In the second part of a series commemorating the 50th anniversary of Australia's last troops withdrawing from Vietnam, JENNY McLAREN talks with Warrnambool musician Pete Bird about his experiences.
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LIKE most Vietnam veterans, Pete Bird still battles the occasional demon but his time in the war zone has also left him with some positive enduring legacies.
Along with the mateship and being witness to a defining event in Australian history, Vietnam gave him the gift of music, shaping his life and helping to keep the demons at bay in the process.
More than 50 years on, the Warrnambool muso says the music that provided the soundtrack to the Vietnam era remains a strong influence on his musical style and career.
It was largely thanks to the American Forces Vietnam Network which broadcast to the serving troops in Vietnam from 1962 until 1973.
"Hearing artists like Merle Haggard and Waylon Jennings who were unknown in Australia at the time sent me down an interesting musical path," recalls Pete who, on returning to Warrnambool, joined the Mod Squad as bass player and later helped found a number of bands including Nevada and Lost in Suburbia, with whom he still plays.
"When I came back to Warrnambool they hadn't heard of that stuff.
"The American Forces radio had a huge influence on my musical career and was a great part of those acts."
Pete, who has gone on to record and produce other artists, can't remember a time without music in his life. In the years after Vietnam, it also provided a welcome distraction.
"It takes you to a different place," he explains.
Pete was a 20-year-old bank clerk from Coleraine when he was called up, arriving in Saigon in March of 1971 at the tail end of Australia's commitment in Vietnam.
For a country lad, it was something of an eye-opener.
"I didn't mind the opportunity to do something different. I was enthralled and landing in Saigon was fascinating to see."
But the reality of being in a war zone soon set in.
Pete thought if he managed to make it out of Vietnam physically unscathed after eight months' service, he would be OK.
He did, but it would take him another 30 years before he fully appreciated the mental toll that serving his country had taken.
As a radio operator in the 104 Signal Squadron at the Nui Dat Australian Task Force base, Pete was attached to various operations units as well as with the Americans and the South Vietnamese ARVN (Army of the Republic of Vietnam). The young private counted himself lucky not to be among the casualties despite never being far from danger.
He was there on June 12, 1971 at the 1ATF command post when seven Diggers were killed in an enemy grenade blast during Operation Overlord, the last major US-Australian operation. It was the highest number of Australian casualties in a single incident during the war.
For Pete, as for so many Vietnam veterans, it was memories like these that left invisible scars that never fully healed.
Most kept their personal struggles to themselves, many unwilling to discuss or even disclose their service for fear of how they would be treated.
"We didn't talk about Vietnam after I got home. I didn't tell people I'd been to Vietnam," he reveals. "It was one of those terrible social things.
"People didn't want to know the vets and we didn't want to dob ourselves in because it (the war) was very unpopular. It was that put-down. You felt like you had committed a crime."
From an initial 30 military advisers in 1962, Australia's commitment to South Vietnam in alliance with the United States against the spread of communism from the north, eventually numbered 60,000 personnel in the decade until withdrawal in 1973, including 437 from south-west Victoria.
A total of 15,381 of them were conscripted national servicemen like Pete. Of the 523 killed, including four from the south-west, 'Nashos' accounted for 202 and 1279 of the more than 3000 wounded.
Public opposition to Australia's involvement in the war and to compulsory conscription via a birthday ballot mounted as the divisive conflict dragged on and casualties grew.
For returning veterans, the demons manifested in anxiety, depression, mood swings and at worst, suicide. It had a name. PTSD, or post traumatic stress disorder; an acronym that so many Aussie Diggers like Pete became all too familiar with.
It went largely unrecognized and untreated until advocacy by the Vietnam Veterans Association of Australia (VVAA) led to the establishment of services like the Vietnam Veterans Counselling Service in 1982 and the National Centre for War Related Post Traumatic Stress Disorder in Heidelberg, now under the Austin Hospital banner.
It was there that Pete, like many others, was given a diagnosis and treatment programs in the early 2000s.
The musician and former Deakin University campus audiovisual department manager still lives with the condition but he says the programs have given him tools to manage it, a more positive outlook and a greater appreciation of life.
"I feel good about it and I'm very proud of my service. I know that I did the right thing all the time and I know that I helped people," he says.
"Now I always talk about it in a happy, positive manner. We shouldn't have been there (Vietnam) in the first place but we were there saving lives, we weren't murderers."
He remembers the mutual affection between the Diggers and South Vietnamese people.
"One of the saddest things for me was leaving the South Vietnamese people," he says.
"They loved the Aussies and we loved them."
After the Australian and United States' withdrawal in 1973, the south fought on before falling to the communist North Vietnamese forces in 1975.
Pete still finds it extraordinary that "a kid from Coleraine" was at one point the personal radio operator for the acting commander of the Australian Task Force in Vietnam, Colonel Don Weir.
But it's the friendships forged between his fellow signalmen that he truly values.
"The most wonderful thing that came out of it was that you developed a strong group of mates."
He still counts the seven Diggers who were together from radio operations training through the entire deployment, among his best friends, getting together for catch-ups whenever possible.
"We talk about Vietnam, but it's always in a joking manner," he says.
Pete's changed approach to life has also been aided by an equally positive turnaround in public attitudes towards the Vietnam Veterans.
"Now they love you. Now it's a very positive thing."
These days the 73-year-old has a strong appreciation for life. In fact, he can't bring himself to even kill a blowfly.
"I've certainly developed a really good attitude towards life. I value life and I think I probably developed that from Vietnam."
Despite the downside of his time in Vietnam, for Pete, on balance, the positives tend to win out.
"In actual fact it was a pretty amazing experience. Most of the actual feelings about it were good. Most of the time you were with your mates and you'd have a beer at the end of the day.
"The good times stay in your brain and you block out the bad stuff.
"I couldn't imagine what my life would be like if I hadn't gone," he ponders.
- Support is available for those who experience depression. Phone Lifeline 13 11 14 or beyondblue 1300 224 636.
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