A Picture From the South Pacific


February 7th, 1945. To Miss. Audrey Kempt, the Second World War felt as far away as possible from her little, but graciously decorated office at LIFE magazine’s headquarters at 19 West 31st Street in New York City. She was editing her story on the Panama Canal’s ecosystems, glad to be finished with the lackluster article. Her blonde, pin-up hairstyle was done with the utmost perfection, as was her red lipstick.
There was a knock on her office door. “Coming,” Miss Audrey’s darling little voice chimed. She rose, her ruby red heels echoed the entire two paces it took her to reach the door, and was greeted by a man in uniform. The first thing Miss Audrey noticed about this man, with whom she had corresponded with only on paper, was his incredibly tan skin. Certainly, one living in New York, such as herself would never get so tan. The South Pacific must be sweltering, Miss Audrey thought to herself.
“Ah, Mr. Whittington, it is a pleasure to finally meet you in person.” She said with her darling little voice.
“Call me James, and the pleasure’s all mine, ma’am.” Mr. James Whittington said in his Australian accent as he took off his hat. Miss Audrey smiled, slightly annoyed at the fact he had called her ma’am, but nevertheless, she gestured for him to enter her office.
“I’m so grateful you were able to make the trip after all. I trust your accommodations at the hotel are suitable?” The man in his late twenties with sandy blonde hair and green eyes, James, entered the office using his cane. Miss Audrey shut the door behind him, taking a moment to glance once more with satisfaction at the words Miss Audrey Kempt: Journalist printed upon the door.
“Well, it sure is better than the accommodations in the Mariana Islands, thank you ma’am.” James forced a laugh at his poor joke.
Miss Audrey indulged him with a slight giggle and remarked, “It’s Miss, please. I’m not quite a ma’am just yet.” James seemed to ignore her as he plopped down on the single chair adjacent to Miss Audrey’s desk. Miss Audrey took her two strides over to her desk graciously, now in the presence of a male acquaintance.
When she was seated behind her petite desk, Miss Audrey crossed her legs and began to speak. “I’m terribly sorry about your leg, you did a great service to this country and your own.” She consoled the native Australian.
“Oh, it’s alright, I got out with my life, more than most soldiers can say.” James’s voice faded into a soft whisper. There was a moment of silence, which Miss Audrey had thought was appropriate.
Trying to shrug off the gloom hanging in the air, she said, “Hum, yes, well now in your letter you said you had a story and a picture for me.” Miss Audrey finally reached the purpose of their meeting.
“Oh yes, but before I tell you, I must have you promise not to use my name or any of the names I give you in the story.”
“Oh, yes, certainly.” Miss Audrey gave him her sweet smile.
“Alright, well, there are some things you ought to know first.” James looked at her with perplexity after he had spoken. “Aren’t you going to take out your notepaper and pencil?” He asked.
“Oh I, um.” Miss Audrey hated using the word um.
“Go on now. This is important.” James encouraged.
“Alright.” Miss Audrey spoke as she had acquired her pen and notepaper.
“Now, I was born on June 21, 1920 in Queensland, Australia, near Mackay, to cattle ranchers. I had two siblings, a younger brother named Jimmy and a baby sister, Kate. I was the oldest. In 1939, I was studying medicine at the University of Townsville when the war broke out in Europe. While some of my friends left for the battlefields of Europe to fight someone else’s war, I stayed behind. I thought I’d do little good in the fight and I had a promising career and life ahead of me. Not Jimmy, he was always the headstrong one. He had just turned 17, and that’s when I got his letter. Despite all mama’s attempts to get him to go to a university and ‘learn something’s useful’ as she’d always say, Jimmy ran off to join the Royal Australian Air Force. He’d always loved the idea of flying. I remember the first time we saw a plane fly overhead, Jimmy had been mesmerized for days by the idea of seeing the world from the sky.”
Miss Audrey Kempt smiled when James paused. She snuck a quick look at the clock over his head, wondering how much longer this interview would take of her precious time.
James continued. “Couple years went by, while Jimmy and I corresponded by letters. He was top of his class, he’d tell me in his letters, but as time went by I was worried. The conflict in Europe was worsening and it was looking more promising that Jimmy would be sent over there. Then the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, which lead to the Americans involvement in the war. Once again, more of my classmates quit school to enlist while I stayed. However, on February 19, 1942, everything changed. After the attack on Darwin, I quit school the next day to enlist. Jimmy sent me a letter saying he was going to fight in the war. I sent that letter off to mama as well as my own.”
“After basic training, my commander learned I had been a medical student, and apparently medics were greatly needed in the field. So I was sent to the New Guinea where I was assigned to a group of American GIs. I had to learn fast to survive those first months. They were tough, they really were. It rained almost constantly in the jungles. I was never dry. The coastlines were plagued with swamps, the insects were endless, and there was little food and what there was, tasted awful. In those first months, I found it was the strangest things you missed out there. Sure, I missed Jimmy, Kate, pa, mama, and all the ranch hand boys so much, but I also missed my dogs, Sheila and Jack. Some days, I even found myself missing the cattle, the flies always circling around them, the smell of their manure, things I always used to hate about them, I missed it all…” James’s voice trailed off, as he seemed to get lost in thought.
“Mr. Whittington?” Miss Audrey questioned with concern mixing in her sweet voice.

