CHAPTER 33:   A LITTLE AUSSIE BATTLER ON THE KIWI HOME FRONT

 
Mrs Rhonda Upton (nee Southgate)

 Wife of Lieutenant R.N. (Rob)₁ Upton Whisky 3 (1969)

Home Alone

Even with her husband away, and alone in a huge house in a strange country, Rhonda Upton maintained a regular morning routine.  There would be no sleep-ins for this house-proud, efficient homemaker, husband or not.  She would rise at six o’clock, shower and dress, eat breakfast, then launch herself into her domestic duties or whatever other activities her day might herald.  This day was a public holiday (Chinese New Year).  As the day had approached, everyone in the markets and homes around the Lion City of Singapore would call ‘gung hay fat choy’ at friends, family and customers.  It seemed to be a happy season and, for the first time since Rob had left for Vietnam the previous November, Rhonda had begun to relax a little.  Still, holidays and happy times did not mean that she could relax her vigilance in household security.  She slept on the uppermost floor of their three-storey home in the Mt Sinai Estate, near Holland Village, with the door bolted shut, and her dog Scruffy for company and her second line of defence.

The night had been unusual in that Scruffy had been unsettled.  Rhonda had done nothing different; she had locked up after the dog had had his pee outside, climbed the stairs, locked the bedroom door and retired.  All seemed normal.  She had woken at 2:00 am to find Scruffy patrolling the room and sniffing at the door.  He seemed eager to get out; perhaps his bladder was playing up?  So she unlocked the door to the balcony outside the bedroom and let him out onto the small landing, which overlooked the two spiraling flights of stairs down to the main entrance.  The dog did not descend the stairs, but continued his patrol around the upper balustrade grumping and growling over the edge.  She ‘whissst’ him back into the bedroom, locked the door again and flopped back into bed.

At daybreak, Rhonda, with Scruffy at her heel, danced down the internal stairs and saw the light, brighter than usual, flick lines across her spotless tiled floors as she went.  The air smelled fresh that morning; all seemed right enough with the world.  As she descended the last two steps in the lounge, her pace slowed and she stared at, and right through, her front door.  Where the frosted glass panes had been the evening before, now there was nothing.  She could see out into the morning and the wide-open spaces beyond her front gate.  The door glass had been neatly removed with a glasscutter, and the middle of the three door locks (the two others were set top and bottom of the frame) had been undone.  She shivered at the thought of what had happened; someone had attempted a break-in.  Perhaps it had been Scruffy’s brief, snarling patrol of the upper floor at 2 o’clock that had disturbed the intruders and deterred them from entry. Who would know?

Dutifully she called the Police, the Army, and her landlord and reported the incident.  The Police came and questioned her, dusted the door for prints and went away.  The landlord, Mr Zhang, was more concerned and enquiring. ‘Whera yor husban’, Missis?’ ‘He’s away’, Rhonda replied cautiously. ‘His away, oh no, whera he go?’ the excited man continued. ‘He’s in Vietnam, he left in November.’  The landlord then revealed his theory of the night’s events; ‘Ah. Husban’ gone. Oh no, Nowemba. Wife alone. Not good. See, workman nex’door; they see you lady, no man. See you come, see you go, no man. So they think, ah, Chinese New Year, they come rob you.’  Rhonda was hardly relieved at this analysis of the crime, but she had the door repaired.  She heard no more from the Police or the concerned Mr Zhang.

The New Year break-in was just one price that Rhonda Upton, young war bride of the 60s, had to pay for her lonely existence on the Home Front while her husband was away on operations in Vietnam with Whisky 3 (W3) Company in the period November 1969-November 1970.

1 His RMC and army colleagues knew Robert Upton most commonly as ‘Bob’, but Rhonda always referred to him as ‘Rob’ in deference to his mother’s insistence that he be called ‘Robert”.

