I Turned the Page and...

Williams’ passionate outburst over the book had provoked my curiosity and as I bent to pick it up from where he had let it so dramatically fall, I noted the title and publisher: there was no need to check the author; none of us would forget that name after Williams’ diatribe. So it was with keen expectation that I took delivery of “The RAAF at War in New Guinea and the Islands”.

It was a well-enough presented publication, purporting to be the memories of Wing Commander, Ronnie Cheval as recounted to Paul Blumenthal. So Williams had been right: it was a ‘ghosted’ account. The writer had managed, at least initially, a readable account of Cheval’s ‘memories’ and ‘diaries’, and had adopted Cheval’s first person viewpoint. One could forgive then, at least in the first few chapters, the somewhat egotistical stance of the narrator. Further into the book, possibly because of Williams’ comments and revelations, I was conscious of the rather shallow, self –centred being behind the narrative. Was this in spite of the ghost writer’s efforts, or rather his deliberate and subtle portrayal of the real person behind the narration? I could not help suspecting the latter.

If Williams’ summation of Cheval as a person was accurate, I doubted Cheval would be intelligent enough to take offence; after all, it was only the thoughtful reader who would see both the ‘hero’ and the events recounted as much more than the adventures of a hot-blooded young fighter-pilot. Especially as the blurbs on the dust-jacket described it variously as “an Australian fighter pilot in the mould of Douglas Bader” (far too kind, I thought) and “a book in the tradition of the Bulldog Drummond and Biggles series”. Williams had been right: the book would be of no use as a credible reference book. A pity, I thought: there were far too few readily available and reliable accounts of this little known period of RAAF history.

A little more than half way through the narration, my interest began to wane. I must confess it was because I reckoned I owed it to Williams and our next Coffee Club Meeting to complete the book. I began to drudge to the task. It was then that I turned the page and my eye fell on the words: “Thanks entirely to our usual bad intelligence, our mission that day was nothing short of a disaster. Of our wing of five only two of us returned to base. We had been ordered to make a pass over Lae and shoot up any targets we could find, preferably any planes on the nearby airstrip. There should be little air resistance. We arrived to find the air swarming with zeros, faster and more manoeuvrable than our machines. It was only our cunning and superior flying skills, together with a modicum of luck that saved me and my partner. I managed to score two of the four Zeros shot down, though this was later unfairly challenged. I had to bite my tongue when I was reprimanded for taking a safer and more circuitous approach to the target. Let’s face it: we had been dumped into an ants’ nest of Zero activity; Intelligence was merely saving face. None of that bunch knew much about real combat flying and tactics and there had been little or no real reconnaissance. Besides, we had four definite kills and had no doubt inflicted damage on other machines. For me the tragedy was that we had lost three good men, thanks mainly to inferior equipment and downright poor intelligence.”

Wow! I thought. That summation was very one-sided and intemperate. I could now well credit Williams’ opinion of Wing Commander Ronnie Cheval. I had little doubt as to Williams’ reaction to this passage and was rather looking forward to it. I carefully marked the place and, interest again awakened, went in search of similar passages redolent of Ronnie’s self justification and self glorification.

Perhaps, I thought, a better title for this book would have been “Cheval’s War.” I wondered if Paul Blumenthal had made, straight-faced, that suggestion to Ronnie.