I went back to Vietnam in October 1995. It was interesting, to say the least, and I’m not sure if I would do it again. At the time though it was something I had to do or forever have the nagging feeling that I should.Mal Nicholls did the second tour with A Coy, 6 RAR, in 1969/70. Between us we were there at the beginning, around the middle, and near the end of Australia’s involvement.We wanted to go back, we talked about it on and off for ages, tried to imagine how we would feel, what sort of emotions we would experience.In my case I felt I had to go back. Something had been tugging at me for years, urging me to return to that mysterious place that had such a profound impact on my life.We didn’t want to go on an organised tour or with a large group, as this was a personal thing for us. We decided not to book anything, just our return flight, and to make our way day by day….so we did.

On the aircraft between Bangkok and Ho Chi Minh City, (We will always call it Saigon) I started thinking about what a bastard of a place Vietnam was. About what arseholes the VC and NVA were, and about how these people, Charlie, Gooks, Nogs, Slopes, whatever you want to call them, had killed our mates and maimed our mates. I also thought about the country and how beautiful it was. The mountains, the green of the paddy fields, the stink, the perfume. The mates we had, the ones we lost, the men we killed…..the danger! I felt like I was going back on a third tour, I was excited but at the same time I was nervous. I asked myself "What the hell are you doing here…..again." I know people who knew me wondered why I was going back, people who had never been to Vietnam, but I learned long ago that unless they had been to this enigmatic place, this hellhole called Vietnam, they would never understand.

I was looking out the window as the aircraft landed and taxied at Tan Son Nuht. It was so quiet. Only three other aircraft on the ground and a few people in communist military uniform standing around, all watching our aircraft. Tan Son Nuht looked the same, minus the American Air Force, and thousands of troops. The concrete aircraft bunkers were still in place, empty of course, and some barbed wire and sentry posts still where they would have been during the war, but everything was different…..eerie and quiet.

As we left the aircraft and were hit by the force of the heat I stood and looked along the bare concrete runways that used to be so busy with war machines. My eyes searched the perimeter, or where it used to be. The now neglected sentry posts, the grass growing wildly where it used to be short, to give clear fields of fire. The lush green grass was hiding the scars of war, hiding the ghosts of so many dead men. I was filled with a dragging sadness.

We made our way through the terminal, with its ‘third world’ furnishings and comforts. No seats to sit on, no air-conditioning, and rude and arrogant staff. This is a communist country, and it was clear to everyone on the plane that you do as you are told. By the time we got through filling in more forms and having our photograph taken, finding our bags and getting through customs, we walked out of the terminal and into an absolute sea of humanity. All of them wanted to drive us to Saigon. We knew the fare was supposed to be six dollars, they all wanted twenty. We shared one with an Aussie couple and settled on fifteen dollars. After refusing the places our driver took us to we settled on the Saigon Hotel. We handed our passports in at the desk and retreated to our room, turned on the air-conditioner and the fans and lay on our beds, planning where we would go for a cold beer.The "ApocalypseNow" bar is where we ended up…..I kid you not! An obvious place for veterans to meet. We met Bill there, an American veteran, a Marine who did two tours at about the same time as I did. We spent the night talking shit, exaggerating stories of contacts and battles, and pouring copious amounts of Vietnamese beer down our throats. (It’s a nice drop now) We took in the atmosphere of this exciting bar. Models of "Iroquois" choppers hang from the roof, camouflage painted on the walls, and a melting pot of Vietnamese, French, Russians, Phillipino, Australian, American, Kiwi, Dutch, amongst others, fill the place with loud and exciting conversations in all languages.

We met Bill the following morning. He wasn’t happy, he’d had his bifocals ripped from his head while travelling in a cyclo to meet us. A bloke on a motorbike came up behind him and ripped them from his head.Our first stop was the "Exhibition House of Aggression War Crimes", formally the "Museum of American War Crimes" at 28 Vo Van Tan street. During the war it was the "US Information Service Building" and is one of the most popular spots for western tourists to visit, especially veterans. It is totally one side of course, but interesting, and a sober reminder of the war.From the museum we walked around and looked at the sights. The old American Embassy, Unification house, where the final act of the war was carried out when NVA tanks knocked down the gates and stormed the building. We didn’t go in, we’d seen enough propaganda at the War Museum.Walking around is the only way to see and feel how the South Vietnamese really live. The heat, the noise, the smell, the beggars constantly pushing and pulling at you for money, and everybody trying to sell you something…..life is tough here, but you don’t appreciate how tough from inside an air-conditioned vehicle. You have to walk amongst them to feel the poverty.

The next day we hired a car and driver and headed for Vung Tao, travelling through our old TAOR on the way. Phuoc Tuy Province…..this was why we had come back, to confront the ghosts of the 1^st Australian Task Force.We went straight through to Vung Tao. Our crazy driver was going too fast, straight down the centre of the road and we only caught a glimpse of the "Wolvertons" as we passed them, through Baria, (still smells like a shit house), over the bridges and down what has to be the worst road in the world, to Vungers. Vung Tao is run down, basically a shantytown crawling with people. The area around front beach (where the Grand Hotel is) and other western hotels that cater for visiting business people, is clean and reasonably well looked after, but the main sprawl of the place is filthy and overcrowded, and in unbelievably bad repair.

