- The Tiki Times
- Booth’s Sash
- German Surrender
- Tankards of War
- Wartime Propaganda
- Care of the Collection
- Malone and the Kiwi Lemon Squeezer Hat
- My Favourite Thing
- A Reluctant Hero
The Tiki Times
In the National Army Museum’s Prisoner of War display there is a very special wooden wall that has been signed by many kiwis who experienced part of their war behind the wire.
Amongst the signatures is Bdr H W McCowan who spent time in camps in Libya, Italy, Germany and, finally, Poland. He finished World War II as a prisoner in Stalag E535 at Milwitz, Upper Silesia, before he was liberated by the Russians.
In this camp around 500 New Zealanders were forced to work in a coalmine that was only about 45kms from the Auschwitz concentration camp and McCowan remembered seeing the Germans marching prisoners dressed in striped pyjammas through the snow outside their camp in early January 1945.
The Tiki Times souvenir booklet of Stalag E535 POW newspaper
During his time at Stalag E535 McCowan helped produce a secret, uncensored camp newspaper called the ‘Tiki Times’. McCowan was one of several columnists for the paper, which was produced under the noses of the German guards. The Tiki Times was written on 12 foolscap pages, with page 1 always identifiable by a green and red painted tiki and mere.
The paper was hand printed in pen and ink and hung on boards in the passage outside the door of Barrack One. According to its editor, Pte J Gallichan, it was always safely hidden when the Gestapo made their rounds and in case it was discovered it wore the mark of a fake German censor-stamp made within the camp.
The Tiki Times was first published in August 1944 and was published weekly for around 6 months, with 24 issues being produced in total. Gallichan said,”It relieved, in some way, the monotony and the weariness in the lives of all of us.”
The last edition was published in January 1945 when the prisoners were marched away from the advancing Russians. The march took 3 months through the sub zero temperatures of winter and of the 500 New Zealand prisoners only 300 were left at the end. Gallichan remembers of the march, “It seared a scar in our minds that will never be removed – but it took us to freedom, blue skies, and home.”
Gallichan carried all the copies of the Tiki Times with him on the march, a major task in itself, until another prisoner who ended up in hospital with a septic foot took it with him promising to look after it.
The National Army Museum has souvenir booklet copies of the Tiki Times in its collection which were compiled by Gallichan after the war.
Booth’s Sash
This remarkable red woven sash was worn by Lieutenant Colonel H.G.P. Booth of the 43rd (Monmouthshire) Light Infantry, known as the “Wolfe’s Own”.
Lt Col Booth commanded the 43rd Regiment and led part of the ‘storming party’ during the attack on Gate Pa, 29 April 1864.
Leading a group of men, Booth smashed through the top rail of the palisade fence and jumped over the trench, sword in hand. At this point, a number of Maori left their trenches and encountered Booth and others in heavy hand-to-hand fighting.
Booth was mortally wounded (died later in a field hospital) with injuries to the neck and spine. However as he lay wounded and darkness fell, a Maori woman, by the name of Heni te Kirikaramu, crawled to his aide, still under rifle fire to provide him with water.
German Surrender
The National Army Museum has a special World War II badge belonging to Warwick Harrison which helps to tell his story as a New Zealand soldier during the war.
Harrison; by a stroke of fate on 2 May 1945, was part of an initial party who were the first allies to arrive at Trieste. As such he helped to secure the surrender of the Germans in Italy.
As the Partisans and Yugoslavs advanced, the Germans surrended to the New Zealanders, and Harrison was part of a team who raised a white flag in the Square as the Germans looked on. He was also involved in much of the initial talk between the two sides.
In preparation of the Allies pouring into Trieste, Harrison had the tense and, he admitted, scarey job of carrying out a night reconnaissance to ascertain whether there were any Germans hiding out in the railway station on the main route into the city.
