Anzac Day: Age shall not weary WWII mates Fred From and Grahame Tweedale

Fred From turns 101 next month and that won’t stop him.Grahame Tweedale, 96, has been bedridden but he’ll be there.

Grahame Tweedale and Fred From ready for the parade. Picture: Lyndon Mechielsen

Fred From turns 101 next month and that won’t stop him. Grahame Tweedale, a lively 96, has been bedridden since suffering a fall a fortnight ago and he will be there, no fear.

It’s been like this for as long as their respective children, grandchildren or great-grandchildren can remember: nothing interferes with the two old mates’ annual get-together on Anzac Day in Brisbane — not the weather, a “few bumps and bruises” or the inexorable march of time. Mr From and Mr Tweedale are the last men standing from the 7th Cavalry Regiment, a hard-luck unit from World War II that gave its all in the do-or-die 1942 battles against the Japanese in Papua New Guinea.

Come what may, they meet in Brisbane every April 25 to take part in the Anzac Day march. Each year Mr From is driven in from his property near Gatton, west of the city, while Mr Tweedale comes down from the farm on the Sunshine Coast. It used to be a big, cheery catch-up of all the men they served with — but now, it’s just the two of them. The day is ­bitter-sweet, a reminder of those bonds that only soldiers who fought and bled ­together can know, but also of ­absent mates who have passed on, one by one.

Australia’s World War II generation is fading away before our eyes. In the 18 months to January 1, the number of surviving veterans fell from about 31,900 to 21,900, according to the Department of Veterans’ Affairs. Their average age is now 94. At that rate, precious few will be left by the end of the decade. As was the case with the World War I veterans — the last of whom, Jack Ross, died in Bendigo in 2009, aged 110 — the nation will have lost its last living link to a great generation, only to realise then how much their presence meant.

Veterans Affairs Minister Darren Chester said: “Just as our nation continues to commemorate the service and sacrifice of World War I veterans, long after their passing, we will ­always remember our World War II veterans.”

Grahame Tweedale in World War II.

For now, tomorrow’s march is the focus for Mr Tweedale and Mr From. “This is a great pleasure,” Mr From said, greeting his friend ahead of time this year. His face still black and blue, Mr Tweedale was adamant he would go the distance in a wheelchair if need be. “I wouldn’t dare miss it,” he said.

“I would have to say that loyalty to their mates and the cause is the hallmark of these two fellows,” said Max Wheat, president of the 7th Division Cavalry Regiment Association. His late father, Merv Wheat, served with them.

When they meet, Mr From and Mr Tweedale make the most of the occasion. They laugh and swap family news and notes about farming, a shared passion. They don’t talk much about the war. “We discuss farming because that is what we are interested in still,” Mr Tweedale said. “Tomatoes,” Mr From added. “We talk about tomatoes because we both used to grow them.”

Extracting the story of what they did in the army as young men takes some doing. Both joined up in 1940, when Britain and the ­empire were all that stood against the Nazis. Mr Tweedale was only 17 and added two years to his age to enlist; Mr From, then 23, came straight off the farm at Lowood, near where he lives today.

Fred From in World War II.

They volunteered for the armoured cavalry — their regiment in the 7th Division was equipped with Vickers light tanks and Bren machinegun carriers — because it was supposed to be a bit of a step up. “The saying was, gentlemen for the cavalry and men for the infantry,” Mr Tweedale said, his eyes twinkling. Those old rivalries die hard.

By February 1941, both were in what was then British-controlled Palestine, training for a campaign that would pass them by in the Middle East. Mr From was a tank gunner, a job he liked, while Mr Tweedale became a signaller in a separate squadron.

When Japan attacked in the Pacific, they were sent in to relieve the troops who had stopped the onslaught on the Kokoda Track. The 2/7 lost their rides and became dismounted infantry. No one would rib them now about being “rainbow boys” — ­arriving after the shower was over. As the Japanese had been pushed back onto their original beachhead between Gona and Buna on the north coast of PNG, the casualties grew and grew. Those who were not killed or injured in the terrible fighting succumbed to disease. Of the 470 men who marched in, in December 1942, only 46 were fit for duty six weeks later. The 7th Cavalry Regiment effectively ceased to be and, to the survivors’ dismay, was folded into a new formation.

Both had near misses: a Japanese bullet creased Mr Tweedale’s nose, while Mr From took a shell splinter to the left arm. “You have to say we were lucky,” Mr Tweedale said. They returned to quiet lives on the land after the war, Mr From marrying in 1952 to raise a family of four children, with two grandkids. Mr Tweedale and his late wife brought up nine children on their farm near Caloundra. At last count, there were 29 grandchildren and — he smiles, explaining it’s hard to keep up — more than 50 great-grandchildren.