The Reaper
06-18-2016, 18:39
Daring deeds that history forgot
by Judi Millar, Daughter Of Sergeant Frank Wigzell
m.nzherald.co.nz
They answered the clandestine call to arms. Parachuting deep into the Borneo jungle behind enemy lines, they trained native headhunters, formed ruthless guerrilla resistance groups, gathered critical intelligence and embarked on some of the most audacious raids of World War II.
Many survived but some were captured by the Japanese, tortured and beheaded. Others vanished without trace.
There were 22 New Zealanders attached to Z Special Unit (ZSU), the crack Australian military unit that would form the genesis of the present-day New Zealand SAS (Special Air Service).
After the war, they were silenced by 30 and 40-year secrecy agreements. Their existence never appeared on official army records. Many died without their own families ever knowing what they did in the war. Today, all 22 of the elite Kiwi soldiers are dead.
But, more than 70 years since the war ended, they will finally gain official recognition for their extraordinary feats.
On August 1, a memorial plaque dedicated to the men of ZSU will be unveiled at the Australian War Memorial in Canberra.
At least eight New Zealand families hope to attend the memorial dedication service, including Judi Millar, daughter of Sergeant Frank Wigzell - the first New Zealander to parachute behind enemy lines into Japanese-held Borneo.
"These men, who put their hands up and disappeared without anyone ever knowing where they had been, have sat nowhere in history. So to be recognised by Australia now is great, to say finally that yes, they were there," says Millar.
Hamilton-born Francis "Frank" Alexander Wigzell was an 18-year-old New Zealand Railways junior clerk at the outbreak of the war. He lied about his age and in August 1942 became a sergeant with the Light Armoured Fighting Vehicle regiment.
After a two-year posting at New Caledonia, and itching for more overseas service, he spotted a notice inside the Trentham military camp barracks, asking for volunteers to a "special assignment".
Kiwi Frank Wigzell lied about his age to join the war effort.
Along with five others, he was part of the second intake of New Zealand volunteers seconded to Special Operations Australia and its Z Special Unit. They were wrapped in secrecy, with only military top brass being aware of their existence.
Wigzell's journey into the elite unit is typical of most of its recruits.
"They were not professional soldiers but rather ordinary men - tailors, surveyors, shop-keepers - who volunteered for special operations," says Christine Helliwell, a New Zealand-born anthropologist and associate professor at the College of Arts and Social Sciences at Australian National University in Canberra who drove the move to getting the men recognised at the Australian War Memorial.
"One of the veterans I interviewed just had a vague idea that he'd volunteered for something pretty special. He went off for training and suddenly gets told, 'Tomorrow you're off to Borneo where you're going to be dropped in by parachute into the heart of the jungle'."
On June 9, 1945, Wigzell parachuted into the Kelabit Highlands jungle of Sarawak as part of Operation Semut, tasked with "passive intelligence gathering" and training and arming native guerrilla fighters.
Making a wet landing in a paddy field, he was met by Kelabit tribesmen who helped him up and disposed of his parachute.
"These natives ... light olive-skinned, clothed only in loin cloths, and some with bark jackets, were my first introduction to Borneans," Wigzell would later write in his book, Blood Brotherz - The true story of a New Zealand commando in Borneo during World War II with Australia's top secret Z-Special Unit.
"Smiling, laughing ... and amused at my wet condition they appeared to be a happy and contented people."
Another New Zealander, Ernie Myers from Invercargill, also parachuted into the jungle - landing in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Within days, the 21-year-old former telegraph worker was captured by the Japanese who tortured him savagely before he was beheaded.
Wigzell spent nine tough months in the dense, stifling and disease-rife jungle, living with the native headhunters who accepted him as a member of the tribe, naming him Tuan Pukal, or white drum-beater. They taught him jungle craft, sleeping huddled on the jungle floor together when the temperatures plummeted at night.
At ever-present risk of discovery by the occupying Japanese forces, not to mention the risk of dysentery, malaria, fungus, infections, leeches, snakes, and tigers, he established a radio link back to Australia and picked up crucial intelligence about enemy movements, transport, and traffic, for sabotage actions.
Wigzell also trained a guerrilla army, armed with both automatic and carbine rifles, but also poisonous blowpipes and machetes.
The natives were also keen to collect Japanese heads, a move encouraged by the British commander of ZSU operatives in Borneo, Major Tom Harrisson - a figure despised by Wigzell and his Kiwi comrades - who paid them a bounty for each head taken. The skulls were hung with pride from the rafters of villagers' longhouses. "Now with the help and supply of arms from their 'Z' friends from the sky, vengeance was being exacted on the Japanese for their treatment of the tribespeople of Borneo over the last three years," Wigzell wrote after the official secrecy had lifted.
by Judi Millar, Daughter Of Sergeant Frank Wigzell
m.nzherald.co.nz
They answered the clandestine call to arms. Parachuting deep into the Borneo jungle behind enemy lines, they trained native headhunters, formed ruthless guerrilla resistance groups, gathered critical intelligence and embarked on some of the most audacious raids of World War II.
