During my time in Vietnam I lived in a tent with three others, or maybe in the last month or so there were two.  It was in a unit at Nui Dat which was the major Australian Army base in South Vietnam. 
 
In that time one of those guys was promoted from corporal to sergeant and subsequently along with himself moved his goods and chattels to the sergeants' accommodation.
 
“Christ” we thought for a while that we were in for it then.  We thought he’d stick it right up us after he took that noble step in a lifer’s career - but he didn’t.  Maybe he thought we had something on him.
 
You see, John, I won’t use his real name, was a good family man. Married with two children and a career soldier.  Joining at 17 he was what the present day kids would call a tech-head.  His trade was radio technician but more to the point, a nice guy.
 
No doubt he loved his family and although he travelled to Vung Tau on several occasions for a bit of R & C, (rest and recreation leave) he never deviated, well thats what we thought.  We knew he loved his wife because of his half written soppy, “I miss you" letters.  I know that ‘cause tent mate Billy and myself used to read them when he wasn’t there.  Well perhaps we read some; it does help to tell a good story.
 
In fact, as my memory serves me correctly, John was a bit of a churchy.
 
Unfortunately, midway through his tour (of service in Vietnam) and before he was promoted, John fell foul of a indigenous female, courtesy of the bars at Vung Tau.
 
I had never met the woman but several of the others in our unit used to take trinkets to her on John’s behalf.  In due course, John had broken the unwritten code of an Aussie soldier, he fell in love.  And worse still, he told us.
 
Well we just fell on the tent floor laughing until tears rolled down our cheeks.  Here was this fine upstanding 33 year old member of Her Majesty’s Armed Service, a god fearing, husband and father, and a lifer who had succumbed to the oldest trick in the book.
 
You know, the thing was, he meant it.  He really loved her.
 
Now you can all say what you want, but those of you who are reading this and who perceive themselves as realists know that all those cute babes in the bars wanted, was ……money!
 
And they would get it any way they could: sex, gambling or even thieving it.  Most of them worked in those bars because they had to, not because they wanted to.
 
Ninety nine percent of us guys just wanted to satisfy our lust.  I mean, a man can take so much of Mrs Palmer and her five daughters!
 
So there it was.  We wanted "boukoo boom boom" (thats my spelling and I’m sticking to it) and the females, cash and a chance to live above the poverty line.  I suggest this was pretty much the case in every war.
 
Yes, we said “Of course I love you, and I want to take you back to Australia”, but those words were only uttered tongue in cheek and in a time of lust – note I said ‘lust’ and not passion.  Not many meant it and not many believed it.  Evidentially, our Johnny did.
 
Yes, and in fact John started to make plans to take his floozey back to Aust.
 
“You’re fucking joking” and  “No-one falls in love here, its just an empty out” were some of the comments from his tent mates, and when it got more serious so did we: “Christ John, get real, you’ve got a wife and kids at home, you can’t be fairdinkum”.  We could talk to him like that because we were relatively close in that we lived together and in fact closer to him than some of his work colleagues whom he could well have known for some years.
 
Worst of all was that god fearing man ended up with the dreaded drip - like most of unit at the time.  I suppose the only consolation was that V.D. was as widespread as the common cold there with the only difference was that it hurt to piss.  And oh boy, did it hurt. 
 
My tent was about 20 metres from the local pissaphone and most mornings I could not help but view the stream of young soldiers, as they stood and waited, standing over those monolithic army icons, unable to irrigate themselves, then at last as they held and squeezed their dick between their index finger and thumb urging the resultant puss to pass from their body you could see the strained sign of relief in their faces.

Well I never did find out what happened to John and his love.  Whether or not he told his wife and what happened to his marriage but I can say that he was righteous enough to do just that.  In the midst of all this he pulled stumps and moved up to the snake pit. (Sergeants' Mess Lines - accommodation.)  
 
Then it became “sergeant this” and “sergeant that” after he moved.  Not that that was his style though but my contact with him became very limited.
 
That all happened many many years ago and I always wondered what happened to him and his life because he really wasn’t a bad bloke and by chance I bumped him at the Vietnam Dedication March in Canberra in 1992.  No, I didn’t have the heart to inquire.  May be a bit more jungle juice may have loosened my lips.....  I didnt't have to wait long.
 
When I saw him sitting there, a solitary figure at a table in the Ainslie Footy Club after the march, dressed in a suit, tie missing, chatting to no-one, I didn't recognize him as I stared at this lonely looking man trying to recall who he was as the various faces and memories clicked through my mind like the moving picture machines that clicked away a Luna Park when you wound the handle all those years ago.  My recollections had deserted me so badly I had to ask a cobber who was this man sitting there all by himself. 
 
Just image that.  I lived in the same tent as John for four or five months and failed to recognize him.  He had aged just like the rest of us and as I introduced myself I wondered who was at home waiting for him, if anyone.
 
We chatted and as the time progressed and the amber fluid started to loosen my tongue and the memories of our time came flooding back.  We laughed as we recalled the funny times then John, who by the way didn’t drink, began to confide in me.
 
Me?  Of all people I thought.  He said things were a bit rocky when he got home from Vietnam, but he managed.  He continued on in the army, did his 20 years and ended up quite a successful businessman.
 
In the middle of telling me about the strained times he made a cursory comment about his last few days in that tent that we spent together, remarks that weren't missed on me but, he said, he had moved on and always wondered and longed for a greater opportunity to be with that girl he met in the bar.
 
I, in my laconic manner, rolled my eyes, nodded in agreement with him when I thought the occassion appropriate.  After all, what else could I do when the demon drink was calling the shots?  He said his children had grown and they too now had kids, he showed my photographs.  Then he asked if I would like to meet his wife.  To be honest my jaw nearly hit the ground and just as one of my similarly effected buddies placed a schooner on the table in front of me with the comment “I missed ya last time Bluey – get it india”, John invited me over to a corner of the darkened auditorium which by now had become a boozy smoke filled room where there were only two types of stories being told: lies and bigger lies.
 
I don’t know why, but I have this in-built ability with people that they feel comfortable with me and at times are quite open and frank in their comments.  Maybe its because I’m a good listener or maybe its that I don’t argue or maybe it was that I was pissed.
 
I do find different peoples lives very interesting and whilst I naturally commit some of the things they say to memory, the vast majority is lost.   I am though for the most part, very sincere in my affection for them at times like this.

Anyway, as I said, it was a bit dark and I was having trouble identifying people although I took it that his wife was the figure seated by herself sucking on a lighted cigarette now in front of me. “Blue” he said, as I blinked my eyes which were transfixed on the lighted ash, now only metres away and at the same time trying to get a clearer view, “I want you to meet my wife, Mai Linh……”