Commanding the Home Front: True stories from the families who support the modern-day Australian Defence Force

By Maree Sirois

True stories from the families who support the modern-day Australian Defence Force

At a time of extraordinary operational tempo for the Australian Defence Force, many military families have faced long and even multiple separations. Relationships have been strained, strengthened, or even lost.

Maree was a seasoned militar

• Language: English
• Publisher: Echo Books
• Release date: Nov 5, 2016
• ISBN: 9780995414754

Book preview

Introduction

Do you remember where you were on 9/11? Lynne Cosgrove—patron  of  the  Partners  of  Veterans  Association  of  Australia and wife of General Peter Cosgrove, former Chief of the Defence Force—regards it as a turning point for military families. I think military life became a lot more serious and a lot more dangerous. And a lot more worrying, she told me.

Lynne explained she feels very privileged to have had the experiences that she has. You have to pinch yourself when you’re watching your husband inspect the Guard of the People’s Liberation Army in China at a parade put on in honour of his visit. Even her children have met the Queen several times. It’s fairly complex when you come to me because it’s so different to what you girls are going through right now, which I think is so much harder.

I asked her why that is.

Because of all the absences, the danger, the nature of the absences and the constant media attention. Two of our boys joined the Army. They’re not serving now and I’m not at all sorry.

Such a statement is understandable when you learn that one of Lynne’s sons was injured when a car bomb exploded at the Australian Embassy in Iraq in 2005. He was very lucky actually; he just had a bit of flash burns, burst ear drums and what have you. But it was a very serious bombing.

I asked Lynne what you say to yourself when such a thing happens. "Well saying goodbye to your son to go to a place like Iraq was in a

lot of ways harder than saying goodbye to your husband. I’ve always felt really confident that Peter was bold enough to look after himself. I guess your emotions are more vulnerable to this person you’ve nurtured since the minute he came into the world and that was really hard."

Lynne noticed changes in how military families are supported when her husband led INTERFET, the international peacekeeping mission to East Timor in 1999. When Peter became head of INTERFET I thought, ‘Oh my God, I’ve got all these responsibilities as the CO’s wife; I need to organise functions for the wives and families’. But at this stage things like Army wives clubs had closed down; nobody was interested in carrying on the old traditional get-togethers for women and families. I think that partly  happened  because  more  women  needed  to  work.  And  families were also being moved away from on-base housing in married patches and spread out into the community, so it was more difficult to access bases for functions. I think the combination of more women in the work force and families being moved out into the community contributed to the decline of the wonderful social life through the messes on the bases. During   Timor   I   was   impressed   with   how   much   information families were given by Defence about the deployment and the support available  to  them.  I  thought  that  was  fantastic.  This  was  not  around obviously in the Vietnam days. But I still don’t think separating people through the suburbs is as good for families as having them live close by so they can more easily support each other."

While  the  location  of  housing  continues  to  be  discussed,  those who   were   housed   in   the   post-Vietnam   era   agree   there   have   been vast improvements in its physical standards. That was in the days where everyone carpeted and curtained their own married quarters. Compared to a lot of things these days there was nothing. When Peter was the commanding officer of 1RAR in Townsville we lived in an un-air-conditioned brick house. I think enlisted soldiers now have air- conditioning. So there’s been an enormous improvement in housing.

Lynne lived in twenty-one homes while Peter was serving so she certainly knows about  standards,  but  also  about  the  effort  involved in moving. There are a few weeks of upheaval before the move, then it takes probably a good eight weeks to resettle the home. On top of that there’s searching for things like new  schools,  a  doctor,  a  dentist and a hairdresser. If you add all of that time up, it’s a big slice out of your married life that you’re living in absolute upheaval.

It’s this upheaval that Lynne believes has made her who she is. I’m a lot tougher than I ever thought I’d be; I’ve done much more. How about moving with a five-year-old about to start school, a three-year-old about to start preschool and a ten-day-old baby from Sydney to Townsville, husband’s gone and your house is not ready? Can you imagine three weeks in a hotel room? They’re the things that make you tough.