The Romantic Path to Loneliness          
Loneliness and isolation were not notions that had come easy to Rhonda Upton, but they grew upon her gradually in the months and years after her marriage to Rob, the career New Zealand Army officer.  She was part of a very large family; the youngest of seven children by five years, whose home and extended family group were in the huge, busy metropolis of Sydney, Australia.  She had grown up as Rhonda Southgate in Drummoyne, in a close homely environment where one’s seclusion and privacy were difficult to obtain.  She was used to having people around her; people to talk to, people to share time with and people she loved.  She had met Staff Cadet Robert Upton in 1964, when she was seventeen, and when he had been on leave from the Royal Military College (RMC), Duntroon, down in Canberra.  She was introduced to this Kiwi rugby nut and dedicated army man by a mutual friend on a blind date, and had ‘gone out’ with him after that.  Rob would drive to Sydney to see her and she would travel, with chaperon, to Canberra in the ball seasons to partner him on these formal social occasions.

Theirs was a long courtship.  They saw each other very occasionally, but regularly wrote letters and phoned each other for over three years.  The romance blossomed and came to fruition with their marriage after Rob’s graduation in December 1967.  Had marriage not  been a prospect, Rhonda had planned a clerical career with the New South Wales Police.  She had completed a qualification at a Secretarial College after leaving school.  Secretly, she had held ambitions to become a teacher, but had met resistance to that idea from her mother, who did not wish to see her youngest child travel far away from home to attend teachers college.  As it happened, Mrs Southgate was to lose her daughter to an even more distant destination and she was not too keen on that move either.  To make the matter more problematic for her Mum, Rhonda’s father passed away, after a long battle with cancer, just three weeks before the wedding.  The wedding went ahead, but it seemed more like a wake than a celebration for the Southgate family.  But, at least, it had proceeded with her father’s blessing.  Rhonda stayed in Sydney to comfort and help her mother for a few weeks into 1968, while Rob returned to New Zealand.  He had to attend the infantry young officers course for a few weeks in Waiouru, and then make housing arrangements for the couple in Christchurch.

When she eventually did arrive in New Zealand, the chill of a Canterbury autumn was in the air.  Rhonda and Rob did not have any points to rate them a place on the list for a house on Burnham Camp.  So, they had to rent accommodation in Christchurch.  The rental for their house in St Albans, the running costs for the car (albeit a second hand Mini imported from Australia) and the cost of living essentials, added up to an amount greater than Rob’s salary as a lieutenant.  The young couple often drew on savings to make ends meet.  Things became a little easier once a house was available for them at Burnham in July 1968, or did they?

We moved out to Burnham in July, mid-winter.  Coming from semi-tropical Sydney, I had never struck anything like the (cold) weather in the South Island.  The house we had was not much comfort; even though it was carpeted, it was the coldest house I have ever lived in.  When the wind blew, the carpet lifted off the floorboards.  Ice formed on the INSIDE of the windows in a frost.  I shuddered just at the thought of having to go out in the icy weather to hang the washing on the line.

This was the first time that I also really felt the chill of being lonely.  Rob was around quite a bit with his job at National Service, but he was also away on exercise regularly.  I was heart-broken every time he went away.  I was so lonely.  I’d cry every time he left Burnham.  Silly me!  I got tougher later on.  It wasn’t that I was totally on my own in the community.  There was another Aussie girl across the road and I got to know her and many of the other neighbours.  Most of them had relations close by.  But I had no immediate personal network at all.  All my family members were in Australia and Rob’s folks and sister lived up in Nelson.  I was new to the Army and knew next to nothing about the military.  I did not drive in those days; I did not have my licence.  Now and again the major’s wife would have us all over  for  morning  tea,  and  I  busied  myself,  with  the  household  duties, baking to fill the tins, knitting, reading and gardening.  Those things helped to fill in the days, but nothing could console me through the lonely nights.  I wrote letters home to Aussie every week; I wrote to all my sisters and to Mum separately so I would receive a stack in return. Then I could phone once in a while although the cost of trunk calls was exorbitant.

