This was New Zealand at war! Give them hell, the bastards! Give them hell! One sometimes felt like that when all revved up. We were a small but intensely proud nation and we knew the country was right behind us; every man, woman, child and dog. We were its spearhead, and although we moaned, cursed and got drunk occasionally, we wore its shoulder tabs with honour, a little like our All Black rugby teams, proud to be its representatives.
At the beginning I met a Bren gun carrier and anti-tank gun and two M.P.s who asked me to take a message to the other side that their telephones were dead and the track was being badly torn up. After this a solitary walk over the wire and matting across ploughed fields and by patches of young bamboo. Within a quarter of a mile of the river the whole area came under considerable mortar and shellfire.