LIFE IN WARTIME
Colin Cochran tells Mike Watson about his 98 eventful years.
Colin Cochran says he’s no war hero. And in his eyes he probably isn’t. ‘‘There’s still guys alive who fought in Crete, North Africa, the Pacific,’’ he says. ‘‘They’re the heroes, not me.’’
Cochran is now 98 years old and closing in on 99. He wants to make it to triple figures.
He thinks he may be the third oldest World War II veteran living in Taranaki. But who’s counting? He certainly isn’t.
‘‘I know of two others who are 99 but that’s the ones from the New Plymouth RSA. There may be others who don’t don’t go there.’’
Cochran turns 99 next month. His stance is upright and he greets visitors with a firm handshake.
He enjoys the monthly functions at the RSA to catch up with friends. Above all, his memory is spot on.
Apart from his dodgy hearing he’s in fine fettle, he says. ‘‘I need to have my ears waxed every so often.’’
Cochran lives alone in small flat in New Plymouth. His beloved wife Lil died eight years ago and since then he’s been on his own.
His closest companion, apart from a family friend who cares for his day to day needs, is a computer - and the crossword.
The computer has been a lifesaver for the former Ra¯ hotu and Pukearuhe dairy farmer who still holds a driver’s licence.
A friend bought it for him after Lil died. They wanted Cochran to keep his mind active.
He decided to write his memoirs, from growing up on an Oakura dairy farm with his parents, leaving school at 14 to help hand milk 40 cows, to army experiences during WWII, and back farming in Taranaki.
The life memoirs are accompanied by a separate volume dedicated to his army career, first with the 9th Regiment Coastal Artillery, before being shipped to Italy with the 7th Anti Tank Regiment, and later Japan as part of J Force.
The two volumes, together with personal photographs taken during the war, took three years to complete, he says.
Cochran had never been out of Taranaki before he hopped on a train to Trentham on his 21st birthday to start military training in 1939.
‘‘I was working in a dairy factory and that was termed an essential industry by the government. My boss, Pat Jenkins, came to me and said I was not allowed to enlist.’’
But the temptation to be involved near the front line was too great, in spite of the fact he still had 120 pounds to pay off for a recently bought Austin 7.
‘‘I saw an advertisement in the paper calling for recruits for the Royal New Zealand Artillery.’’
On a day off Cochran ignored his boss’ orders and signed up - one of 25,000 men who had also enlisted by January 1940.
It was a time in New Zealand when, with 110,000 men and women unemployed, or on subsidised work, from a total population of 1.6 million, enlisting was a better option.
‘‘I didn’t tell anyone and then I got a letter telling me to be at New Plymouth railway station.’’
It was an exciting way to celebrate his 21st birthday - getting on a train and leaving Taranaki for the first time.
Later he found out his dairy factory boss had been on the platform ready to haul him off. ‘‘I was joining the regular army, and not the mobilisation force, and couldn’t be stopped.’’
Once trained in how to fire a heavy gun Cochran spent time stationed around North Head, Whangaparoa, Motutapu Island and Manukau.
In 1943 he was among the 2NZEF 11th Reinforcement to be shipped out, by way of Fremantle, Maadi Camp, Egypt, to Bari, Italy to join the assault towards Venice.
Before leaving he married Lil in Ra¯ hotu.
It was during the journey across the Indian Ocean that he came across a fellow Taranaki recruit, Ronald Corkill, who featured in The Taranaki Daily News ‘A matter of life and death’ column on December 30.
Corkill was an outstanding scholar and sportsman who had been nominated for a Rhodes Scholarship.
Corkill, who had taught at Wellesley College, Wellington, was also fluent in Italian and gave lessons to his fellow soldiers on board the ship en route to Egypt, Cochran says.
‘‘He was highly educated and well thought of by the other men.’’
The pair were in the same regiment, but a different battery, and Cochran remembered the night Corkill was killed when both came under enemy bombardment.
It was the same night Cochran could have also been killed.
During the enemy attack, near Rimini in Italy, Cochran’s task was to drive a Jeep trailing a 4.2 heavy mortar behind to the front for the gun crew, and then head back to relative safety.
‘‘The Germans found out where we were and began to shell our position,’’ he says.
Cochran built a slit trench to protect himself during the bombing but chose to take cover in the Jeep among the grape vines because it was raining heavily.
‘‘I was bloody scared stiff, it was the first time I had been under fire.’’
He pulled his tin hat over his head and prayed.
‘‘We survived the night okay but Ron Corkill’s M10 crew were not so lucky and he was killed in his first action.’’
Corkill died of a head wound from a direct hit on the truck in which he was taking cover. ‘‘It was a tragedy, he was known to many of the men and he would have gone a long way in life.’’
It was estimated the NZ Division would reach Venice in two weeks as they moved up the east coast of Italy but the German Army proved more resolute than expected and the journey took nine months, Cochran says.
‘‘The Germans were good soldiers and it was hard going, they were dug in and blowing up bridges as we began to overpower them.’’
Night time shelling while sheltering in Italian farmhouses became the norm,.
‘‘We got used to it, you could judge by the whistling sound if it was coming close and you just hoped it wouldn’t hit you.’’
One night Cochran was woken by a 88mm self-propelled shell bursting through the wall of a farmhouse, leaving a gaping hole near where he and his infantry crew were sleeping.
‘‘Luckily it was only one shell, if it had been several we would not have lived. If it had been 10 to 15 metres closer I would have been gone.’’
As he settled back to sleep a cow urinated on him.
Cochran’s last involvement in the war was to be stationed in Japan as part of the J Force occupation army.
Eventually hearing problems forced him to be discharged from the military and he returned to his wife, Lil, and settled back into farming in Taranaki.
‘‘I have no regrets but it would be nice to be 21 again,’’ he says with a chuckle.