Picture: Harrison’s New Zealand Intelligence Corps Badge
During his service, Harrison also spent 9 days in Cassino where his overriding memory was of the overwhelming stench of decaying human bodies. One of his jobs was to man an observation post up a tree. He recalled the Germans opening fire on this tree and branches falling all around him. Much to his shock he had accidentally got caught in the firing line as the Germans routinely barraged enemy lines this particular day.
Harrison was a member of the New Zealand Intelligence Corps who was seconded to British MI5 Intelligence. His job was to assess the accuracy of information coming in from the Mediterranean. This information was then used by commanders to make decisions. As such, it was often a difficult and intense job. It was during his time near Cassino that he joined the 22 Battalion whilst still seconded to MI5.
As part of a veterans group to commemorate 60 years since the end of WWII Harrison returned to both Cassino – with his wife in 1975, and later to Trieste in 2005 at the age of 90. He sadly passed away in January 2007.
Tankards of War
Contributed by Tess Smallwood
In the refurbished VE Day display are two charmingly manufactured brass tankards depicting character-scenes from World War II. They are classic in shape; slightly tapered toward the rim, with large, angular and somewhat masculine handles. One has a gilt finish, the other’s has worn down through time and use to reveal the warm tones of the metal beneath. Both are engraved in the same signature style. In casual passing they may appear to you as just two more of so many museum objects that the National Army Museum are thankful custodians of; But look a little closer and for a little longer and you will begin to detect something more of the sentiment that they embody. All our objects have a story to tell of the places that they have been and the things that they have seen; I would like to tell you something of their’s.
The engraved designs on our tankards are aesthetic and expressive. They illustrate a synopsis of the War with spirited figures, images and events that led to the successes which we celebrate annually on VE Day. They show nothing of the horror or gloom but rather they attest to the resoluteness of our brave and adventureous ancestors who nobly fought against oppression. On the Italy tankard we see an Allied soldier make a courageous leap from Tunisia to Sicily, whilst one works his way up the boot of Italy to a group of surrendering Nazis in Genoa; The Kiwi Onward tankard has an iconic gondola to illustrate Venice and the Colosseum for Rome.
These tankards were commercially made and can be found in homes and museums across the world. However, the Onward tankard’s pattern was designed especially to remember New Zealand’s contribution to the war and it has the national symbol of the kiwi bird stamped along the border. It is only the decoration of these souvenir tankards that communicate our history – they are also made out of the debris of the battlefield. The National Army Museum currently holds three different patterns of these tankards. On each vessel is the stamped inscription “Brass Used for the Manufacture of this Tankard was Salvaged from the Battle Fields of World War II”. So, these vessels actually began their stories as the brass shells used in military bombardments. In a sense, these tankards are physical encapsulations of the war effort.
Old shell cases have been, and continue to be used as canvases for commemorative expressions since the South African War. Artisitic (and sometimes not so artistic) soldiers could keep occupied by patiently and diligently creating a tangible memory of their time in battle. As the industrial scale of war bloomed this shell-art became ever more popular and handmade souvenirs were sent home as a link between soldiers in the battlefield and their loved ones. They were a memento that could be both touched and proudly displayed. Our tankards exploit this connection of past and place; they draw upon this very human means of association. One has to wonder what a returned soldier reminisced upon as he drank from his brass in his old age; or what a wife or child of the deceased imagined as they held it in their hands. We can perhaps only speculate, but for me there is something special about the idea that these fantastic objects have been recycled from the self-same metal that our ancestors fought with to win the war. Even more than that, they reveal our nature to transform destruction into creativity, whilst committing those past hardships into a means of remembrance.
So take a closer look to enjoy the boisterous characters on these tankards and spare a thought for the deeper story which they tell.
Wartime propaganda
Contributed by Adam Moriarty, Assistant Curator Heraldry
Amongst the many exciting items held in the stores of the National Army Museum there is a small medallion that represents the powerful effect that propaganda art can play on the mind set of a population at war: the Lusitania Medallion.