To the Far East             
Rob was transferred to 1 Battalion Depot in Burnham in mid-1968, and the Upton's were listed to go overseas.  The plan was that he would join the battalion, then stationed in Terendak Camp, Malaysia, but soon (in 1969) to be relocated to Singapore.  Rhonda was excited by the prospect of going overseas, although she knew she would not escape the lonely blues.  The infantry companies of the battalion garrisoned in Malaysia/ Singapore were training to form the Victor and Whisky companies, which were deploying to Vietnam.  Lieutenant Upton was scheduled to be a platoon commander with one of them.  Rhonda knew that at least 12 months of her overseas posting would be spent separated from her new husband. She recalled:

I can remember the excitement of the posting to Malaysia when the Movements Officer came round and sat at my kitchen table taking notes for our move.  We needed passports, inventories of the household goods, tickets, medical shots etc.  You did not need a passport for travel between Aussie and New Zealand in those days, so I never had one.  The time came round quickly, and we moved to Terendak in August 1969.  We knew when we arrived that it was going to be a short-lived experience.  Everything in the garrison was closing down and we would be gone inside three months.  People told us how grand the place used to be, but already you could see signs of neglect and disinterest as the closing date neared.  Many of the houses around us were empty and the grass was getting long.  Most services were still running and I could use the pool and NAAFI₂ .  Rob was away even more in Malaysia than he had been in Burnham.  He’d be out for a week or ten days in the bush then home for two or three days.  He’d just have time to get all his gear cleaned before he was off again.  At least, in Terendak, I had Ah Yong, the amah₃, for company.  The trouble with the amah system was that it took away some of the things that used to keep me busy.  Ah Yong did all the cooking, washing, ironing and housework.  She was that good she could even look after Rob’s jungle equipment, his webbing.  He was aghast at first.  But, when she had it all stripped, cleaned and assembled exactly right the first time, she had the job for good.

With her more relaxed life style in Terendak Garrison, Rhonda Upton became to feel as if she was a tourist on a three-month holiday.  Ah Yong had taken care of all the household duties and there was no garden to tend as such.  Rhonda had taken her knitting, but was even foiled with her attempts at that hobby because the wool rotted in the hot, humid tropical air.  She filled her time with swimming, going to the cinema, hosting the dressmaker who would call at the house for fittings and shopping at the local market place.  She met a good friend in Chris Keay, who joined in these tourist activities with her.

Time came to move to Singapore.  The move was to take place just one week before the men of W3 were to deploy to Vietnam.  Rob and Rhonda would spend their last week in each other’s company setting up a new house in another strange place, then he would be gone for twelve months.  The house was packed up in Terendak and the Upton's were flown to their new abode in November 1969.  The group of married personnel was not a large one, but there was not enough space in one garrisoned location to accommodate all the officers’ families on the one site.  They were spread across the city.  They felt, and were, extremely isolated from each other.  The size, quality and rent of married quarters were determined according to Army rank and family size.  The Upton's, being at lieutenant level and without children, would have expected a modest but comfortable dwelling.  The house they were taken to was in what was known as ‘a very swish part of town’ in a new development at Mt Sinai.  They thought they had been given the wrong house; such was the degree to which it exceeded their humble expectations.  The door was opened on their first visit to reveal a brand new, three-bedroom, three storey dwelling.  The builders had only finished work a few weeks before and had left behind the usual collection of unswept workmen’s dross all around the floors and shelves of the house.  The Uptons had to wade through piles of dust, shavings, cigarette butts and empty drink bottles, which had all accumulated around the brand new furniture and appliances, still wrapped in plastic and stacked in every room.  The Army had supplied some household items like crockery, cutlery and linen, and these were heaped upon the dining table.  Rather than a week of consolation and fond farewells, Rhonda’s and Rob’s five days of pre-embarkation leave were spent sweeping, scrubbing, polishing and packing away household goods.  They also had to attend to the administrative aspects of domestic life in Singapore.  They had to organise mail delivery, telephone and power connections, property insurance and the like, all of which meant hours of waiting in office queues at the beck and call of Singaporean bureaucracy.  The jobs were all done in five days, the time flew; and then he was gone.  This time she did not even have an amah for company, nor were there any neighbours to talk to. Rhonda was alone again, and the blues returned.

Rob had departed on a Tuesday or Wednesday.  On the Friday evening, I had gone for a short stroll around the estate.  I found myself sitting on the edge of a monsoon drain swinging my legs over the edge just thinking about Rob and feeling very sorry for myself.  Tears were rolling down my cheeks; I must have made a sorry sight.  After a while, some Brit Army guy came by.  He and his family lived over the back of our street.  He was driving past in a Land Rover and he stopped to see what was wrong.  He kindly invited me around that evening for a meal.  That was such a nice thing for him to do.  They were in the process of packing up to return to the UK, but they still made time for me just when I really needed some company.
 

