On the day that the boys senior to us by six months (JR1s), were to have their Passing Out Parade (11/12/63), without warning, I was ordered out of our hut to a space under washing lines by an Ordinary Seaman (OD), Wayne Boden (R93790) and JR1 Ian Schubert (R93925). I knew these boys only vaguely in that they were in a senior class of the same division and I’d heard their names. I’ve since obtained some of their service details through the National Archive. (Boden had been made up to OD only a couple of days previously due to the fact he was already 17.)

Once outside our hut, Boden and Schubert had help from at least two others, possibly three. I had trouble seeing because soapy water from buckets was dumped over my head. However, I was assaulted with yard brooms, blocks of sand soap (pumice), steel wool and boot polish was smeared around my anus and genitals. At one point, I was lifted off the concrete and a bucket of water was sluiced, with force, into my anus. A mental health expert has assured me that at least this part of the assault on me was of a sexual nature. In any event, it was a deeply degrading and humiliating experience that has stayed with me. I can still hear the noises of disgust from other boys watching. When they had finished with the scrubbing, I was left alone for long enough to pick up my towel and go to the Showers. Once there, I was about to take a shower when Boden and Schubert came in, telling me I had to shower using only hot water. I’m not sure what happened immediately after that, but, I was no longer going to, for want of a better word, co-operate. Boden threw a punch that caught me on the mouth. I squeezed past him and went to another shower stall and was left alone to clean up. I was still bleeding from abrasions on my back during the parade that evening and into the following couple of days. I didn’t report what happened to me and I didn’t get any medical treatment for the wounds on my back.

The scrubbing, according to one of my attackers, had been directed from our divisional office. A small group of boys had stopped to watch what was happening to me and one shouted:’What’re yez fuckin’ doin’?’ Boden answered them with:’Fuck off. This come straight from divisional office…They’re sicka grubby JRs in The Fleet.’ I recall his precise words to this day. I had no way of knowing, indeed, I still don’t, whether that was true. Later on the same day, a threat issued by Schubert was passed on to me through a mate. Within twenty-four hours of the assault, we went on leave, in my case, to Sydney. With the wisdom of hindsight, I should have stayed there. At the very least, I should have told someone, however, I did neither of those things, instead, returning from leave to Leeuwin. Some part of me, obviously, thought that I’d deserved what I got, or I was afraid of the consequences, especially since Boden had let slip that men far senior to me had approved of my treatment. While my personal hygiene may not have been great, partly due to the fact that I had had items of kit - underwear and socks - stolen during the first couple of days at the base, I don’t think, now, that I deserved that extreme kind of degradation and injury.

Returning to Leeuwin and cleaning up my act as best I could, didn’t help. In many ways, I was treated as though I shouldn’t be there any more. On several occasions, I was openly reviled and abused, by both my peers and superiors, leading me to approach our divisional officer (DO) and ask to see the base psychologist. I couldn’t seem to make it clear to him, or to the DO, Lt. Donohue, exactly why I wanted out because I still kept silent about the assault and there are, according to the DVA, only some notes from Mr. Bramich, the psychologist, stating that I was homesick and didn’t like the place. A reading my Ratings Record Of Service Card shows that I was recommended to be discharged UFTRO in mid January ’64 but not actually sent home until late March of that same year. During the intervening period, I was assaulted and harassed, driven to the desperate action of stealing a couple of items of kit from washing lines. Eventually, I was charged and appeared before the commodore, WBM Marks, basically bad-mouthed by an officer and chief petty officer, and asked by the commodore what I wanted to do. I told him I wanted out. For the rest of my stay at Leeuwin, I spent my time in a cell behind the gangway (main gate) although, because I wasn’t yet 17, the door was left unlocked. Six or seven days later, I was escorted to the Perth Railway Station with little more than what I stood up in and seen onto a train back to the East.

I won’t go into any detail on what happened on my discharge and return to Sydney, only that I wasn’t able to take up where I’d left off. Before the RAN, I’d worked with the PMG (Australia Post) for a year. After the navy, I couldn’t stay in a job for more than a few weeks or months and I took to riding on suburban trains at night and wandering the streets during the day. I’d hitchhike to Melbourne and back for no good reason. I lost my girl, my friends and was alienated from my family. Within a year of exiting the RAN, I was hospitalised due to a suicide attempt. That didn’t actually help except to make me avoid the psychiatric system; certainly as it was in those days. I didn’t know what was wrong with me. I tended to work and mix generally with older men and drink with them. Despite odd breaks where I had a room or shared a flat, I was homeless for the much greater part of those years. I went to gaol a couple of times. This pattern of living went on for at least twelve years and, even after I met my current partner, I wasn’t able to stay in a job for more than six months. It’s my very strong feeling that my experiences at Leeuwin left me more or less permanently disabled. There weren’t the supports, avenues of assistance or for airing a grievance in those days that we enjoy today, particularly for younger people. Society judged us as no-hopers.

In several letters to the DVA, I laid out all that I’ve said above in considerably more detail. In those communications, I made it as clear as I could that there wasn’t likely to be documentary evidence of what happened and that was for a number of reasons:

What happened to me – and I wasn’t the only one – while it may have been sanctioned at some higher level, was illegal. It was hardly likely to be written down.

I didn’t report it when it happened because I was afraid to. In any event, there was no-one to report it to, no-one to turn to, not even a friendly ear, let alone someone with the power to do something about it.

When I was eventually free of the RAN, frankly, I was in a state of deep, personal chaos. What happened to me at Leeuwin wasn’t the kind of thing I could share with, for example, my mates in civvy street. On one occasion where I tried to tell my father, like many men of his generation, he interrupted me by saying I shouldn’t ‘make waves’.

In spite of this, the DVA insists upon some kind of evidence from that time which, I think, is utterly inappropriate under the circumstances. This entire process has taken around sixteen months to reach this stage. During this time, I’ve tried to contact several men who were in my class through email and had no replies. I did manage to contact my mate from those days, Ian McLean. He was the one who was threatened by Schubert. After several months, he told me he couldn’t provide me with any supporting evidence. So far, all that has occurred in my contact with the DVA, is that I've been met with evasion and gobbleygook. Initially, I was told that my depression was only possibly, not probably, caused by my experiences in the RAN. My claim was, therefore, refused. I asked for a reconsideration and was then told I didn't have any supporting evidence. Again, my claim has been refused. There has been a good deal of publicity recently on the topics of bastardisation in the military. The vultures are circling. Neil James of that funny little defence association, has said on tv, more than a little smugly, he didn't know how we were going to prove anything. A representative of the national RSL has denied the reality of bastardisation. Senator Nick Xenophon's staff is collecting evidence to the contrary as we type.