In 1985, 49 mostly teenagers showed up at Kapooka to undertake the same army training as men for the first time in Australian history. This is the story of how they made it throughFollow our Australia news live blog for latest updatesGet our breaking news email, free app or daily news podcastThe bus was carrying 49 mostly teenage girls. It pulled up in front of Blamey barracks at Kapooka in New South Wales. The girls wrestled their suitcases off the bus. “We had to march in formation, which we didn’t know how to do, along narrow pathways, some of us wearing dresses and high heels,” says Eleanor Rush. “We got marched down to the mess hall for our first meal and the whole place went silent. In marched 49 women and there were a thousand men, recruits, having their dinner.”It was “daunting”, says Noela Whitmore. On the bus, a corporal had already screamed at them, “You are now members of the Australian regular army. From now on you’ll refer to me as corporal. Is that clear?” his voice rising on the word “clear”. Continue reading…In 1985, 49 mostly teenagers showed up at Kapooka to undertake the same army training as men for the first time in Australian history. This is the story of how they made it throughFollow our Australia news live blog for latest updatesGet our breaking news email, free app or daily news podcastThe bus was carrying 49 mostly teenage girls. It pulled up in front of Blamey barracks at Kapooka in New South Wales. The girls wrestled their suitcases off the bus. “We had to march in formation, which we didn’t know how to do, along narrow pathways, some of us wearing dresses and high heels,” says Eleanor Rush. “We got marched down to the mess hall for our first meal and the whole place went silent. In marched 49 women and there were a thousand men, recruits, having their dinner.”It was “daunting”, says Noela Whitmore. On the bus, a corporal had already screamed at them, “You are now members of the Australian regular army. From now on you’ll refer to me as corporal. Is that clear?” his voice rising on the word “clear”. Continue reading…
The bus was carrying 49 mostly teenage girls. It pulled up in front of Blamey barracks at Kapooka in New South Wales. The girls wrestled their suitcases off the bus. “We had to march in formation, which we didn’t know how to do, along narrow pathways, some of us wearing dresses and high heels,” says Eleanor Rush. “We got marched down to the mess hall for our first meal and the whole place went silent. In marched 49 women and there were a thousand men, recruits, having their dinner.”
It was “daunting”, says Noela Whitmore. On the bus, a corporal had already screamed at them, “You are now members of the Australian regular army. From now on you’ll refer to me as corporal. Is that clear?” his voice rising on the word “clear”.
Rush, Whitmore and the other women didn’t know it but they were about to enter a world of pain.
It was 1985, 40 years ago, and 31 Platoon, Delta Company, Kapooka were the first women ever to undertake combat training in the Australian army, including weapons training and physical training, which was brutal enough for men, let alone women. Previously women had been in the army, but often as nurses or in support roles.
Kapooka was far removed from the Women’s Royal Australian Army Corps training women had undertaken until then. Tougher, harder. “I mean they had deportment lessons at the Wraac school” says Jude Carter, one of the fresh recruits.
“It was a six-week course, everything about it was different. We were ladies and had Prue Acton-designed dresses. We didn’t do half the things that men did,” says Yvonne Sillett, an instructor at Kapooka at the time.
The women and girls at Kapooka were there to blaze a trail, to make history. They were going to show a woman could do anything a man could do.
Gayle Howard was a platoon sergeant when 31 Platoon arrived. “It was a rude awakening for a lot of them,” she remembers.
“There was no dispensation made for them being females,” she says. “They had to meet the male standard.”
Says Sonya Wheelahan: “Everyone was treated as a soldier.”
‘We were there to prove them wrong’
Later they would find that there was a price to pay. And all of them are still paying it.
Their average age was 18. The recruits were constantly told they had to harden up. “There was never going to be anything easy about it,” says Howard. “They had the eyes of the world on them. Everything they did was under scrutiny. Whether it was politicians or just the local newspaper, there was always a focus on them. I think they felt that pressure.”
People thought they couldn’t do it. There was discrimination, opposition. They were in the man’s army, the male domain. “Our section commanders, our sergeant, everyone expected us to fail and not be able to perform as well as the men” says Whitmore. “There was a lot of opposition within the army, including the officers and trainers.”
The female recruits were called “groundsheets”. “It’s what you sleep on when you are out in the bush,” explains Wheelahan.
But Keresten Williams says: “We were there to prove them wrong.”
“There was no one that was going to stop us from doing as good, if not better than those blokes,” says Carter. “We were busting a gut to prove it. Because we were the first ones and we wanted to get through.”
It was gruelling. “At some stage,” says Carter, “of that 12 weeks at Kapooka I don’t think anybody could say that they hadn’t been broken.”
There was “many a night where you’d be lying in bed and you would hear someone cry”, says Carter.
