The Landing
[re: January 1964 landing near Tauau Bay in Borneo]
The craft all lay out from the bay
Filled with men prepared for a fight
They'd stayed there all yesterday
And rode the waves most of the night
Their crews were well used to the swell
And waited for orders to come
Soldiers were feeling unwell
Seasickness had left them all dumb
The craft slued and reared in the swell
White faces were wet with the spray
Of their thoughts no one could tell
As craft lay off the far shore
When crewmen ate up their ration
Some soldiers had puked on the deck
Faces so grey and ashen
Each had his equipment to check
The diesels had thrummed through the night
As craft lay off the far shore
Throttles were opened with might
And thrums had turned to a roar
The craft slued and reared in the swell
White faces were wet with the spray
Each in his own secret hell
And tensed for the work of the day
The craft all as one made a turn
Bow waves churned up to white crests
Their wakes made great plumes at the stern
And their hearts beat hard in their chests
The tracers lit up the east sky
And star shells burst over the shore
Yet none of them there asked “Why?”
The diesels continued to roar
The craft slued and reared on the swell
White faces were wet with the spray
Each seemed to be in a spell
As the craft sped in to the bay
The craft careered on at full speed
Adrenaline started its flow
The fear then seemed to recede
We were there to “give a good show”
Crafts full of young men in their prime
Each checking equipment once more
This eased the passage of time
As diesels continued to roar
The craft slued and reared on the swell
White faces were wet with the spray
Our fate no one could foretell
As we raced on in to the bay
In the great scheme of things of course
There's nothing of worth on those shores
Radios crackled some Morse
And bow men stood by the bow doors
As mangrove trees loomed into sight
And young hearts beat fast out of fear
Astern dawn's eerie first light
The sounds of some gunfire seemed near
The craft slowed and rode a slight swell
White faces still wet with the spray
There seemed a flatulent smell
As we neared the shore of the bay
Propellers churned up a grey froth
Through mud of the marshy foreshore
The mud like flames to a moth
Stuck us fast and we moved no more
The bow doors slapped down on the mud
The first men sank in far too deep
Terror then froze in their blood
Stuck there for The Reaper to reap
The small craft brought us to this hell
Such places can trap men as prey
Their plan was to charge pell-mell
But this mud here had blocked the way
They strained as they fought with the ooze
A battle with men they could win
This fight with some mud they'd lose
The diesel roars made a loud din
Then tracers etched through the dawn sky
As shells burst beyond the shore line
Minutes then slowly dragged by
In the mud, the muck and the slime
Our craft too were stuck in this hell
And the crews were trapped in the bay
Shell fire still clattered its knell
And quagmires of mud blocked the way
As diesels churned up a grey froth
Men slithered in mud to the shore
They raged an undignified wrath
They wallowed and sweated and swore
The engines then eased to a hum
The boat crew had failed though they'd tried
Though mud we could not overcome
We could well float free with the tide
The craft was then stuck in that hell
And we had to get to the shore
Shell fire still clattered a knell
— Mud beckoned beyond the bow door.
by Trefor Morgan
... who is a Royal Navy veteran of the Borneo Campaign during the
Indonesian Confrontation, is retired from business, and now
writes freelance poetry.