I eventually did get some nice neighbours.  They were a Canadian couple in the block next to ours in the complex, only about 30 feet away.  Ellen was an older lady and she took me under her wing; she treated me like her daughter.  Curly worked on the oil rigs and was away a bit too.  Ellen took me shopping and out to dinner even when Curly came home.  They were my saviours.  After the break-in, I bought a telephone set from a department store in town, and Ellen and I rigged it up across the gap between our third- storey bedrooms. (There were no phone jacks upstairs.)  We had our own security intercom and that was some comfort to us both.

Greatcoats on, Greatcoats off
As large bureaucratic structures, Armies have a reputation for bumbling administration and changes of plan.  Rhonda found this out the hard way just days after Rob had left for Vietnam.  The Upton’s had known that the house at Mt Sinai was well above the standard warranted by Rob’s rank and had voiced that view before he left.  But no one took any notice.  Once she was on her own again, Rhonda received a call from the Army officer responsible for accommodation in Singapore.  The major told her that the house she was in was a major’s hiring and that, as a lieutenant’s wife, she could not stay there.  She explained painfully that they had just spent all Rob’s final leave cleaning and setting up the house and pleaded to remain where she was. The major insisted that she could not stay and offered to show her some alternatives.

He picked me up in a Land Rover and drove me around seven or eight houses across Singapore.  The only one that meant anything to me was in Nee Soon.  I had heard of Nee Soon because some of the other girls lived there and I knew it was a relatively safe garrison environment, so if I was to have to move, I would choose there.  I was shown a ‘split’.  This was a house of very basic but functional design; it was a single storey bungalow, behind the Officers Mess and it had amah’s quarters attached.₄  I told the guy that I’d have the split and he agreed.  Two days later he rang and said someone else had been allocated that house and that I would have to choose another.  I told him I’d think about it.  It was coming up to Christmas time and the major rang back to ask what I would most like for Christmas. I told him I’d like Rob to come home, but he said that was not possible. He then told me the good news was that I could stay in Mt Sinai.

 

4 The split house was actually an architectural blunder turned to a useful purpose.  The design was meant to be double storey.  But the builders’ drawings showed the two levels side-by-side in plan view; so that is how they were built by the local construction company – on a single level, side-by-side with a short staircase in between.

A View of the Vietnam War from the Home Front
Even  though  she  had  married into the Army and military life, Rhonda Upton, aged 22 years, knew very little about her husband’s work, and even less about the Vietnam War at the time.  She knew his war service was likely to be very dangerous.  She had thought long and hard about the prospect of Rob not returning at all or coming home badly injured.  Accordingly, the couple postponed any plans for having a family until after Rob had returned from Vietnam.  In the training situation, she had seen him stride off purposefully with his huge pack on his back for a week or so in the bush.  Then she would see him return, tired and smelly and longing for a good feed of home cooking.  She knew the sort of job her husband would be doing in Vietnam.  She knew he would be deep in the jungle for weeks on end, in direct contact with the enemy, and that he would be in danger of death or injury from enemy weapons, mines or booby traps.  She knew that Vietnam was a different kind of war, and read about the higher-level politics of the conflict in the Straits Times.

Rhonda Upton had an inkling about the nature of the work that Rob would be doing, but she did not know or understand the detail.  Nor was Rob about to enlighten her.  Upton was the kind of man who avoided telling his wife much about Army operations.  He thought she was better off not knowing; what she did not know could not worry her.  His decision was motivated, partly by the operational security aspects of his job, and partly by the desire not to put Rhonda in any position where she might become embroiled in the often inaccurate and unsavoury rumour mill that could be rife among Army wives.  The rumour mill would take on second or third hand reports of incidents, then grind them into garbled nonsense that did nothing at all for morale in the front line or back home.  Rhonda was better off out of the process.