In May of 1915, on a clear Friday morning, 1959 civilian passengers and crew of the ocean liner Lusitania were nearing Ireland after a long passage from New York. Little did they know that U-20 (a German submarine) was patrolling the area and, believing them to be transporting military munitions, had marked them as a threat. At 2.10 that afternoon the Lusitania was struck by a torpedo. A mere 18 minutes later she was resting on the ocean floor along with 1,198 souls.
Later that year a German political satire artist depicted the event on a propaganda medallion for the amusement of the German public. The artist portrayed the tragedy as a gross oversight of the British Government for allowing a civilian liner to transport military contra-band in an advertised militarised zone. German officials in the USA had warned the passengers of the risk.
On the medallion passengers line up to buy tickets for the ship’s crossing. The ticket booth is manned by a skeleton representing impending death. An inscription above pokes fun at British attitudes. It reads “GESCHAFT UBER ALLES” which means “Business Above All”. In the crowd a man is reading a newspaper with a headline that translates to “U-boat danger” with the German Ambassador beside him raising a warning finger. The other side shows the Lusitania sinking with weapons falling overboard.
The celebration of a civilian tragedy outraged the Allied Forces and its design was replicated and distributed in England to remind the public of the cruel enemy that they were fighting. The British replicas were sold at a shilling each for charity and have since found their way to New Zealand and into our Heraldry Collection. Its box of issue is decorated with an illustration of the liner and the words: ‘R.M.S LUSITANIA: CUNARD LINE. 32000 TONS: SUNK ON HER RETURN JOURNEY FROM THE UNITED STATES BY A GERMAN SUBMARINE MAY 7TH 1915.’
This story is a reminder of how artistry can be used and even flipped on its head to rouse a nation. This is just one of the many forgotten memories behind the objects in the care of the National Army Museum.
Care of the Collection
Have you ever wondered what happens to all the treasures that are not on display at the museum?
The National Army Museum has a vast collection of national treasures and it is the staff’s job to ensure these treasures are looked after for the benefit of future generations.
Marie Rapley is the museum’s Collections Technician and she plays a vital role in ensuring the museum’s artefacts are well cared for and housed in the best possible conditions.
The National Army Museum’s collection of national treasures is divided into six areas, including heraldry, textiles, weapons, technology (including vehicles), social history, and accoutrements. Each of these areas has an Assistant Curator responsible for the items in that collection. Marie’s job is to work on specific projects across all the collections. Over the last few years she has re-housed over 2000 artefacts, including everything from compasses to bear skin hats, and cutlery to sweetheart badges. Currently she is working with the museum’s collection of embroidered souvenirs.
The museum has a diverse collection of over 200 embroidered souvenirs, mostly from World War I and World War II. Many of these were purchased by soldiers overseas as gifts to send home to loved ones. Textile souvenirs from Egypt were sold in bazaars, and some are distinctly Egyptian while others were made to order and often have personal messages together with military themes, such as unit badges or colours.
Marie began this project by creating an inventory of the collection ensuring each artefact had its own accession number and record on the museum’s collection deatabase, Vernon.
Next, each artefact had to be catalogued. This included carefully and accurately describing each artefact – including its size and the materials it is made of. This stage usually involves further research.
The next important stage is creating a condition report detailing the state the artefact is in. It is important to identify how fragile it is and what extra care might need to be taken with its storage.
A photograph is then taken of each artefact and this is attached to the updated Vernon record. This will minimise the need to handle the artefact in the future, and makes selecting artefacts for exhibitions quickier and easier.
How an artefact is stored is important for ensuiring it will survive for years to come. Museum best practice is followed wherever possible. This includes the use of museum standard packaging, such as acid-free tissue and card. Sometimes this includes boxes or mounts individually made to suit each artefact’s requirements.
You can support the National Army Museum collection by becoming a Friend of the Museum. As a Registered Charitable Trust we depend on your generosity.
