other again. The two children were agog. The smell of the ocean, mingled with the smells of paint, diesel fuel, spices and sweat was a heady mixture. They were excited and happy. There was no sense of leaving, or of loss. Rather, there was a feeling of adventure, they felt excited about the boat trip and about the new land they were going to. This really was a great adventure!

Henry took the children on board and found their cabin. It was a small yet reasonably comfortable room on the starboard side. The porthole, which opened outward, would prove very welcome on the long hot nights ahead. Air conditioning was unheard of. They dumped their suitcases and sea trunks and returned to the outer deck area for a final farewell to uncle William. Ray and Paula could not understand why he seemed sad. Ray thought uncle William had tears in his eyes! Finally the call came over the loudspeaker, All ashore who are going ashore! Uncle William gave the two children a last hug and kiss, then solemnly shook his brother’s hand, then embraced him. Good luck Henry, God bless you all! Then he was gone, along with the others who had come to say goodbye to loved ones. The ships horn was blowing and people were waving from the ship, and from the shore. Streamers were being thrown from the shore, and as the ship pulled out, these were drawn taught, then broke. This simple act gave Ray a sense of finality. He would always remember looking over the stern, down into the muddy waters, then up at the disappearing coastline of his land of birth. He was too young to express his feelings, but in his heart he knew he wouldn’t be coming back.

The first few days were spent in settling in to life on board a tramp steamer, for that in reality was what the vessel was. It was a cargo vessel and carried 64 paying passengers. The food, in line with cabin accommodation, was plain. Meals were wholesome and plentiful, but of exotic ingredients there were none. The cabins, as stated were small, but comfortable. Apart from the lack of air conditioning, there was no heating either. The Danish captain was a friendly man, a veteran of wartime convoys, he commanded the respect of the crew. It was to be a pleasant voyage. Ray and Paula were the youngest of the four children aboard. The other two were teenage Irish girls, of whom Ray and Paula saw very little. The other passengers were quite taken by the two children, who were always seen together. They were good-looking children, with polite manners and winning ways, and very popular. They had the run of the ship, indeed they could even play in the captain’s cabin, which they often did. The ship was a constant source of wonder and entertainment for two young children. From the kitchen they’d engage the cook and kitchen staff in childish prattle, and were given tasty morsels. They were never hungry, but the morsels were always welcome. The crew’s quarters were another source of entertainment. They would hold serious discussions with the sailors, who showed them how to tie knots, and explained the workings of the vessel. They even had the run of the engine room, but only in very limited (and strictly policed) areas. Wherever they went or played, they were always together.

Little Ray’s dedication to the welfare of his sister was brought home to all on board in a dramatic way one morning about 5 days out of India. One of the sailors seemed to get much pleasure in teasing little Paula, who complained to her brother Ray. Whereupon Ray confronted the cause of his sister’s distress, and demanded satisfaction. A bout with gloves was hastily arranged (with much mirth among the passengers and crew) for that very day. The sailor, down on his knees to accommodate the little boy, was feinting and thrusting playfully. But Raymond was deadly serious. He was afraid, he had never fought a grown man, but he had to face the situation. It was his duty. His sister had been offended. He had his gloves (a pair of tea towels) up, and was watching his larger opponent carefully, waiting. Suddenly he spotted an opening in the sailor’s defence, bang, he shot a straight right into the man’s face. Masses of blood suddenly appeared. The buzz of conversation and playful laughter suddenly stopped. My God! He’d broken the sailor’s nose! After the bleeding had been stopped, young Raymond walked up to the sailor and offered his hand. Justice had been done, the matter was closed. To his eternal credit the sailor solemnly shook the little boy’s hand. No one else ever teased Paula. Ray went to the ship’s rail and threw up.

Later that night at the Captain’s table, it was left to the children’s father Henry, to explain (with much glee) how he, Henry, and his brother Eugene, had sewn a long, heavy spring on either end of a soccer ball, and fixing one spring to the top of a doorway, and the other to the floor, they had taught young Raymond the manly art of boxing. He didn’t mention that the lad was forced to spar with the elusive soccer ball until pain and fatigue reduced him to tears.

His memories of the voyage are fleeting and fragmented. A storm one night in which he was shocked to hear grown men cry! Men didn’t cry. But they were calling out to God and Jesus, so maybe they were praying. Well, that was OK. The rolling of the vessel, lights dimming off and on were a little scary! Next morning, waves taller than the ship were breaking over the funnels. He was scared a bit then. What if the waves put the engines out?

But days later it was calm again. Beautiful balmy days. Fish flying over the decks, some landing on deck and being stranded. Their father never seemed to be around. Never seemed to feature much. Only very many years later would they realise that he was either in someone’s bed, or in a bottle. But life on board was good. They were the darlings of all on board, and spent endless hours in play. They would never again play with such childish happiness again.

As the ship neared Aden, Ray overheard his father remark how he’d have the children’s hair cut. Trying to please his father and save money too, he decided to run a wind-up toy over his sister’s hair, thereby cutting it and saving money. But the boy was stunned and alarmed, when the toy only dragged Paula’s hair into itself. This resulted in her hair having to be cut near the scalp to release the toy, and his backside being strapped by his father’s belt! But the greatest hurt was not being believed in his intentions.

All in all, the voyage was pleasant, and memories were happy. They crossed the Equator, and all first crossers were dunked by King Neptune who was really the Captain dressed up. Anyone could see that! The nights when the grownups would set up the