But for all her ignorance of the detail of the Vietnam War, as it might have affected her and her family, Rhonda did nothing to deter Rob from his chosen career or operational purpose as an infantry officer.  Whatever he did, wherever he went, he did and went with her absolute blessing and support. She was saddened by the news of his colleagues killed or wounded in action; she just hoped and prayed that such tragedies would not strike her or her loved ones.  Ultimately, in her pragmatic, down-to-earth Aussie way, she resigned herself to the fact that Rob did what he had to do and that she would be there for him.  If he wanted to spend his working hours plodding around the bush, thirsty, hungry, dirty and smelly, sleeping on the ground, being bitten by all manner of bugs and grubs, ‘Good luck to him!’

Support Networks – or Lack Thereof
In the big house on Nee Soon garrison, the Colonel’s wife busied herself with the final arrangements for the monthly meeting of the Kiwi Wives Club. The four-bladed ceiling fans swished gently overhead, and a steamy breeze fluttered the net curtains inside the barred windows.  The amah slipped around the large dining table, carefully clinking the Noritake cups, saucers and plates as she spread them across the neat white cloth.  The lady of the house cast a critical eye around the room and directed the straightening of pictures, the dusting of side tables and the arrangement of the huge cluster of strelitzia reginae (Bird of Paradise flowers), whose boat-shaped bracts bobbed in the downdraught of the fans like canoes on the beach at Punggol Point.  Long silver platters laden with cucumber sandwiches and petits fours were being laid out alongside the silver tea service as the first guests began to arrive.  Today’s was not planned to be a formal meeting at all; the business was limited to planning the mah-jongg tournament set down for March and the annual trip across to the Johore market for April.  What was important for the day, was that the new wives, recently arrived from Malaysia and New Zealand, and whose husbands were now in Vietnam, were made welcome.  The wives club had become the mainstay of the New Zealand support network in Singapore and it was possibly the only avenue for some to share their troubles and to obtain a sympathetic ear.  The Colonel’s wife paused briefly in front of her hall mirror to straighten her blouse and puff up her hair.  She descended the stairs to the front door as the bell rang.  Down in the driveway, Datsun SSS1600s and Toyota Corollas took their places alongside the Peugeot 504s, the Opels and the occasional Audi 60.  The gravel on the drive crunched beneath turning tyres, and engines died as polished nails switched off ignition keys.  In a short time, the approaches to the big house buzzed with joyous chatter as club members trailed  up to the front door.  A line began to form and the early comers filed in to greet their hostess, who waited to receive them with kind eyes.  As the last pairs were entering the door, mouths chattering and heads nodding, there came the high-pitched whine of a Vespa motor-scooter engine climbing the drive up from the road.  A merry ‘beep beep’ echoed across the lawn  and a chorus of giggles followed the sound of the horn.  The machine slid to a halt under the eaves of the house and was rested back on its metal stand, as the rider and pillion passenger dismounted with awkward grace.  Mesdames Keay (rider) and Upton (pillion), helmets under their arms, tossed back their hair, flattened their skirts and hurried up the steps to join the party.  Rhonda Upton had found a steady, reliable mate in Chris Keay.  The pair rarely missed a Wives Club event and risked life and  limb on the trusty Vespa to attend. 

1968 Vespa Sprint, of the type Rhonda rode pillion to Chris Keay around the streets of Singapore

Apart from the monthly club meetings, Rhonda found the support network in Singapore to be fairly flimsy.  The official (Army) support system was about as stout as the elastic on Chinese panty hose.  The Chaplain used to visit every Tuesday to deliver the mail, which had arrived at the Headquarters through official channels.  But the Man of God was about the only Army representative to appear in the lives of those on the Home Front.  Now and again, an officious Housing Officer would come to carry out an inventory check and inspection of the property.  The bulk of the support network was self-help and was largely arranged by well-meaning and enthusiastic civilians.  Chris Keay somehow conned Rhonda into joining the Maori Cultural Group.  The group met from one o’clock to three-thirty pm every Wednesday, and for two hours on a Saturday morning.  Apart from these regular practice sessions, there were often performances booked somewhere in Singapore or Johore on a Friday or Saturday night.  Rhonda became the little Aussie alto in the back row, and lent the gusto of her traditional ‘Home Among the Gum Trees’ to the ‘Pokarekare ana’ chorus line, complete with piupiu and poi.

The mail was a vital element in the support system for most women like Rhonda Upton. Rhonda kept a diary and wrote every day to her man away in the fields of combat to the north.  She felt it not only her family duty to write, but also saw the letters as her contribution to the support of Rob’s morale.

