Everyone knew that something was afoot

THE morning sun broke through streaky clouds on an unusually clear February morning in 1942.

The Wet season had shown its full force in previous weeks to the thousands of newcomers in the tropical north.

The usual hum of the peaceful town had been replaced with the roar of military vehicles kicking up the dusty roads since Australia joined the war.

Darwin’s population had ballooned since the military build-up began in 1937.

Tensions were running high through the first monsoonal months of 1942. The steady build-up of blokes in fatigues and ships in the harbour was an obvious sign to anyone willing to brave the thought of what it all meant.

Those with the devil-maycare attitude went through the motions of the wartime preparations without serious thought of ever enacting the skills they learned.

Others were acutely aware of what the fall of Singapore, just days earlier, could mean for Northern Australia.

The post office was a hive of activity. Many of the women and children were safe on the other side of the country and those left behind were desperate to stay in touch.

The sudden increase in evacuations, whisking loved ones away, meant an already male dominated town was filled with less calming voices to keep the testosterone in check. The men didn’t want to worry their families and the letters which passed through the postmaster’s hands painted a calmer picture than the barbed-wire beaches and improvised accommodation camps would suggest.

Postal clerk Arthur Wellington could remember the scent of his wife, Nin, when he held her last as he wrote to her and his infant daughter, Aldyth, by candlelight on the evening of February 18.

Blackouts were regular with the city’s unreliable electricity supply.

The family had arrived two years earlier so Wellington could provide extra assistance when the post office opened.

Nin and Aldyth, just five e months old at the time, were e evacuated by road to Alice e Springs just a few months s earlier in December, 1941.

He told them of the friend- ly competition to dig the best t trenches – of course the post office’s was the best. The strongest. The biggest. Only a direct attack would be a threat – and how unlucky would you have to be?

On the balmy Thursdayy morning of February 19 the anti-aircraft gunners woke to take over their shifts.

The rations left a lot to be e desired. As did their training.g Many of the teenage diggers had never shot a live round.

The food for the civilians s was not much better. Water r was scarce and every mouthful l of tin-flavoured canned vegetables brought fantasies of a home-cooked Sunday roast of pre-war life.

Defence and civilians alike knew something was afoot.

But with Australian military resources already stretched across Europe, North Africa and the northern defence in Ambon and Timor, anyone paying attention also knew there was no way Darwin

could d defendf d it itself lf should the Japanese attack.

There were no ideas of how they even would attack.

Land invasion? Naval attack? Air raids?

But weeks of thick cloud of the northern skies from a tropical cyclone gave perfect cover for the Japanese to evade Aus- s . tralian detection as they waited. When the clear morning sun arrived it gave a spring in the step of those working in Darwin, as a ray of light in the Wet season often did.

But the clear skies of February 19 also provided perfect flying weather. For those in Darwin with their eyes on the sky they spotted aircraft coming from the south.

The light shimmered from the bombs as they fell — like confetti in the sky. Two minutes later, at the stroke of 10am the warning sirens sounded.

The deafening sound of explosions. A direct hit on the post office.