Despite that upheaval, Lynne doesn’t think they ever had a bad posting.

"There are some places that weren’t my favourites but we’ve always had fun—wherever we’ve been. There have been hardships but we really did enjoy every posting one way or another. There was always the support of those in the same situation as you.

You just take every day as it comes and I always knew there’d be lots of moves and upheavals. I always knew that Peter was probably going to be in the military until retirement age because he loved it. I didn’t have my head buried in the sand; I knew it would be difficult. I didn’t realise that with twenty-one moves you learn to roll with the punches; you get on with it. You look back and think, ‘I never would have guessed that I could cope with that’. Everyone has things thrown at them through life that they have to deal with and overcome. I just think at the end of the day it’s swings and roundabouts; you tend to forget the more difficult times and remember the good times. As I’ve said, I feel incredibly privileged to have had some of the experiences that I have.

While Lynne believes military partners are currently living in a harder era than what she did, primarily because military members are going on more overseas deployments and the heightened level of danger of those missions, this book has not been written to compare generations. Rather, it has been written to give an insight into the experience of this different post-9/11 era.

To do this I have written in detail about a remarkable four-year period of our life  as  a  Navy  family,  spread  out  over  three  locations, to give an honest account of what day-to-day life can look like for a military family. Intertwined with our story are my interviews with thirteen partners from various backgrounds, two mothers whose sons have served in Afghanistan, and two young adult children from military families. I have certainly tried to gather a variety of experiences, across all three services in my efforts to depict different facets of military life. But there is no homogenous description as to how partners, parents and children should look, think, feel and act. So although I’ve tried to be representative, this book is in no way exhaustive.

It is courageous to share about yourself—to anyone really—as you are open to criticism. Each person in this book has made him or herself vulnerable in sharing their story. Some asked for their names to be changed. They believe or know, that for whatever reason, there is too great a risk to either themselves, their family, or their relationship with the military member, to be identified. I still use the word courageous to describe them because there is still the risk that someone  close  to them will figure out who they are. Without their willingness to reveal their identity to me at least, these stories would never be captured. We as a society would be a little less educated about the fact that when we ask our military to serve, there are consequences for those left behind, commanding the home front.

***

Have you answered the original question as to where you were when 9/11 happened?

I was about twenty-two weeks pregnant and living on the west coast of Canada in Victoria, the capital of the Province of British Columbia, as my husband Mark was still in the Royal Canadian Navy. He was away of course, doing something with American ships off the coast of California, when I saw the horror unfolding on the television. He returned within the week, and we were soon told that if the United States asked for Canadian ships to sail to the Persian Gulf, Mark’s was one of two west-coast-based ships that were deemed ready to deploy if required. A week later Mark’s ship sailed back down to California to participate in exercises with the United States Navy that had been planned well before the recent events.

One morning in that week I got up and sat on the couch with my breakfast cereal to watch the TV as I ate. I happened to tune in as the Minister of National Defence was holding  a  press  conference  to  tell the nation which assets he was deploying to support the United States’ ‘War on Terror’. He said the name of Mark’s ship and like a clichéd scene from a TV sitcom, I spat my cereal into my bowl. Without caring that it was about three o’clock in the morning on the east coast of Australia, I phoned my parents. In the five-and-a-half years that I had been in Canada, I had been very careful never to call my parents upset because I knew it broke their heart to be too far away to do anything. This particular morning was the exception.

Mum groggily answered the phone.

Mum, it’s me. Mark’s going to the Persian Gulf, I blurted out in case I started to cry.

How do you know?

The Minister of National Defence just said it on the TV, I replied. But hasn’t Mark been told? Mum asked.

This is Mark being told. We were told there was a chance his ship could go and now this is us being told that it’s happening.

