Senator LIGHTFOOT (9:48 PM) —During the summer break, I chose to go the island of Borneo to look at the war graves in those areas that have, for over 50 years, been synonymous with the most brave of actions of young Australian warriors during the Pacific war, the 1939-45 war. I travelled to what is called Kota Kinabalu, which was, during those years that young Australians served on that island, named Jesselton. The area is today called Sabah, but during the time of the British Empire, of which Australia was a part, it was called British North Borneo.

I drove some 300 kilometres through the mountains of Borneo to Sandakan and went to the camp from which over 1,000 young Australians marched, on two separate occasions, high into the mountains of Borneo—in January 1945 and again in May 1945. In the first march, 455 young Australians, mostly in their twenties, were force marched by the Japanese to Ranau, which lies adjacent to Mount Kinabalu, the highest mountain peak in Borneo. Later, 530 young Australians were force marched. Altogether, of about 2,700 young Australians who were imprisoned in the Sandakan prison camp, only six young Australians survived. That is in itself a tragedy when any of them, with even a modicum of humane treatment, could have returned to their mothers, their fathers, their families and their loved ones.

In five days time, Australia will be asked to remember those sacrifices that young men and some young women made; we call it Anzac Day. It is, in my mind, without exception the greatest day in Australia's history. There is no day that comes closer to exemplifying this hard-won island nation than Anzac Day, to be held in five days time. I was fortunate enough to be much too young to serve in the Second World War and then—by, I guess, some grace of God—too old to serve in the Vietnam War, but I was called up for national service. I served in the Australian Army somewhat grudgingly at the time, but in retrospect it was a privilege to serve my country as a national serviceman.

It was not until I left national service in the fifties that I realised how much Australians of the age that I was had given in order that I could enjoy one of the best and most enviable lives that anyone in the world could possibly have. And to those young men and young women who gave their lives in all our wars and conflicts so that I could enjoy freedom, I say, with as much truth as I can muster: thank you so much. On behalf of all Australians who hold history and our country dear, may I presume to say to those people who sacrificed their lives: thank you also.

I was privileged to read a document that was put out by this government 54 years after the Second World War. There are many poignant parts to it. Having been to Sandakan and having inspected the camp from which these young Australians were forcibly marched to be shot or to die in the jungle or to be otherwise executed, it brought back memories today of that rather sparse camp on the edges of the jungle of Borneo in which stands in mute testimony to those who served so well and sacrificed so much, a steam shovel that is still left there that was damaged by the Australians who were asked by the Japanese to build a war strip—they damaged the shovel to the degree that it could not be used—and a rather archaic generator, the shell of which still remains, that lit the camp, no doubt not for the Australians who were imprisoned there but for the Japanese and for the officers mess. These are rather tragic reminders of an age 50 or 60 years ago. When I look around and see the affluence and the comfort we live in today, I feel rather ashamed of myself. I want to read from the book, called Laden, fevered, starved: the POWs of Sandakan North Borneo, 1945. On page 47 it states:

The 183 survivors of the second march—

that is, the march in May—

142 Australians and 41 British—began arriving at Ranau—

that is, the place in the mountains of Borneo—

on 26 June 1945. They found only six men from the first march—

that is, of the 455 who left—

still alive. Over the next few weeks, despite their exhaustion, sickness and malnutrition, they were subjected to a harsh and brutal work regime. Parties cut bamboo, collected wood for burning, atap for hut construction, and carried 20-kilogram bags of food to Ranau from a dump three kilometres away. This was light work compared to that of those unfortunates who were assigned to haul an average of 130 buckets of water a day up a steep slope for the Japanese officers' quarters. As private Keith Botterill later testified, rations for the POWs at this time were barely sufficient for survival, let alone for sick men . . .

Keith Botterill said:

They were given a small cup of rice water a day with about an inch of rice in the bottom. Plenty of rice was available and the Japanese used to get a 800 grams a day themselves; they also used to get tapioca, meat, eggs and sweet potatoes and showed no signs of malnutrition.

The book continues:

No accommodation was available for those from the second group and initially they were herded together in an area 50 metres square. There was no place for cooking or basic sanitation, and living quarters were simply the protection of the scrub. Between 30 June and 18 July, as well as working for the Japanese, the POWs built themselves a hut. A measure of their physical condition by this time was the fact that when the hut was finished only 38 were fit enough to occupy its elevated floor space. The remainder were so sick and debilitated by dysentery and other illness that they could only crawl under the hut for shelter.

Keith Botterill estimated that in early July men died at the rate of about 7 every day. Moreover, the beatings and the bashings continued. One POW who perished as a result of a severe bashing was Sapper `Dickie' Bird, a survivor of the first death march. By 7 July Bird was emaciated with beriberi, malaria and leg ulcers but, despite his condition, a Japanese guard dragged him out for work. When he tried to explain his incapacity Bird was knocked to the ground and continually kicked for over ten minutes. Later that evening he was observed lying virtually where he had fallen and an effort was made to get him back to the hut. Bird was in great agony and he lapsed into a coma. Nothing could be done for him and he died two days later. An Australian doctor, Captain J B Oakeshott, was so appalled by the manner of Sapper Bird's death that he purportedly declared:

If anybody is fortunate enough to escape this camp or live it out, this incident with others should be brought to the notice of the authorities and see that justice is brought about.

We do owe a lot. It is a sacred day for Australians. To all of those 61,000 young men who died and did not come home from Europe in that event of 1914, to those 45,000 who perished in the Second World War, to those who perised in all of our wars, may I conclude by saying: I hope you rest well. Lest we forget.