Malone and the kiwi lemon squeezer hat
World War One
The iconic kiwi ‘lemon squeezer’ hat was introduced by one of New Zealand’s outstanding soldiers of the Gallipoli Campaign, William George Malone. Originally for his Taranaki Rifles Regiment, the hat was designed to mirror the outline of Mount Taranaki and also to allow ‘run off’ in the rain. The hat went on to be adopted first by Malone’s Wellington Regiment and later by the rest of the New Zealand Infantry Division on 1st January 1916.
At the outbreak of war in 1914 Malone was appointed to command the Wellington Infantry Battalion, and at 56 proved to be both a forceful and efficient commander. Once at Gallipoli, he immediately began to impose order and although he pushed his men hard, he also fought his superiors to provide building materials and basic comforts to his men.
The Wellington Battalion played a pivotel role in the August offensive and the attack on Chunuk Bair. He would not expose his men to a daylight attack and delayed the attack until shortly before dawn. Malone’s battalion seized Chunuk Bair on 8 August and then skillfully defended the position from several Turkish counter-attacks. At around 5.00pm, Malone was killed by ‘friendly fire’ and his body remained on the slopes, one of the many New Zealanders who have no known grave. Initially he was made a scapegoat for the failure of the offensive but today, he is now recognised as an outstanding battalion commander.
The familiar lemon squeezer hat is still worn for some special ceremonial occasions by today’s soldiers. Similar hats to the lemon squeezer were worn by both the US Army and the Canadians during World War I.
My Favourite Thing
Written by Chris Rapley, Assistant Curator Accoutrements & Social History
Sometimes a terrible twist of fate can transform an ordinary object into something extraordinary. I have the privileged position of caring for the National Army Museum’s Accoutrement and Social History Collection, a fantastic collection that numbers into many thousands of objects. Amongst the pieces there are a number of objects that portray the violence of war and even some whose owners met a violent death.
Nestled in a box in my store, securely cared for in a foam carved mount, is a bugle that is unremarkable in its design and construction. It is a standard military pattern – there are a few others on a shelf nearby. What makes this bugle special are the bullet holes which have torn its metal, simultaneously ruining it for further use and rendering it a truly remarkable object.
This bugle belonged to George Bissett, who was twenty-years old when he landed at ANZAC Cove on the evening of April 25, 1915. Bissett, who hailed from Taranaki, did not spend long at Gallipoli; on April 27 he was killed in action. I don’t know the exact details of his death but the commander of the Wellington Battalion, William Malone, makes special mention of Bissett in the May 4 entry in his diary. He comments on the men he cannot bury between the front lines and refers to the ‘bugler lad’ Bissett lying ‘with his bugle on his back face downwards, shot in his tracks’.
On May 24, Malone writes that Bissett was finally buried during a short armistice. That means that he lay out in the elements for nearly a month. I can’t imagine the sort of state Bissett was in by the time they got to him. Malone commented that it was a ‘desecration of the human body to leave it shot up, and unburied for so long’.
And while Bissett was dead in no man’s land this bugle was with him. Somewhere in that time it acquired the two bullet holes that give it its distinctive scars. Perhaps they happened the instant Bissett was killed, there’s simply no way of knowing, but the terrible impact on the metal gives a small insight into what bullets must do to flesh and bone. The wounds his bugle still carries must have been similar to those that ended Bissett’s life.
But basically this is just background; the thing which always strikes me about Bissett’s bugle is that it needs no label or explanation. To hear the story behind it simply confirms what the object already tells you; the owner of this bugle did not make it home. For me it is an object that strips away the projections of national character building and distils Gallipoli – and any conflict – down to personal tragedy. It is a personal possession ripped apart by war, just like thousands of individuals and families.