As well as a diary, I used to mark off the calendar with the number of days- to-go before Rob was to come home.  But, I’d write religiously every day.  I’d tell him all kinds of things; what I’d bought, where I’d been, whom I’d met.  I’d tell him news from home and send him anything he’d ask for.  Not that there was much he would request.  Apparently, he didn’t need much in the bush with W3; it seemed to be a very bland existence.
 

I did not receive much back in return for all my writing.  I would often wait for days for any news from him.  And then it would be four pages of hastily scribbled text on the Army field notepad paper that was lined with little grid squares.  He told me nothing about operations in the letters, nothing about the enemy, and nothing much about his mates.  Often the envelope would contain small pieces of twigs or leaves from the bush and even the odd leg or thorax of a small Vietnamese insect.  I loved receiving his mail all the same, although I didn’t keep any of the letters.

The Army in Vietnam ran a most welcome Rest and Recuperation (R&R) leave scheme for Kiwi soldiers.  A number were able to go to Singapore on RNZAF flights that plied the skies between Singapore and Vietnam weekly.  Rob Upton made it back to Rhonda twice for R&R breaks; the first was in April 1970 and the second was in August.  The R&R time should have been very happy affairs for the reunited couples.  Rhonda looked forward to the homecomings immensely.  The April break was not an entirely happy occasion because of a tragedy that had befallen close friends of the Upton's in Singapore.  The friends, a colleague of Rob’s from RMC days and his Aussie wife, had arranged a christening ceremony and celebration for the period Rob was home on leave.  But, tragically, the baby died beforehand and the Upton's had to attend a funeral instead.  Rhonda was saddened to see the tiny (18-inch) white coffin carried by a soldier on one shoulder, and to witness the cries of the distraught parents.  On a happier note, the August R&R had infant-related implications for the Upton's too, although unbeknown to Rob.

When he’d returned to Vietnam after the second R&R, I found out I had fallen pregnant.  We had enjoyed a great few days together shopping, touring, dining out and hitting the nightclubs.  I had also bought a mah- jongg set; after that, it seemed whenever I played mah-jongg I fell pregnant.  I always blamed the mah-jongg.  Anyway, I was pregnant, but Rob did not know.  I didn’t tell him either, I didn’t want him to worry.  I was anxious enough about it, but I consoled myself with the belief that, should something untoward happen to Rob, I would always have something of his.  I was able to keep the news from him until he came home in November; and he did come home so all was well.

 
Running In with the Law
Even  when  Rhonda  and  Chris  were  involved  in  a  traffic accident on the Vespa, and had an encounter with the Singaporean Police, assistance from the Army was hardly forthcoming.  They were left to cope with the situation on their own.  Rhonda’s experience was especially harrowing and made her more concerned about her loneliness and security.  When riding the Vespa, the two 22-year-old women were carefree and bulletproof.  Chris would corner with the swerve style of John Surtees and call out to Rhonda at the back, ‘Lean in. Now, lean out’, as she struggled to balance the machine.  One morning, out on the busy streets, a young girl stepped off the median strip down the centre of the road into the path of the Vespa.  No one was hurt badly; the little girl had some scrapes and bruises and went off in an ambulance, but she was not seriously hurt.  Chris had gravel rash on one ankle.  The accident had to be investigated and the pair was summoned to the Police Station in Valley Road.  The two women were separated and interviewed in different rooms, reminiscent of Gestapo methods.  Rhonda’s interview, conducted by a Chinese policeman, proceeded in a strange and unexpected manner.

Policeman:        ‘You live in Singapore, how long?’

Rhonda:            ‘Yes, about six months.’

Policeman:          ‘Where is your husband?’

Rhonda:            ‘He is serving in Vietnam for 12 months.’ 

Policeman:        ’12 months.  He gone too long.  Maybe you live single life, married no more?  You have own home?’ 

Rhonda:            (Thinking) ‘What the hell is this to do with the accident?   Where is this going?’

Policeman:          ‘Are you on the Pill?’

Rhonda:            (Shocked) ‘And what is that to do with you?’

Policeman:         ‘I think, maybe, I come and visit you!’

