the Canberra

"Would you like to go to Siagon for a couple of days?" The CO said.

Well I wasn't going to turn that down was I, and who knows, maybe it would calm me down.

The problem was I managed the Sandbaggers Inn. Well that wasn't the problem. Actually running the OR's canteen was a bit of a bludge. Open around noon for half an hour or so, then open in the evening and close around ten or eleven, whenever kerfew was. Most of the time I didn't even do that. There were always lots of volunteers to do a stint behind the bar. Seriously managing the Sandbaggers Inn was a major bludge.

But every ointment has it's fly and the fly here was the monthly accounts I had to present to the 2IC.

Not that I mind fingures. Balancing the books was not a hassle and not the problem. The problem was the loss the canteen was making. Every month the surplus the canteen had in reserve dwindled.

And it dwindled rapidly.

A certain corporal, who happened to be president of the messing committee would take his mates into the bar after kerfew and settle down to the serious business of drinking the profits. By the time he rotated back to Australia the canteen would be broke.

The 2IC had to sign off on the accounts, but understandably didn't want to start throwing his weight around in OR's affairs. And the money kept vanishing and I was getting more and more twitchy.

"So take a couple of days in Siagon," said the CO and I did.

Siagon was another world.

The air was blue from the exhaust of a million 2 stroke motors. You can see it in the photos. air so thick it's a wonder we didn't all have cancer.

Pollution central.

I wandered the streets of the capital, soaking up the sights and sounds and smells of a city in decay. It was easy to feel that. Easy to see Siagon as a city rotting away before your very eyes. The Tet Offensive had some and gone. At home the Anti-war protesters were clearly winning (how could any government stand against the power of Bob Dylan, Woodstock and Forest Gump?)
I wandered the streets photographing the shops. The people. What would happen to them when the West pulled out? How many of these ordinary people you passed in the street would survive the fall of Siagon?

In reality, of course, there was nothing inevitably in what I saw. Siagon throbbed with life. Sure there was a lot that was wrong. But some things were right too. People kept on doing the everyday things people always do. The shops were full of goods. People sat in cafes. Couriers hussled about with goods to deliver. Children went to school in spotless white uniforms. If fact there were some aspects of the city That I thought were a vast improvement on the cities at home.

Take the taxi's. The traffic was nose to tail vehicles. And a large proportion were the Lambretta taxi's. A glorified 3 wheeler motor scooter with a cabin on the back that would hold around 4 people. It was powered by a 500cc 2 stroke engine and along with the zillions of Honda motorbikes was a major source of the pollution that cloaked the city. The taxis ran nose to tail. Stick out you thumb and one would pull up. No waiting. And you were on your way. The ideal of public transport. Even if the seating was only wooden slats.

But there were some disturbing straws in the wind. Signs that the end for Siagon wasn't all that far away. The business centre was peppered with monumental new buildings. Thrown up by corporate America as signs of tangible support for the regieme. Useless, but impressive. Off the main street the slums were impressive in another sort of way.

Police were everywhere. The army was everywhere. Barbed wire and fortifications were everywhere. When One of the US cabinet members left the city I looked up and saw his 707 being escorted by six phantom jets.

It didn't really matter how much people tried to ignore the war and get on with their life. Siagon was a city under seige.

copyright © 31-5-2002 Fred Willett