When I am close to this bugle it silently speaks to me in a way that other objects cannot. It doesn’t talk to me about bravery; it tells me about death, grief, and of families wondering how their boy is faring on the other side of the world. It makes me ponder how Adam and Alice Bissett felt when they heard they had lost their son.
Who would think a humble bugle could carry such power?
A Reluctant Hero
“I just did what I was trained to do. It’s what mates do for each other”
Corporal Willy Apiata, VC
On 2 July 2007, New Zealand’s Prime Minister Helen Clark announced that Queen Elizabeth II had conferred New Zealand Gallantry Awards on four members of the New Zealand Special Air Service (NZSAS) Group. One of those men was Corporal Bill (Willy) Henry Apiata and he was awarded the Victoria Cross for New Zealand.
Corporal Apiata’s citation reads:
Lance Corporal (now Corporal) Apiata was, in 2004, part of the New Zealand Special Air Services (NZSAS) Troop on patrol in Afghanistan, which laid up in defensive formation for the night.
At approximately 0315 hours, the Troop was attacked by a group of about twenty enemy fighters, who had approached by stealth using the cover of undulating ground in pitch darkness. Rocket-propelled grenades struck two of the troop’s vehicles, destroying one and immobilising the other. The opening strike was followed by dense and persistent machine gun and automatic rifle fire from close range. The attack then continued using further rocket propelled grenades and machine gun and rifle fire. The initial attack was directed at the vehicle where Lance Corporal Apiata was stationed. He was blown off the bonnet by the impact of the rocket propelled grenades striking the vehicle. He was dazed, but was not physically injured. The two other vehicle crew members had been wounded by shrapnel; one of them, Corporal D, was in a serious condition. Illuminated by the burning vehicle, and under sustained and accurate enemy fire directed at and around their position, the three soldiers immediately took what little cover was available. Corporal D was discovered to have sustained life-threatening wounds. The other two soldiers immediately applying basic first aid. Lance Corporal Apiata assumed command of the situation, as he could see that his superior’s condition was deteriorating rapidly. By this time, however, Lance Corporal Apiata’s exposed position, some seventy metres in front of the rest of the Troop, was coming under increasingly intense enemy fire. Corporal D was now suffering serious arterial bleeding and was lapsing in and out of consciousness.
Lance Corporal Apiata concluded that his comrade urgently required medical attention, or he would likely die. Pinned down by the enemy, in the direct line of fire between friend and foe, he also judged that there was almost no chance of such help reaching their position. As the enemy pressed its attack towards Lance Corporal Apiata’s position, and without thought of abandoning his colleague to save himself, he took a decision in the highest order of personal courage under fire. Knowing the risks involved in moving to open ground, Lance Corporal Apiata decided to carry Corporal D single-handedly to the relative safety of the main Troop position, which afforded better cover and where medical treatment could be given. He ordered his other colleague, Trooper E, to make his own way back to the rear.
In total disregard of his own safety, Lance Corporal Apiata stood up and lifted his comrade bodily. He then carried him across the seventy metres of broken, rocky and fire swept ground, fully exposed in the glare of battle to heavy enemy fire and into the face of returning fire from the main Troop position. That neither he nor his colleague were hit is scarely possible. Having delivered his wounded companion to relative shelter with the remainder of the patrol, Lance Corporal Apiata re-armed himself and rejoined the fight in counter-attack. By his actions, he removed the tactical complications of Corporal D’s predictament from considerations of rescue.
The Troop could now concentrate entirely on prevailing in the battle itself. After an engagement lasting approximately twenty minutes, the assault was broken up and the numerically superior attackers were routed with significant casualties, with the Troop in pursuit. Lance Corporal Apiata had thereby contributed materially to the operational success of the engagement. A subsequent medical assessment confirmed that Corporal D would probably have died of blood loss and shock, had it not been for Lance Corporal Apiata’s selflessly courageous act in carrying him back to the main troop lines, to receive the immediate treatment that he needed.
New stamps commemorating Victoria Cross recipients are now available.
