South Vietnam 1971

Being a Central Otago boy, I was used to celebrating Christmas in a hot and dry environment. However, that’s where the similarities ended.

Prior to December 1970 the Army Media team had called and recorded short sound bites from us all to be played on local radio stations in New Zeeland so we were happy to know that even if we were away, at least our voices would be heard by our families.
Then there were the RSA packs with items of kiwiana to remind us of home. I still have the message from the pack, 35 years later, in my photo album.

Christmas Eve in Fire Support Base (FSB) Raglan was the same as any other night except we had been promised that there was to be a 24hr cease-fire.

Gunner Alan Strang, Number 3 gun, 161 Bty, FSB "Horse Shoe" 1971.

I was on machine gun piquet just before mid-night when I heard the sound of Christmas carols coming from the sky. It was a really eerie feeling, quite religious and comforting. As the sound came closer we realised it was coming from a fixed wing aircraft with large speakers slung underneath. I had heard this aircraft on other occasions extolling the virtues of the Chu Hoi surrender program for Viet Cong soldiers.

A stream of red tracer arced across the sky from a distant American FSB as they too heard the carols so we responded by firing off some coloured flares. Soon the sky was lit with these flares from several directions. I often wondered what the enemy thought we were up to.

Next morning dawned, hot and dry as normal and field routine continued regardless of the significant date. Our one concession was to try and make our own snow flake decorations with shaving foam, however this was very short lived as the foam melted and dribbled away to nothing in a very short time.

So the day came and went, the cease-fire held, and then it was back to the regular grind of FSB duties, Fire Missions, gun and base maintenance, sand bagging, and harassment and Interdiction fire at nights.

Over the next few weeks, cards and letters arrived, but nothing could dispel the frequent melancholy thoughts of home, families and New Zealand.

I have lived through 55 Christmases; I recollect most of these, but none so vividly and uniquely as Christmas in South Viet Nam, 1970. I doubt the memory of the flares, carols, or shaving cream will ever fade.

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