Now as they organise their 40th anniversary, the bonds are palpable. “You went through this together and you stayed close and supportive and loving towards each other,” says Williams. The friendships that were forged have held fast through all the triumphs and disappointments of life; children, divorce, love, loss, pain. They have a reunion every five years.
‘You get back out there and train’
The blisters were horrific. “They would line us up and methylate them,” says Wheelahan. “Get those calluses growing.”
Strapped with bandages, tape and shin splints from running in flat-soled Dunlop Volleys or trainers and walking long distances in heavy boots. There was fluid on the knees and back strains. But they threw themselves into it. Waking before dawn straight into intense physical conditioning, combat drills, first aid, not finishing before they were exhausted at night.“You have this sense of camaraderie and you don’t want to let down the rest of your squadron,” says Williams.
“We were doing all this extra stuff in our own time trying to build up. We would do pull-ups and push-ups and weights,” says Wheelahan.
For the first time in army history, women were using weapons. “They did drill with arms, which means you’re doing drill with a weapon,” says Sillett, who had done a course to become an instructor to the group.. The rifles weighed about 4kg. “We were trying to lift it with one arm on runs holding weapons above our heads,” says Wheelahan.
“All of a sudden I have to learn how to strip and assemble a weapon, how to shoot a weapon, how to do drill with arms.”
To this day Carter says she could strip a gun with her eyes closed. “It was so ingrained in your brain. You knew every nut, bolt, trigger. Everything from the tip to the tail of that weapon.”
In combat training they learned how to fix bayonets and stab someone, says Wheelahan – even though women were still not allowed in combat on the frontline. (This would happen some 30 years later.)
“They threw all these weights on us,” says Carter. “Big packs that just never fit properly because they were designed for a male body. They filled them with rocks and we would do route marches for kilometres at a time.”
They kept going, ignoring tearing flesh, rolled ankles, fractured wrists. “Anything that happened at Kapooka, unless you were dead or dying, a limb falling off, basically [you] get back out there and train. You had to be very tough,” says Carter. “At the end of the night you’re soaked in ice baths to try to help yourself with the pain.”
As training went on, the army began to realise that women don’t have the same upper body strength as men. On the 30 foot ropes, Whitmore remembers the young women were “limp things hanging on to this rope, trying to get up”.
“Men just pull themselves up,” she says. “But then we worked out that if we used our legs, we could do it. We went straight up because our strength was in our legs not our arms.”
The training was later modified to accommodate the female anatomy. “Everything was because of the weight-loading activities they had to do,” says Howard.
“It was just hard work on your body, constant running, lifting and moving stuff.”
Then there was the “mental stuff”, says Rush, “which was just cruel”.
To this day Williams dreads not waking up for an appointment or sleeping through something. “I slept through the first part of a stand to [assuming positions and being ready for an attack]. I got a size 12 boot straight into my stomach. The corporal kicked me. I look back now and that was just not acceptable behaviour.”
‘We equalled the men’
Through it all they had each other, says Wheelahan. “You had all the strength of your sisters. They built you up again and got you through. We all tried to get each other through.”
And they did prove everybody wrong. They graduated. They were real soldiers. Thirty-three girls marched out. They came out the other side of being broken. “We equalled the men,” says Sharon Baker.
“I don’t think anyone hesitates to say, I was in the first platoon of females at Kapooka. We are very loud and proud about the whole situation,” says Carter.
“We proved a lot of people wrong,” says Wheelahan.
It still eats at those who weren’t able to graduate with 31 Platoon, who were held back or had injuries.Williams was injured on the obstacle course. “I ended up marching out with the second platoon, which was absolutely devastating.”
Later would come a different cost, the litany of injuries. “My body is completely broken. I’ve got rods in my back, I’ve had surgery, my ankles and knees are gone,” says Baker. “I’ve had both my knees replaced, both my shoulders fixed,” says Sandra Smith.
These injuries are echoed through what was once 31 Platoon.
Many of them have made claims and gotten a veteran gold card, issued to ex-service personnel and covering them for the cost of any medical expenses in Australia. But some didn’t even know they could claim the benefit. Baker has been an advocate for helping veterans get their entitlements since she left the army 17 years ago. “A lot of people didn’t even know that there was compensation because they weren’t told.”
Four decades later, the bonds are still there. “It just binds us,” says Wheelahan. “You can go to any state in Australia, pick up the phone and there is a bed waiting for you.” It is precious to them.
31 Platoon had signed on for three years. Many went on to the nursing corp, some only stayed three years, others made a career out of the army. Baker stayed until 2009 working in the ordnance corps. She would often go on exercises in the bush. She doesn’t believe attitudes have changed enough. “The worst part about my military career was having to prove yourself again and again and again,” she says. “They still treated me as if I didn’t earn my crown. It was still trying to break the barriers, [prove] that the girls are good enough.”
Still, it was the time of their lives.
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