We stayed at the Grand Hotel. It looks the same as it did back then, but is run down compared to what it was. We handed our passports in (you have to do that wherever you stay) and went for a walk. We found where the flags used to be and walked up and down what used to be the bars that we all remember. Just slums now but we both remembered what it used to be like when A Coy was on R&C. (They were the good old days) Mal said he could almost hear diggers calling out his name. Some of the older locals remembered Australians from the war days and you could hear them say "Uc Dai Loi" as we walked past. We had a few beers that night in the Grand, and in another bar for westerners called "The Pub". Aussies, Kiwi’s and French people drink there mainly. A good fun bar. We arranged for a car to pick us up next morning and take us to Nui Dat, Long Tan, Long Phuoc…..Driving through Hoa Long and Baria the memories flooded back. The flimsy shacks the locals live in, the market stalls along the side of the road, the fly ridden foods on the stalls, naked kids, filthy drains, meat hanging in the sun waiting to be sold. The smell was horrific, just the same as it was during the war. I wonder how anyone can be happy living like this. The bridges, the river, all looked the same and I remembered where most things were, even after all this time. The old theatre at Baria was not to be seen, but the last time I saw it there were so many shell holes through the walls and roof it probably fell down.

Rubber trees, smaller now than they were back then, long grass, banana trees, and red mud…..that is 1ATF today. Nui Dat, now covered in banana trees, and the old airstrip, luscombe field which the locals now use as a front yard. Homes have been built along the edge of the strip and all of the people came out to look at the westerners. It’s so strange now, standing in this steamy, hot, deserted place that was once the hub of Australia’s combat forces in Vietnam. Strange and emotional. Mixed feelings really, and I can’t explain in words precisely what I felt. I was nervous, I don’t really know why, and I could honestly hear choppers, and diggers voices as I stood there with my eyes closed, thinking back…..it felt so good though, to be back here again. I was glad I had come back now. For a while in Saigon I felt like I had made a mistake returning to Vietnam, but now after leaving the pollution and the beggars, and the noisy, raucous atmosphere of Saigon behind, this felt more like the Vietnam I remembered. We walked up and down the old airstrip, working out where the Battalion positions used to be and taking in as much as we could. Everything is so different now. If it wasn’t for the airstrip you would not know we had ever been there.We left Nui Dat and headed for Long Tan. I kept looking back as we drove away from old 1ATF. I probably wouldn’t be back again and I wanted the memory to be complete. This place had played such a huge part in my life. This was our sanctuary, our safe haven after being outside the wire, and although it was never totally safe in reality, it was definitely a lot safer "Inside the wire" here at Nui Dat, than it was "outside the wire" on operations.

As we drove the dirt road along the edge of the Long Tan rubber, government troops stopped our car and made our driver follow them back to their depot. Our driver was a Dat Do VC soldier during the war and spent the war fighting against Australian troops so we don’t know what he told them, or what they wanted, but they were definitely not the friendly sort. Our driver went inside with them and left Mal and myself sitting out in the unbearable heat for about 30 minutes. I was getting worried, but they eventually sent a soldier to take us to the cross.We headed off through the Long Tan rubber, and although it wasn’t intentional we spread out in single file. It was a very eerie feeling, unearthly, ghostly feeling to be treading these tracks again. So many Australian patrols had been over this same ground back then. The memorial was hard to see until you were right on top of it, but once there it stood out. The white cross dominated the scene, and as I stood there in silence, paying my very great respect to all who died, not only on this spot but anywhere "In country", my mind tried to turn over the names of all the men we had lost, just the ones I knew of course, but it’s harder than you think.

My emotions stopped me thinking of individual names, because with each name came a reminder of the hideous way they died, bullet, mine, boobytrap…..I stopped beating up on myself and thought of some of the funny things that happened, and there were plenty of them, but this place has a real cathedral like feeling about it, so I just stood in silence. We all did. Me, Mal, the communist soldier with us, and all the locals who now came out and stood behind us at this memorial to the dead.I had tears in my eyes as I stood there, but I felt good…Proud. I don’t know what happens to us after we die, but I had a very calm and confident feeling that the dead know when we come to visit them…..I felt an unearthly link to all the Australians who died in Vietnam, not only on this battlefield. I don’t know how long we stood there, transfixed by the scene. I was going to say a prayer…but I couldn’t think of one that was appropriate. So I said something I’d read about Vietnam veterans.

"We were that which others did not want to be.

We went where others dared to go, and did what others failed to do

We asked nothing from those who gave nothing , and reluctantly accepted the thought of eternal loneliness…..should we fail.

We have seen the face of terror, felt the stinging cold of fear, and enjoyed the sweet taste of a moment’s love.

We have cried, pained, and hoped…but most of all, we have lived times others would say were best forgotten.

At least some day we will be able to say that we are proud of what we are…….VIETNAM VETERANS"

We drove back to Vung Tao, looked at the VC museum at Long Phuoc, and the entrance to the tunnels that ran 3000 metres up the Task Force. They wanted to take us down the tunnels but I wouldn’t go…..I’d had enough.

I reflected on my feelings driving back to Vung Tao. I had a feeling of propriety, of appropriateness, and although my emotions were all jumbled up, I was happy I had come back here.

We spent the night in Vungers and next day made our way back to Saigon. We did some shopping and looked around for a day but then just wanted to get out of the country. We’d had enough. We’d done what we wanted to do and wanted to go home…..back to the world.

We spoke to quite a few people while we were in "In Country" and they all spoke about life after 30.4.75…..The day the communist came. Most of them felt hopeless and downtrodden, and more than one of them said that the only hope they had as a country was when America, Australia, and the allies were fighting against the communists. The people of the south are now paying the price for losing that war and I asked them if they felt betrayed when we all pulled out and left them. Mostly they said yes, but not by the soldiers. By Politicians, theirs and ours. They all said that politicians are the same everywhere, communist or otherwise…..They have no honour.

So I came home from Vietnam, again. Still angry and hurt by the lies and stupidity that sent us there in the first place, but feeling now that at least some of the South Vietnamese people are grateful for that.