James looked up, deep in thought. “Oh yes, my apologies. So where was I… Oh yes, well my group and I were issued several missions around the Pacific, but I’ll save you the gory details. There’s just one mission you need to know about, my last mission.”
“Have you heard of the battle at Buna on New Guinea? Well, in October my group and I were instructed to bring over badly needed supplies to the U.S.’s 32nd Infantry Division in the attack. When we got there, it was on of the worst scenes I’d seen yet. Men were riddled with disease, they lacked food and medicine, some troops were only getting a small portion of a C ration a day. The medical facility was a tent overflowing with cases of typhus, malaria, and an abundance of other tropical diseases. So my group and I were a welcome sight to these boys.”
“When I first entered the tent there was this one man who caught my eye. I could tell he was beyond the help our medicine could give and I think he knew it too. The fold up cot on which he laid was drenched with his own sweat when I went up to him. I took his hand in mine and looked into his eyes. I can’t say they weren’t filled with fear, because they were, but urgency was the one thing that stood out most about him. He asked me if I was a doctor. I told I was, I didn’t have the heart to tell him I was only a medical student. Then he asked if I could make him better. I didn’t lie, I told him I was going to try, but I didn’t know if I could or not. He told me not to bother on him, to help his brothers around him instead, and then he told me he had something for me. That’s when he reached in his pocket and grabbed a letter. He said it was for his wife; he’d even added the address to it, but there was something else. He took out a picture too. A dying GI had given it to him in battle two months ago. Now, this GI had told the man he’d taken it off a dead Japanese officer in Guadalcanal. The dead GI had given it to him for the man to bring back to the states so he could get it published so people would know what these Japanese were like, how merciless they were, and why we needed to win this war. This is the picture the man handed me.”
James took out a picture from his uniform, though he kept it facing himself as he stared at it once more. Miss Audrey noted the Japanese writing on its backside. James leaded forward as far as he could to hand the picture to Miss Audrey’s awaiting hand.
Miss Audrey gasped. “Oh my,” She let the words escape from her lips without hesitation.

The picture was a Japanese snapshot of a Japanese officer about to behead an Australian flier. The photo depicted the starving pilot kneeling, blindfolded, his arms bound, with the Japanese officer standing above him holding a sword. The picture was taken in the last seconds of the man’s life.
“I, um,” Miss Audrey let the word um out of her mouth again within the same hour! “It would certainly shock the readers, but I don’t know if I can print this.” Miss Audrey’s sweet voice sounded disturbed.
“That’s my brother, Jimmy,” James’s words shocked her even more, to the point where she almost asked to have his clarification on which man.
“Are you sure?” Miss Audrey asked.
James looked closed to tears. “I know my own brother.”
“Oh,” Slipped from Miss Audrey mouth. She rushed to give the photograph back to James.

