Ross, Harold Jo

Born:
Died: 1st July, 1942 – Montevideo Maru.
Occupation – 1942: NGVR
ID: NGX481

Harold Ross’s Story

The following is from a Research Paper prepared by Janet Marion Ross Dykgraaff who has kindly given us permission to reproduce it on this website. This article may not be quoted from or reproduced without the express permission of Janet Dykgraaff.

An unknown Father, Harold Jo ROSS

I have no living memory of my biological Father, but I’ve tried to piece any information about him into a “file” in my mind. Whenever I asked my mother about him, she would turn away to hide the tears welling up, putting her hand up to her mouth as though to stifle any cry of pain still left in her and eventually whisper “I can’t, it hurts too much ! ” Over my childhood years in Artarmon, my nursemaid Annie had answered all she knew about him; I was told he was a loving Father with black, curly hair and fairly tall, a good swimmer, who worked for BP’s [Burns Philp] Rabaul, in the Territory of New Guinea [Mandated Territory.]

My Grandmother who lived with us then, showed me a photo of a smiling, goodlooking
man with lovely eyes & a moustache, dressed in tropical whites.

I have sent away to Births, Deaths and Marriages Registry and received a copy of his Birth Certificate; this told me the names of his parents, Thomas Alexander Ross and Marion Ross [after whom I was named]; that their occupations were respectivly a …ate Agent & Home Duties; that he was born at home in Cremorne with a midwife in attendance; that his mother notified the Post Office at Cremorne of his birth in July 1906.; that he had no distinguishing marks; & it included his weight..& colour of his eyes. Hmmm ! Then 20 years later, whilst attending the PNGAA’s 60th Anniversary of the Rabaul , TNG, Evacuation on the “Macdhui” in Sydney, I was reintroduced to an old work colleague of his, Mrs Roma Bates, who had worked at the desk behind him in the Shipping Dept. of BP’s Rabaul. She told me that he was a good worker well liked by everyone in the town, that he was in the BP’s baseball team, a good swimmer & had black, curly hair.

After Mother had died in Brisbane 2004, she left me his letters to her after we left on the “Macdhui” to Australia in 1941, directly after Pearl Harbour & before the fall of Singapore on February 15. Then I could read of his pain & loneliness after he’d put us on the ship, how empty the house was, mentioning the toys that were left behind in the various rooms.

He wrote every day after that, so that some letters were very bulky, even tho’ it was only the thin airmail stationary, sometimes written on both sides [which made it more difficult to de-cipher.] and more often than not he’d be writing to catch the afternoon mail-plane… after it had been scanned by the censors !

In these comprehensive letters he would write of his daily activities, what ship had come in, who was in town, who had left for Australia, report the latest story/rumour that was about and invariably be hungry for news of his children, wondering how much they’d grown, what milestone they had achieved; also answering the questions Mother had asked him, what her father Ted Hawnt was doing & placating her suggestion that he put in for a transfer to BP’s in Port Moresby ASAP ! Harold Jo Ross wrote that he thought that the Territory Administration would follow the lead of the Companies about when to leave Rabaul : and surely the Govt. in Canberra would get them out before it became too dangerous to stay in town & the Americans were coming to help soon, so don’t worry! ” Keep your chin up, it always comes in handy!” [ What misplaced trust I thought, crying as I read this part… he was a civilian really, I don’t think he would think the unthinkable, that the panicky, newly elected Labour politicians in Canberra were so influenced by the Army that in fact they had already decided Lark Force to be expendable, hostages to fortune. ] He told of the NGVR dawn drill, how the heavy Lewis gun bashed his legs as he ran with it, how he had to shower before turning up for work, and how P.C. told them of BP’s Head Office in Australia saying their pay should be docked when they attended Drill.

Evidently it was very dusty there, ash still coming from Matupit volcano, a health hazard as his chest x-ray was, to quote him “allright, nothing to worry about sweetheart “.

