Kokoda Track Memorial Walkway
Concord West, Sydney
I want to begin by acknowledging the Gadigal People of the Eora Nation, the traditional custodians of the land on which we meet today, and pay my respects to their Elders past, present and emerging.
I would like to extend that respect to any Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people who join us today.
I also acknowledge the current and ex-serving members of the Australian Defence Force (ADF) who are with us today. Thank you for your service.
And I also acknowledge the families of ADF personnel and veterans, thank you for your support.
On a grassy knoll, in the heart of the Owen Stanley Range, just outside the village of Isurava, lies a rock.
This large, igneous boulder is embedded in the mountain side.
A mighty crack runs down its centre, and moss, ferns and lichen cling precariously to its steep sides.
This rock, just one of many scattered through the dense mountain passes of Papua New Guinea, is known as Kingsbury’s Rock.
It was by this rock, on August 29, 1942, that Alan Avery laid his fallen mate, Bruce Kingsbury down to rest.
The two childhood friends, who had served together in the Middle East and again along the Kokoda Track, had been caught in the brutal battle of Isurava.
A stinging defeat for the Australians, it was nevertheless the site of a heroic action that earned Bruce a posthumous Victoria Cross.
It was one of many battles that occurred during the Kokoda campaign.
In May of 1942 the Japanese had been thwarted in their attempt to launch an amphibious attack on Port Moresby when they were defeated in the Battle of the Coral Sea.
Instead, the Japanese moved send troops against Moresby over the Owen Stanley Range via the Kokoda Track.
To combat this advance, four platoons of the Australian 39th Battalion, along with Papuan forces embarked upon a campaign to take Kokoda and defeat the Japanese.
It is difficult to imagine the conditions our soldiers faced on the track.
The Owen Stanley Range is a series of immense ridges and razorbacks, following each other like a succession of teeth on a saw.
The only way the troops could get up some of those ridges was either on their hands and knees, or by cutting steps with axes and machetes.
Journalist Kenneth Slessor described Kokoda as:
“Full of malaria, dysentery and typhus. A place of snakes and bloated spiders, leeches, lice, mosquitoes and flies. It stinks of rotten fungus, and is littered with dead leaves that turn to liquid underfoot. Sometimes it’s so wet wood won’t burn. Sometimes it’s so hot sweat trickles like brine over the lips. Sometimes it’s so cold your bones seem to chatter. And waiting at the end of the trail, the Japanese with knives and bullets.”
It was into this terrain that our soldiers were sent to fight.
On August 27, near the village of Isurava, Bruce Kingsbury and the men of the Australian 2/14th Battalion’s 9 Platoon met the Japanese.
The Japanese had superior numbers and over the coming days repeatedly attacked their position.
On August 29 they finally broke through the Australian right flank, and threatened to overrun their headquarters.
For the Australians, there was no question, they had to retreat, but if anyone was to survive they also had to hold off the advance.
Although number 9 Platoon had suffered heavy losses, its survivors volunteered to join a counter-attack.
On his own initiative, Kingsbury rushed forward with a Bren gun shouting “follow me”.
He charged the enemy, shooting from the hip.
He broke the Japanese line of advance, inflicting many casualties as he went.
Caught off guard by this blistering assault, the Japanese were forced to retreat.
But as Bruce’s comrades caught up to him, a sniper’s bullet rang forth from the undergrowth and struck him down.
Alan Avery carried Bruce back to the aid post, and set him to rest beside a large boulder, but he had already passed.
For this conspicuous act of courage, Private Bruce Kingsbury was awarded the Victoria Cross.
The citation reads:
“Private Kingsbury displayed a complete disregard for his own safety. His superb courage made it possible to recapture a position which undoubtedly saved Battalion Headquarters. His coolness, determination and devotion to duty in the face of great odds was an inspiration to his comrades.”
Today, I am proud to officially open this garden, which has been named in Bruce Kingsbury’s honour.
May it stand as a living memorial to every Australian who served during the Kokoda campaign.
May it be a place of tranquillity and quiet reflection.
A place of beauty and peace, which stands in stark contrast to the conditions our soldiers endured on the track.
May it serve as a testament to the courage of Private Bruce Kingsbury VC and thousands of other Australians who fought on the Kokoda Track.
Because Bruce’s story is emblematic of the courage of all those who served.
At the Battle of Isurava alone, numerous tales of heroism emerged.
The men who fought were not foolhardy youths.
They were not blindly charging an enemy.
They knew the stakes, and they knew what they had to do to protect their mates and hold off the enemy so their units could withdraw.
Private Harold Wakefield, a Sydney wool-worker, almost single-handedly repelled several Japanese attacks; he was awarded the Military Medal.
Captain Maurice Treacy, a shop assistant, led a counter-assault that drove back a Japanese attack on their rear; he was awarded the Military Cross.
Corporal Lindsay Bear, a die-cast operator from Moonee Ponds, reportedly killed 15 Japanese with his Bren gun at point blank range, though wounded in the hand and foot; he also won the Military Medal.
All of them were ordinary men who did extraordinary things in terrible conditions.
This garden is dedicated to all of their memories.
To all those who served, and all those who died.
And so fittingly, I am also proud today to unveil the digital honour roll.
The roll contains the names of the more than 600 Australian soldiers who lost their lives during the Kokoda campaign.
Their names will be permanently projected onto the windows of the Ralph Honner Education centre, here at the Kokoda Track Memorial Walkway.
A permanent memorial, to honour their legacy.
Indeed, keeping the legacy of all our veterans alive is important.
That’s why I’m proud the Australian Government has been able to support the Kokoda Memorial Walkway over a number of years.
Over a number of years, the Commonwealth has provided more than $500,000 to help maintain the walkway.
And in the recent Budget, the Albanese Labor Government acknowledged previous commitments made and added to these with a further $409,000 of funding over four years to support the Walkway’s operations, taking our total commitment up to $186,000 per year for the next four years.
This memorial and new garden, named for Bruce Kingsbury, will enshrine the memory of all those who served.
Because symbols are important: they stand for everyone.
The rock Bruce Kingsbury VC died beside was no different to the countless other rocks that are littered over the Owen Stanley Range.
But across that mountain range, next to anonymous boulders and logs, beside rotten roots and sodden streams, hundreds of Australians laid down their lives.
Just like Bruce, they were young men in the prime of life.
They came from the city and the country.
They were accountants and teachers, draftsmen and drovers.
Sons and brothers, husbands and fathers.
Ordinary Australians who answered the call.
They clung precariously to the sides of those ridgelines and razorbacks; and they prevailed.
On this day, 80 years ago, the Australian flag was raised over the village of Kokoda.
A victory hard won at a heavy price.
Today we remember, we honour their service, and we honour their sacrifice.
And we pledge that as long human hearts remember, their legacy shall not vanish from our land.
I am proud to dedicate this garden to their memory.
Lest we forget.
