CHAPTER TEN
'His nerves were very bad'

YOUNG John Keighran could hear a commotion in the front paddock. The dogs were barking. He looked out of the window and saw riders coming through the front gate. It was his dad and the others. He ran out to meet them. Jennie was there too, with young Max. Jack waved and began to dismount. John could see that there was a strange figure riding Burketown. He was bouncing up and down on the saddle and had a firm grip on the saddle horn. Willie had the reins and was leading the horse up to the front of the house.
'Get some tucker ready and make up a bed,' said Jack. 'This is Grady. He's an American whose plane crashed near Burketown. We found him on the coast, near the old hut. He's going to be staying for a few days. We'll send word to Borroloola.1
The ride had been very hard on Gaston, but he didn't care. Jack led him to the porch and sat him in a large basket chair that was Jack's favourite chair. Many of the station hands and house servants had gathered to get a look at the strange visitor. They seldom saw any white men on the property and no one had even seen an American. With his bleached blond hair, long whiskers and torn clothes, his presence was compelling. There was much pushing and giggling when Gaston spoke in his thick Alabama drawl. When someone rolled him another smoke, Gaston told his story again. He recalled the crash and the aftermath.
'What was the name of the river where we lost Dale?' asked Gaston. 'Jack, what do you call it? The big river that runs into the sea?'
Jack told him that it was the Robinson, a dangerous and deadly river, particularly during the wet season. This was one thing that Gaston already knew.

In his official report of the incident Gaston recalled the events of the next few days:

Jack killed a young goat and even though I heard that goat meat was not very good, it sure tasted good to me. He fixed a good meal of it and gave me lots of milk. The next morning he killed a young bullock. I guess I ate too much too soon because I got very sick. At the time of the crash, I weighed 168 Ibs, but now I was down to about 100 Ibs.
During the sick spell Jack was very good to me and in three or four days I was able to start getting around a little bit. My old tattered clothes were stiff as a board, but he took them off me and gave me some civilian clothes that were about two sizes too big. I stayed with him for two weeks, during which time I gradually began to pick up weight and feel as though I could go on again. He sent one of his boys to a police outpost located at a place called Borroloola, 75 miles away. It was the fast case the police had handled in seven years. At the time, there were fifteen or twenty soldiers on patrol duty in that section. With the aid of the black boy as a guide, they blazed a trail through country where no vehicle had ever travelled and after two and one half days of hard work, they reached the place where I was.
They then went to the cabin I had used and picked up the bodies of Lt Dyer and Lt Speltz after which we went to the town of Borroloola. This was May 4th,
I stayed with the policeman for a day or two while he arranged to have a small aeroplane pick me up at a place called Anthony's Lagoon. The soldiers put me in their truck and drove 185 miles to a small field where the aeroplane would land. The plane arrived next day. We flew to a place called Camooweal where we spent the night and the next day he took me to Cloncuny. Everyone was so nice to me. I had intended to keep my long hair and beard until I could join some of my former friends, but the barber insisted that I let him cut it off which I did. The whole town was very good to me,giving me money} clothing and anything that I might need and taking me to their homes for meals.

Gaston's report was an exercise in brevity. The soldiers who came to the aid of the American were essentially members of the North Australia Observation Unit, commonly refereed to as Nackeroos. The unit was formed in May 1942 with Major W E. H. Stanner, a noted anthropologist, the appointed commander.
The NAOUs duties were to patrol the northern coastal areas of Australia looking for any signs of the enemy. They also operated coastwatch stations and had an effective signals network for the Top End. The number of personnel, mostly expert horsemen, peaked at 550, including 59 Aboriginal workers, guides and labourers. Nackeroos were stationed around the coast at Normanton,Karumba, Inverleigh, Armraynad, Burketown and Borroloola. The main gap in their patrol areas was the 400-mile strip from Burketown to Borroloola. No one believed that this area posed any threat from invasion, particularly in the wet. The Nackeroos had been involved with the search for Little Eva's, crew since early December. Stan Chapman had driven Crosson and Wilson to Burketown after they had wandered into the Escott property.
Shortly after the body of Dale Grimes was discovered, the NAOU Platoon based at Borroloola had assisted Ted Heathcock with a new search. Lieutenant Romney Cole had dispatched a land patrol to search the area near the Wearyan River. Corporal Keith Ledingham had joined Ted Heathcock and two Aboriginals in a search by canoe in the areas near the MacArthur and Robinson rivers. The searches proved futile.
Weeks later, when word reached the NAOU at Borroloola that Gaston had been found, Corporal Ted Pattison, who was in charge at the time, immediately gathered together clothes, tobacco and toiletries and sent three Nackeroos in a flat-bed truck to Seven Emus. Pattison would never forget his first impression of Gaston as he climbed down from the truck on the afternoon of May 4th:

His hair and beard had gone completely white and his teeth were loose. He was more or less a walking skeleton. He came up to me and said, I believe you were responsible for sending me the clothes. One thing I want to thank you for was the toothbrush, it was just what I needed.' While he was in town, he stayed at the police station. The copper told me that Gaston was so hungry that he used to raid the kerosene refrigerator all night, going backwards and forwards to get little snacks.

Another Nackeroo, Barney Young, recalled:

He ate so much that he had a big bulbous belly, like a pregnant woman. He had such a sweet tooth that everything he ate had to have jam on it. Even the bully beef was covered in plum jam.

The Nackeroos, all experienced bushmen, marvelled at the resolve and resilience of the strange little man from. Frisco City, Alabama. He was treated with awe and respect. No one in living memory had ever approached his feat of surviving 141 days alone in the Gulf country.

Barney Young never forgot his time spent with Gaston:

He'd kept a little bottle that contained four special survival matches. These had little blue heads on them and you could see how he'd worn down the top half off each match, trying to strike it. I asked him why he'd kept them and he replied, Tm taking these back to show the top brass how useless they are.' There was also a little tin that he'd used to keep some melon seeds in. These little melons grew wild up there, but they weren't worth eating as far as we were concerned. However, Grady reckoned they were the sweetest things he'd ever tasted and he wanted to take the seeds home to America to grow them.

When Gaston learned that the town had a telegram facility, he asked Nackeroo Jack Twyford to send a message to his mother, Wattie, in Alabama:

Dear Mother.
Still alive and feeling good now. On way back to camp. Will write when get in and give details.
Love Grady.

Gaston's activities after he left Borroloola are described in his report:

I had been in Cloncuny a couple of days when on May 11 some American officers stopped at the Hotel and asked for me. They gave me a bundle of clothing and told me that Capt. M.J. Foster of San Antonio, Texas, had sent them and made arrangements for their aeroplane to pick me up on its return trip the next day. That day and night seemed like a very long time to me but at noon the following day they returned for me. We took off from Cloncuny at 1.30pm and arrived in Townsville at about 5.30pm where Capt. Foster met me and brought me to the hospital where I am now slowly recovering. I have since seen my former pilot Lt Crosson who told me he and Sgt Loy Wilson from Columbus, Ohio, had been picked up on December 18th. I was very happy to know that at least some of our crew had been saved.

Gaston never knew the full impact of his arrival in Cloncurry. He had been in the town for only a few hours when he visited the local police station. Vince Peel was on the desk when Gaston confronted him:
I was told by my superiors to report to this station. I'm Staff Sergeant Grady Steen Gaston, serial number 14013385, Wireless Operator of the Liberator Bomber which crashed at Moonlight Creek, near Burketown, on December 2nd, 1942.'
Peel took down the details of Gaston's ordeal for his report, which was completed on 17 May.
Galligan's reaction to Gaston not only being found but actually walking through the front door of his station can only be imagined. It was he who had called off the search in early February. He was mortified to learn that not only had Gaston survived but at the time of the search being aborted there were three Americans alive only a few days ride to the north-west of Hagarty's search party.
Vince Peel was still compiling his report when Galligan thought it prudent to attach his summation of the incident. He knew that Carroll would be asking the same questions and thinking the same thoughts — as would the American military. Galligan had called off the search while three Americans were still alive. Moreover, Hagarty was only a relatively short distance from the old shack and it was virtually certain that he would have stopped and searched the old hut.
Peel's report merely recounted the fact that Grady Gaston had walked into the station and told his story of the saga. It would be up to Galligan to cover his tracks. His report to Carroll, which was attached to Peel's, was cleverly worded but undoubtedly an attempt to vindicate his actions:

The original search for the lost aircraft and the crew began on December 18th.
The searchers numbered thirty-Jive, including Constables Marsh and Tracker Norman. From what I can gather there was no proper organisation or co-operation between them to effectively carry out the search. Many of the men had no knowledge of the country they were going into, and for various reasons the number was too unwieldy to be effective. Had Sergt. Muss, Constables Hagarty and Marsh and their trackers formed a separate party they may have picked up the tracks of the four men missing and contacted the Mornington Island Aboriginals who picked up tracks on Rainbow Creek and on the beach. When word of the tracks having been found was received, it was impossible to get there from Burketown.
When Constables Hagarty and Marsh got into that country some weeks later, the rain that had fallen in the meantime had obliterated any traces of the tracks that existed earlier, and the missing men had travelled up to two hundred miles from where the bomber went down. From the information I received, I instructed Constable Hagarty to abandon the search,

The implication of Galligan's report is obvious: Nuss erred by not organising an effective search in the first instance. The Americans would not have died had they been found in late December. The fact that the Americans 'had travelled up to two hundred miles from where the bomber went down' suggests that no rational man could have expected such a heroic trek, or for the men to have survived for so long.
Galligan's most fundamental mistake was in calling off the search from Cloncurry while Hagarty was still at Wollogorang. He should have left the decision up to Hagarty, who was undoubtedly one of the most efficient and experienced bushmen in the Queensland Police Force. The Hagarty party were rested and had fresh supplies and mounts, and another week of searching would have mattered little in the allocation of police resources. It was Galligan's decision to reassign Hagarty to a routine matter in Lawn Hill that consigned John Dyer and Arthur Speltz to their fate in the savage wilderness of the Australian Gulf country.
After the abandonment of the search for the Americans, the men of the Queensland Police Force could have been forgiven for believing that they had seen the last of the Liberator of Moonlight Creek.
Harry Nuss quickly regained his pre-Little Eva insignificance. However, one day in May 1943, a boy from the Burketown Post Office delivered a letter to the station:

Headquarters
Unites States Army Service of Supply
Office of the Quartermaster
Base Section No 2

Subject: Location of Isolated Burial.
To: Sgt Nuss — Civilian Police (Queensland)

1. Information has been received at this office concerning an isolated burial of an American soldier, Charles B. Workman, a member of the 321st Bomb Squadron.

2. According to information received at this office you were a member of the burial party.

3. Disinterment of this burial is now contemplated and it is necessary that this office be furnished with all information regarding the location of this grave — a map or sketch if possible to guide the disinterment detail

4. It would be greatly of help in locating this grave for disinterment. For the Quartermaster.
M.A. Beyers,
Capt. Q.M.C.
Graves Reg. Officer.

Nuss was puzzled by the letter. Surely the Yanks knew that there were four bodies found near the wreck. And what sort of country did they think it was out there? He couldn't believe they wanted a road map to the plane — a map of the worst and most desolate country you could come across. Prudently, Nuss decided to respond through Galligan in Cloncurry. He directed Marsh to compile a response, which was dated 22 April 1943:

I have to report with reference to the above, that it is almost impossible to draw a sketch of the country passed throughfrom here to the plane. There is an old road within 75 miles of the plane, but from there on it is all thick ti-tree scrub and in my opinion impossible to traverse that distance without clearing a road first. It is impossible to direct the party from here to the plane; the only means of locating it is for Tracker Norman and myself to accompany the party; there is only a pad to follow after leaving Gum Hole, and it would be quite easy to follow the wrong one.

R.J. Marsh
Constable No. 3764

Nuss soon forgot about the letter and he tried hard to forget the whole Little Eva saga. At best, his conduct and leadership during the ordeal was satisfactory; at worst, it was deemed ordinary and probably did nothing for his reputation or his career.
Just before noon on 4July 1943, Nuss was alerted to the arrival of a group of soldiers from Iluka. One wore the uniform of the US Army and he was looking for Police Sergeant Harold Nuss.
The American introduced himself as Staff Sergeant Robert Joseph Dent, from the Office of the Quartermaster, United States Army,Base Section 2. He said that he had been ordered to retrieve the bodies of the four American airman killed in the crash of a United States aircraft the previous December, and that he had been authorised to recover the military inventory that was in Nuss's possession. He referred to the letter written by the graves registration officer, Captain Beyers, seeking directions to the crash area.
Nuss's response showed his frustration. 'It's not possible to direct you to the area. It's too isolated. It's in the middle of nowhere. You would just get lost yourself and then this whole bloody mess would start again.'
The Staff Sergeant's response was equally blunt. 'I have a copy of a letter from a Commissioner Carroll in Brisbane.'
Nuss read the letter. The past would die hard. Once again Nuss was the district incumbent.