Rhonda:            (Not thinking) ‘If you come visiting me, Mate, I’ll call the Police!’ (‘Hey, hang on, you ARE the Police.’)

The implication for Rhonda was that if she did not do what the Policeman asked, things could be bad for her friend.  She had, for the first time, run up against corrupt and unsavoury practices in Asian society, and she had to deal with them alone.  She extricated herself with honour in due course, and she learned that the child was fine.  Nothing more came of the incident, although the Vespa riders were warned not to visit the child or her family, and were told that calls to the Chinatown district might not be wise.

Joyous Homecoming
In anticipation of her husband’s homecoming, Rhonda Upton made all the usual preparations.  She baked and filled the tins, cleaned the house and tried to school up Scruffy the dog not to nip the man’s heels.  She bought a new dress, had her hair done and cleaned the car for the trip to Nee Soon Garrison.  She had gained some new independence by obtaining a driver’s licence when she had gone home to Sydney in July to visit her mother and family.  The arrival and reception, when the day finally came, were a bit of a blur for her.  Rhonda’s emotions over her returning husband became mixed up with the ceremony of the occasion, the Cultural Group performance, parade formations, shouted orders and crowds of bustling people.  The Upton’s reunion jubilation was heightened indubitably by her announcement to Rob that they were expecting a child.

As a treat to celebrate the homecoming, the Upton's took themselves off for a week’s luxury at Runnymede, the military-run government guesthouse in Penang.  Runnymede had been the 19th century home of Stamford Raffles, boasted pleasant seafront views and presented a very British service.  Unfortunately, Rob Upton, after week-upon-week in the Vietnamese jungle living on Army rations, was not quite ready for luxury.  Rhonda found him to be in a shocking state as he ‘came down’ from Vietnam.  He suffered shivering and shaking through the night and could not eat breakfast.  He  would wake up suddenly with a shout in the middle of the night and leap up off the bed.  He would talk extensively in his sleep and often engage Rhonda in precise repeat sessions of conversations the couple had had during the previous day.  Rhonda put up with all this, after all she was glad to have him back.

And Onward
Kylie  Upton  was  born to Rhonda and Rob, in April  1971, in the British Military Hospital (BMH) in Singapore.  Rhonda was one of the last mothers to give birth at the BMH under British administration.  Just after her daughter was born the facility was handed over to the Singapore Armed Forces. The  maternity wing of the old hospital also had an air of the British Raj about it.  The ‘British’ mothers and babies were nursed in wards of four beds to a room, while, out on the verandah wards, the Ghurkha wives were cared for.  Rhonda envied the ladies in the outside ward in a way.  The Ghurkha soldiers would not bring their wives flowers or the usual gifts after their deliveries, they all received six-packs of stout.  Those in the inner wards would be woken at nights by the ‘Ppsssst’ of beer cans opening, as the ladies consumed the stout, which they were told was ‘good for the milk’.

Shades of the Raj: the Runnymede guesthouse in Penang
 where the Upton's celebrated their reunion

The Upton's moved house once more in Singapore, when, in about August 1971, they left Mt Sinai for Seletar camp.  They remained at Seletar through to October 1971 after a tour of duty that was extended to permit Rob’s participation in the presentation of new Colours to 1st Battalion Royal New Zealand Infantry Regiment (1RNZIR) on 25 September that year.  But, after that final ceremonial fling, Rhonda returned with husband and daughter back to New Zealand.  Upon her return, she remained singularly unimpressed with the standard of support offered and provided by the New Zealand Army to wives and families.  The family arrived in Auckland for Rob’s posting to be told they could have one night at public expense in a motel in Epsom. There was no cot for baby Kylie, so, one had to be borrowed from an older Army major who knew Rob’s father well.  Again, only the informal, unofficial network was  available to assist.  Furthermore, despite arrangements that had been made back in Singapore, there was no house allocated to the Upton's in Auckland, and their New Zealand house pack was still in the South Island.  Rob had to seek out a house to rent from the state housing pool, and they managed to set themselves up temporarily with an issue of two-of-everything from  Army Stores. The house had no curtains; Rhonda, as resourceful as ever, secured the family’s privacy by fixing grey army blankets over the windows with the baby’s nappy safety pins.