Many survived but some were captured by the Japanese, tortured and beheaded. Others vanished without trace.
There were 22 New Zealanders attached to Z Special Unit (ZSU), the crack Australian military unit that would form the genesis of the present-day New Zealand SAS (Special Air Service).
After the war, they were silenced by 30 and 40-year secrecy agreements. Their existence never appeared on official army records. Many died without their own families ever knowing what they did in the war. Today, all 22 of the elite Kiwi soldiers are dead.
But, more than 70 years since the war ended, they will finally gain official recognition for their extraordinary feats.
On August 1, a memorial plaque dedicated to the men of ZSU will be unveiled at the Australian War Memorial in Canberra.
At least eight New Zealand families hope to attend the memorial dedication service, including Judi Millar, daughter of Sergeant Frank Wigzell - the first New Zealander to parachute behind enemy lines into Japanese-held Borneo.
"These men, who put their hands up and disappeared without anyone ever knowing where they had been, have sat nowhere in history. So to be recognised by Australia now is great, to say finally that yes, they were there," says Millar.
Hamilton-born Francis "Frank" Alexander Wigzell was an 18-year-old New Zealand Railways junior clerk at the outbreak of the war. He lied about his age and in August 1942 became a sergeant with the Light Armoured Fighting Vehicle regiment.
After a two-year posting at New Caledonia, and itching for more overseas service, he spotted a notice inside the Trentham military camp barracks, asking for volunteers to a "special assignment".
Kiwi Frank Wigzell lied about his age to join the war effort.
Along with five others, he was part of the second intake of New Zealand volunteers seconded to Special Operations Australia and its Z Special Unit. They were wrapped in secrecy, with only military top brass being aware of their existence.
Wigzell's journey into the elite unit is typical of most of its recruits.
"They were not professional soldiers but rather ordinary men - tailors, surveyors, shop-keepers - who volunteered for special operations," says Christine Helliwell, a New Zealand-born anthropologist and associate professor at the College of Arts and Social Sciences at Australian National University in Canberra who drove the move to getting the men recognised at the Australian War Memorial.
"One of the veterans I interviewed just had a vague idea that he'd volunteered for something pretty special. He went off for training and suddenly gets told, 'Tomorrow you're off to Borneo where you're going to be dropped in by parachute into the heart of the jungle'."
On June 9, 1945, Wigzell parachuted into the Kelabit Highlands jungle of Sarawak as part of Operation Semut, tasked with "passive intelligence gathering" and training and arming native guerrilla fighters.
Making a wet landing in a paddy field, he was met by Kelabit tribesmen who helped him up and disposed of his parachute.
"These natives ... light olive-skinned, clothed only in loin cloths, and some with bark jackets, were my first introduction to Borneans," Wigzell would later write in his book, Blood Brotherz - The true story of a New Zealand commando in Borneo during World War II with Australia's top secret Z-Special Unit.
"Smiling, laughing ... and amused at my wet condition they appeared to be a happy and contented people."
Another New Zealander, Ernie Myers from Invercargill, also parachuted into the jungle - landing in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Within days, the 21-year-old former telegraph worker was captured by the Japanese who tortured him savagely before he was beheaded.
Wigzell spent nine tough months in the dense, stifling and disease-rife jungle, living with the native headhunters who accepted him as a member of the tribe, naming him Tuan Pukal, or white drum-beater. They taught him jungle craft, sleeping huddled on the jungle floor together when the temperatures plummeted at night.
At ever-present risk of discovery by the occupying Japanese forces, not to mention the risk of dysentery, malaria, fungus, infections, leeches, snakes, and tigers, he established a radio link back to Australia and picked up crucial intelligence about enemy movements, transport, and traffic, for sabotage actions.
Wigzell also trained a guerrilla army, armed with both automatic and carbine rifles, but also poisonous blowpipes and machetes.
The natives were also keen to collect Japanese heads, a move encouraged by the British commander of ZSU operatives in Borneo, Major Tom Harrisson - a figure despised by Wigzell and his Kiwi comrades - who paid them a bounty for each head taken. The skulls were hung with pride from the rafters of villagers' longhouses. "Now with the help and supply of arms from their 'Z' friends from the sky, vengeance was being exacted on the Japanese for their treatment of the tribespeople of Borneo over the last three years," Wigzell wrote after the official secrecy had lifted.