Are you sure you heard him correctly? Mum asked in her usual calm fashion when I was anything but.

"Yes Mum!  He  said  the  United States asked Canada to help and then he actually said that HMCS Vancouver would deploy to the Persian Gulf. That’s what he said."

Mum struggled to believe that I was finding this out on the television and calmed me down enough that she felt she could hang up.

Within about half an hour, local Navy friends called to see how I was doing. They didn’t even ask if I actually knew but rather immediately said, Are you okay?

No! I replied.

We’re coming over.

This lovely couple took me back to their house where I sat on the edge of their kitchen and watched them bake bread and slowly cook a traditional Italian tomato sauce.

Spending the afternoon in the relaxed company of friends meant that by the time the wife of the executive officer, who was second-in- command of the ship, called me that night, I felt more in control. Communication  off  the  ship  had  been  stopped  for  most  of  the  crew because of the announcement, so Mark asked the executive officer (or XO as they are referred to) to call his wife and get her to check on me.

In the next day or so, families of the crew became so outraged they had learned of the deployment either through randomly watching a press conference, or on the grapevine if they missed it, that a meeting was held with Navy officials. Rumours were also circulating that the ship was going to deploy directly from where they were in American waters, rather than return home first. Hostility hung thickly in the air when hundreds of the family members gathered in one of the community centres. I tried to remain calm because I wasn’t finding pregnancy easy and I knew I needed all of my energy for my baby. I also don’t think I could believe this was my life. After hearing from a few wives who asked very polite questions about when the ship would actually leave and how long they would be away for, a very angry wife—with her children who looked to be in their early teens on either side—stood up to speak.

Can you imagine what it was like for me to sit on our couch with my three children, have them find out the same  time  that  I  did  and then have to deal with how upset they were? How could you not tell us beforehand? she demanded.

Hundreds of eyes then  turned  to  the  front,  wondering  what would be said to this solitary soul who was brave enough to voice her rage. Officials  told  us  they  found out when we did because it was no longer a military decision, but rather a political one. Families were still incredulous they could not have been given advance notice of the press conference. We went home somewhat deflated, although assured  the ship was returning to us before going to the Persian Gulf.

Security was far stricter for families the day HMCS Vancouver deployed to the Persian Gulf than I had ever seen. Normally our passes were sufficient to grant us access to walk around the base but on this day we were to assemble just outside of the base and be bussed to the jetty where the ship was docked to join our loved ones. Mark did some fast talking at the gate and somehow got me onto the base with him where I then waited onboard until it was time to say goodbye. That last precious space of time is just between you and your loved one as no-one feels like making small talk with other family members, some of whom can’t bear for you to see the pain in their eyes.

A general announcement was made through  the  ship’s  intercom for all crew and their family members to assemble on the flight deck for final goodbyes. As I hugged Mark, shutting out the crowd around me, his captain put his hand on my shoulder and said, Don’t worry, I’ll have him home in time for the baby.

Like animals obedient to their master, we all descended the ramp to the jetty for the official speeches before the ship’s departure. As I stood there, looking at Mark up on the deck, so close yet so out of my reach, listening to carefully crafted yet essentially hollow speeches, my sorrow mixed with everyone else’s became overwhelming. I couldn’t stand there another second. Even though I was supposed to stay there and be bussed out with all the other family members when the ship had left, I started to walk in the general direction of the base entrance.

When I was amongst the buildings, two young soldiers approached me and asked if I was a family member from the crew of HMCS Vancouver. Crying, I told them, Yes! And I’m pregnant and I cannot stand to be here. I’m getting off this base! Their eyes widened at my response and believing my intentions to get off as soon as I could, allowed me to continue my power walk to the gate.