James took it and continued. “When I first saw it I felt sick to my stomach. I didn’t know what to think. I didn’t know when this was taken or where or by whom. I didn’t know anything. I had in my hand the snapshot of the last seconds of my brother’s life.” Tears welled up in James’ eyes. His voice became hoarse. “Now, you’d think I feel a bit better knowing that the man in the picture must be dead by now, but I didn’t. You’d think, I’d go on a killing spree, trying to kill all them damn Japanese, but I knew none of that would bring Jimmy back. And all I wanted in that moment was to be out, to be away from that awful place, away from the war that had taken my brother away from me. I had to get out. I had to get back to Australia alive. I needed to get back to my family alive, because Jimmy never would.”

Miss Audrey was now fully intrigued at this man’s story. “The man who gave me this picture died the next morning. I walked around base like a ghost for several days, I was utterly useless. In December, I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to leave. I knew U.S. forces were close to a victory on the island and I knew I would be sent back out into the field again once the island had been won. Reinforcements would soon be coming to pick up the wounded once the fighting had seized. I had planned it for quite sometime, I knew any sort of incision would pose a possible threat infection, so I decided to go with a break. One morning I got up, went just outside base’s sight, and came back with a broken ankle. I told them I’d fallen, there was nothing they could do, but buy into my story.” James seemed utterly ashamed of himself as he spoke now, as if he had still not come to terms with his cowardice act.

“I was sent out with the wounded in January, but by the time I got to the aid center my ankle had healed the wrong way. I suppose its only right that I’ll walk with a cane the rest of my life for my shame.” Miss Audrey remained silent scribbling away on her notepaper. She had gone through six pages already.
James kept speaking. “I didn’t tell anyone about this picture, you see, that’s why I came to you. Now that I can’t fight, I can’t do anything about this anger that’s built up in me. Call it post-anger or whatever you like, but I had to do something about it, I had to tell someone my story. I figure maybe there’s a chance some young man that reads about my story will enlist; he’ll enlist for Jimmy and he’ll fight for the things Jimmy believed in, the things I had forgotten. I sincerely regret my actions, I do, but I figured this here’s one of the only things I can do about them. But I need you to write that, I need you to tell the world not to be like me, but to be like Jimmy, who died for something bigger than himself.”
When he finished Miss Audrey felt a tear slide down her cheek. She wiped it away, hoping it hadn’t stained her makeup. “Thank you for sharing, Mr. Whittington. I will do all I can to get your story published.”
“Thank you, ma’am. That’s all I hoped for.” Miss Audrey was so emotionally distraught that she didn’t notice he called her ma’am. “Well, I should be going.” James rose to leave. Miss Audrey took two large strides over to hold the door open for him.
“It was a pleasure.” Mr. Whittington said, when he turned to her in doorway.
“The pleasure was all mine.” Miss Audrey replied. Then he placed his hat back on and limped out of Miss Audrey’s office.
When Miss Audrey shut the door behind him, she did not take a moment to look at the words Miss Audrey Kempt: Journalist, printed on the door. She was about to walk back to her desk when something caught her eye. On the vacant chair, laid the photograph. Thinking James had forgot it Miss Audrey raced back to the door, but when her hand rested on the doorknob she stopped. She looked back at the picture, then to the door again. Miss Audrey had a deep understanding now. She took her hand off the doorknob and when it was in her hands, she looked at it once more.
With the photograph in her hand, Miss Audrey did not take her two paces over to her desk. She ran, most un-lady-like, over to her desk and began to furiously type at her typewriter, in her graciously decorated office at LIFE magazine’s headquarters at 19 West 31st Street, in New York City.
Miss Audrey Kempt’s article on Mr. James Whittington was never published. The editors of LIFE thought that James’s story would negatively affect support for the war effort back in the states.