He complained about the mosquitoes though, biting him as still penning letters, day turned into dusk, mentioning he’d have to stop writing & light the mosquito coils, then the lamps.

Occasionally he’d mention how young the soldiers were, some just out of school, how later on they’d been restricted to two alcoholic drinks per day ! and no, there were no BYT’s coming out to “Wunawatung” ! [ but the “Herstein” had docked: Page asked permission to move civilians out using it; Canberra replied make a list of the non-essential civilians first. ] Then he told of Jap planes bombing Rabaul during office hours, the huge explosions ripping the dust into clouds, of how some workers “scuttled into the bomb shelters“ for safety.

His last letter applauded his wife the best a man could want, how much he loved her & always would, how he knew she would take good care of their three beautiful children and ended poignantly with “please don’t let them forget me” [ I think he knew this was the end.] The Japs invaded & over-ran Rabaul the 23rd January, 1942.
They numbered 5,300!

There was one more written note to Mrs Marjorie Ross, wife to Harold Jo Ross, written in pencil from the Jap prison camp and dropped over Port Moresby; it came via the Red Cross and the envelope was stamped as passed by the Australian Censors. The page inside read, “ Sweetheart, as you can see I’m in the Jap. prison of war camp in [deleted]. They are treating us well, don’t worry. Tell the family and inform Burns Philp. Always, Harold. “

Because he was a POW, they all thought that when the war was over, they would be reunited. That was what kept them going, all through those hard rationing war years, they clung to this hope. Into town where Mrs Page had arranged a “New Guinea Womens’ Group ”, waiting for some news of their men, whilst supporting each others’ hope. Eventually Marjorie got a job in the Department of External Territories, earning ten shillings one week, 10/6 the next; [ & my brother Mike’s favourite snack was bread & dripping.]

Waiting in the dentist’s surgery one evening, Marjorie was handed the newspaper to read whilst waiting for the injection to take effect, the headlines were “Rabaul Garrison Wiped Out” & she fainted. The surgery rang home and Grandma came down to see what had happened; whilst explaining, the receptionist said “I gave her the evening paper to read, then she fainted,” holding the paper out to show Grandma, who also promptly fainted from the shock as she read those headlines. As Grandma Jess would tell the story years later, “Then she [the receptionist] had two people down and didn’t know what to do !” But that stoic pair, mother and daughter came to, soon after.

{I’ve speculated about that journalist who wrote the story, and his Editor who okayed it to be released that evening: did they have any idea of the impact this would have on the wives who’d waited for so long ? and where were the Censors ? when needed ! } It was much later that the Australian Government, Canberra sent them the telegram to say that both their civilian husbands were missing, presumed dead on the MV “Montevideo Maru”. This ship was torpedoed by the USS “Sturgeon” near The Phillipines on the 2nd July 1942.

When I was 6 yo my Uncle Ted Hawnt came back after the war, he’d been on the mainland of New Guinea, and came to live with us at Artarmon. I asked him if I could call him “Dad’ if any of my friends walked past whilst we were both working in the front garden [because I felt so different from everybody else, not having a father at home]. He refused, saying he wasn’t good enough to be thought of as my father, officially listed as ROSS, Harold J, Rfn, NGX481. AIF New Guinea Volunteer Rifles, Australian Infantry 1 July 1942.

Today I wonder how many other Australian children have been affected due to their fathers being killed in war ? not to have known their father’s loving arms hugging them ?

not to have heard his voice saying “I love you, baby” as he heard our prayers and tucked us into bed at night ? not to have been there through our school years, encouraging us to keep on learning ? nodding approval as we brought prospective marriage partners home ? giving us away ? being a proud Grandfather to our babies ?

We were all safe in Australia because H J Ross was a man of honour who wanted “ to do the right thing”, protecting his family & who eventually died for us, bottom line ? a good family man, sadly being failed by his country’s indecision. He didn’t run away, he did his job with Burns Philp … and he volunteered to be a Rifleman.

Story and Photographs courtesy of and copyright © Janet Marion Ross Dykgraaff