I decided to drive home the long way, around the very tip of Vancouver Island to look at the magnificent views over the  Juan  de Fuca Strait to the frequently snow-capped Olympic Mountains in the American state of Washington. The walking  path  there  was  one  of my favourites with Mark, sometimes ending with corn bread at a café overlooking the water. On that day the entire waterfront was covered in thousands of people cheering and waving Canadian flags to farewell the ship. I somehow found a car park and joined them, uplifted by their patriotism and comforted by the fact that no-one around me knew I was a family member.

The ship  sailed  past,  its  helicopter  circling  around  it  with  a  huge Canadian flag flying underneath. I didn’t bring a camera as I didn’t think there was anything in the morning that was going to be worth having a reminder of. But the photo in the paper the next day of the ship and its helicopter in the Strait captured the mood of the departure perfectly and I bought a copy that I later framed and gave to Mark for Christmas. We were in a unique situation as Mark’s contract with the Canadian Navy was due to expire before the end of the deployment in the following year. He had not renewed it because he had been accepted into the Royal Australian Navy. He still sailed with the ship because a replacement for him could not be found before its departure. Within a few weeks though one was and  Mark  was  flown home from a port in Asia. For the  first time in his career, Mark was off a ship and in a desk job, finishing his career with the Canadian Navy and waiting to become a father. Anzac Day 2002, three months after our son was born, Mark became a member of the Australian Navy at the Australian Consulate in Vancouver (after eating an Anzac biscuit made by one of the staff ). A few days later we flew into Sydney to begin the next chapter of our life. It would be another five years before Mark and I talked about moving again.

PART ONE - MOVING AND LIVING WITH UNCERTAINTY

Maree

April 2008– January 2010

Unexpetedly Moving

I looked up at Mark standing at the edge of the dining room table, pointed to a page in front of me, tears welling in my eyes and whispered, I think you should go to this ship. Our three children were in bed and it was time to decide our future. Spread out on the table were the schedules for the next year of the major ships in the Australian Navy with a position available for Mark. I had pointed to the one going to the Persian Gulf for six months only weeks after we were due to arrive in Western Australia.

You’ll be on your own with the kids so soon. Are you sure? asked Mark.

I nodded, crying now. If I was on a ship going to the Persian Gulf Mark, I would want you as my XO. I know what you’re capable of. I just have this feeling that is the ship you should go to.

The last time Mark went to the Persian Gulf was 2004 onboard HMAS Stuart. One evening, as it patrolled the North Arabian Gulf with three other Coalition vessels to protect two of Iraq’s oil terminals, a dhow (a small fishing boat) entered the security zone around one of the terminals. USS Firebolt launched their Rigid Hull Inflatable Boat (RHIB) to inform the vessel of its location and that it needed to leave the area. As the RHIB drew alongside, the dhow detonated, capsizing it and either fatally or seriously injuring the crew. As the second oil terminal was attacked and those vessels were stopped by Iraqi security detachments, the dead and wounded from Firebolt were transported to Stuart via her RHIB and Seahawk helicopter for medical assistance. Mark later received a Captain’s Commendation for his efforts in coordinating the defence of the oil platforms in what he says was initially chaos.

I had the knowledge of this event in my mind in April of 2008 when we had the rather rare opportunity of making a decision for ourselves. But our initial plan was to not move at all. We had lived in Sydney for the past five years as Mark did various jobs and training and he had asked to join the only Sydney-based ship that was going to be available at the end of that year. We thought we had it all figured out so life could continue on in the same home Joshua had always known and to which we had brought our two girls home. We really should have known better than to try and plan things ourselves. The plan fell apart when the executive officer of that ship left unexpectedly in March, and Mark’s current job would not release him early as too many others in the small section in which he worked were also about to leave. As a result, the only ships at the end of the year that were available to Mark, were based in Western Australia.

Western Australia. The other side of the country. A place I had never even been close to. That wasn’t the plan. Again, we asked ourselves why we even made a plan. Until we received confirmation of Mark’s posting to HMAS Warramunga in writing in July, we kept the news of our move largely to ourselves. I avoided any conversations about the future with our friends in Sydney as I didn’t want to lie and I didn’t want to talk about possibilities that were not confirmed. I needed time to fathom the new plan.

