AUSTRALIANS FIGHT AUSTRALIANS

Fist fighting has long been part of the tradition of men in the world. The

English loved a bout of fist-fighting on the village green. Bets were laid

and the fighters circled on another as the match began.

Fist fighting was strong among the Australian working class in the early

20^th century. Men in the wild west of America fought with guns but

Australians used their fists.

A practice in Australia was for men to challenge other men by throwing

their hat down and telling the other man to kick it. If that happened, it
was just a matter of finding a place to fight. Then other men turned their
beer glasses upside down in the bar to show that they could fight any
man.

Soldiers in the world wars were mainly working class Australians who

took the tradition of fist fighting to war. Grudges were settled even on
the battlefield.

My father was a heavy weight boxer having grown up as a drover in

outback Queensland. He joined the army, enlisted in the 9^th Division.

The main entertainment on troop ships was the never ending boxing

matches.

There were championship fights and grudge fights just like the prison

movies we watch in the modern era.

My father fought on troop ships Queen Mary and Ile de France on

route to the Middle East and return. He never talked about the war

but often told of the boxing matches on board ship.

He often told of fist fights both in outback Queensland and on board

the troop ships. There were regular grudge fights between the soldiers

in the Middle East and New Guinea. Officers turned a blind eye. No

one fought the officers.

I never saw my father fight in a boxing match. He once told that he was

invited to become a professional boxer after the war but he said that it

was a fool’s game.

Once we were in town at the Samford hotel outside Brisbane. My father

was about 38 years old. There was a young boy being beaten by about

4 men.

My father told them to stop but they abused him. He stepped forward

and hit the lead bully and knocked him over a car.

Within about 3 minutes, there were four men lying on the ground. He

was not into Claude van Damme karate kicks but his fists were deadly

so I found out that night. He would say that only mug lairs kick when
they fight.I was proud of my dad. I am like him but fight with a pen.

He died at 53 years of strokes and hypertension. I am sure the war had
dragged him down.

My father told his son never to fight for himself, only in support of other

people who cannot defend themselves.

That is what I do in the national HIV/AIDS response in Papua New

Guinea. Australian advisors who seek to destroy the family campaign
never knew my father and his effect on me.