The first person I told heard it over the phone. I waffled on about a holiday we had just had and then quickly blurted out that we were moving to WA.

What did you just say? she asked.

She was shocked and outraged at the injustice that Mark had not been released to join the Sydney-based ship. I didn’t feel I had the emotional energy for too many conversations like that where I had to try and explain the events and convince the other person it would work out. So I hid behind my computer and sent my friends an email. By the time they saw me in person they were accepting rather than questioning. I also needed the support of my friends for more than just a move.

Mark’s biological father in Canada died rather unexpectedly in the same month. His step-dad had died only seven months before. Mark went to Canada for the funeral, returning on a Tuesday, and by Friday our youngest child, two-year-old Marguerite, was admitted to hospital with pneumonia. Although Mark and I certainly knew what it meant to see one of our children sick, I had sometimes wondered if I would know when the situation was beyond me and it was time to go to hospital. I knew the minute I walked into her room, having woken up because I heard her little distressed cry. I scooped her into my arms and lay her in our bed as Mark was putting on his uniform to go to work.

Look at her Mark! Look at her chest. Look at how hard she’s working to breathe! This is what doctors have told me over the years to look out for with asthma in the other kids and now this is it in her. This is it Mark!

Is it? he replied and for the first time I saw how his eyes drooped from tiredness.

How did I let this happen? Did I not wake up? I asked Mark in a panic.

Marguerite had been sick since the day Mark returned, so I had been getting up to her for the first three nights as he was too jet-lagged. But the fourth night, I went to bed early and as Mark could see how tired I had become, he closed the door to our bedroom so I wouldn’t wake up. He had spent the night on the couch and was too tired to really see how far she had slipped. I called my mum to talk through her condition. As a retired nurse, Mum, like Mark, is also very calm in stressful situations. Mum talked about me not letting her out of my sight as I got the other two ready for their days and I knew that if Mum thought I shouldn’t leave her even for a second, then it really was as serious as I thought. I hung up the phone, dropped my face into my hands and burst into tears. It was decided that Mark, being the calmer of the two of us, would take her to the hospital and I would take Joshua to school, Robyn to preschool and then join him there. As I had had a full night’s sleep the night before, I stayed the first night in hospital. I spent most of it sitting on the end of her bed, putting the oxygen mask back in front of her mouth when she moved in her sleep. One of the nurses told me I really didn’t have to but when an alarm sounded every time she moved away from the mask because her oxygen saturation levels dropped too low, I felt that I really did.

In October Marguerite saw a paediatrician because although she had recovered from the pneumonia, I still felt something wasn’t quite right with her breathing and sleeping. An X-ray showed she had enormous adenoids that would need to be operated on. I wasn’t able to find a surgeon available before we left, so my mum asked an old friend if her doctor son in WA could recommend anyone.

This was all discovered and arranged in Mark’s final few weeks in Sydney. The kids and I stayed until mid-December so that Joshua could finish grade one, but Mark left at the end of October as the ship was going through a major training and assessment period (called a work- up) to prepare for the deployment to the Persian Gulf. I accepted the situation because it was essential for Mark to participate in that exercise and Joshua needed to finish his school year. Before Mark left we filled out all the paperwork for our removal so I didn’t have to organise any of that on my own. We were also fortunate that a Defence Housing Australia (DHA) property that would be available early January of the following year came up on the system, so we were able to lock it in as our future house before he left. I said goodbye to Mark feeling confident our move would go smoothly.

A few weeks later the staff member at Toll Transitions responsible for overseeing my move came to the house to look over our things in person.

Oh, so you’ll be doing this move on your own? he asked when I told him that Mark was already in Western Australia.

Mum and Dad have talked about coming to help me so I’m not sure at this point, I replied.

"Oh okay. Well it would be