Adverting to your suggestion that you be furnished with a sketch which would enable you to locate the place where the body of Charles B. Workman is buried. lam informed that it is almost impossible for the Police at Burketown to supply you with a sketch, which would be of any value, and would suggest that, whenever you decide to take action for disinterment, I will arrange for a member of the Police Force from Burketown to accompany you. Might I suggest also that you communicate with Superintendent Stretton, Northern Territory Police Force, Alice Springs, in relation to the information which I have supplied you that concerns the human remains taken to Borroloola Police Station, which are possibly those of 2nd Lieutenant D. V. Grimes, a member of the crew of the ill-fated aircraft.
If you think I can be of any further assistance to you in this matte please communicate with me again.

Yours faithfully C.J. Carroll

Commissioner of Police Brisbane Qld

The Australian commander at Iluka was prepared to make available two men, horses and pack animals for the trip, but Dent needed Nuss's deputy, Marsh, and a tracker to lead the group to the area.
Dent stayed at Burketown while preparations were being made for the journey In conversations with Nuss he spoke about the significance of July 4th to the American people, and told him that the American military spared no expense or effort in locating the bodies or remains of lost servicemen. It did not matter where they lay, they would be recovered and returned to their families or reburied in military cemeteries; it was the least a grateful nation could do,
At 2.00 pm on July 8th, Roy Marsh, Norman, Dent and Privates Hutcheson and Hayden left Burketown for Durriejellpa. The plane was located at 3.30 pm on July llth. The remains of Workman, McKeon, Hilton and Geydos were removed from their makeshift graves and rolled onto blankets. It was an onerous task. The remains were then strapped to the pack animals and the group returned to Burketown, arriving on July 14th.
Nuss had prepared a list of the inventory that he had stored at the rear of the station: five parachutes; three back rests, three complete sets of harness and part of another, two life preservers, one leather jacket, three revolvers (obsolete), portion of bombsight and one wristlet watch.
Dent signed for the equipment and the next day he returned to Townsville. Nuss hoped that this would be the end of the matter. Once again, he yearned for anonymity, the ordinary and the mundane.
When Gaston eventually returned to the United States he found himself a military hero. The shy, withdrawn and introverted farmer from Alabama became a reluctant celebrity. The nation's newspapers showed little restraint.

The headlines portrayed a new national hero: 'Lone Yank Survives 141 Day Trek in Australian Wilds — Airman Lost Five Months In Jungle'.

The Los Angeles Examiner had the following account:

Survivor of US Bomber Crew Eats Raw Fish — fights wild dogs for food

One of the most amazing 'escape' stories of the war was unfolded today by Staff Sergeant Grady Gaston of Frisco City Alabama.
There have been numerous instances of airmen who have made forced landings in the jungles and spent weeks beating their way back to civilisation, but Gaston's story tops them all
For five incredible months, he wandered over a barren peninsula at the northern tip of Australia, living on uncooked snakes, fish, beef and whatever else he could get. He had no means of starting a fire, and for days on end he went without food and water.
Gaston fought off starvation with meat ripped from the carcass of a dead calf that had been half-eaten by wild dogs until finally on March 21 a native found him and led him to a white cattle rancher.

The sensational account had more errors than just Gaston's rescue date, but it hardly mattered. A ready-made hero was being thrust on the American public. Other newspapers resorted to dramatic and lurid storytelling. Only one newspaper, The Saskatchewan Star Phoenix, conveyed any sense of the tragedy of those who had perished.

The headline of 30 August 1943 was succinct: 'One Came Back'.

The same newspaper also revealed that 'Gaston has since made a rapid recovery. He has gained nearly sixty pounds and looks fairly fit. But in his tired, strained eyes there is the faraway look of a man who has walked with death in dark places.'
Gaston was also a frequent guest on various network radio programs. Injuly 1943,he participated in a radio program spotlighting lost aircraft and newly found national heroes. Amid engine noises and battle sound effects, an NBC announcer addressed the American public:

'Day after day, we read those words "missing in action". We wonder what was the fate of the boys who manned those ships — where they are now — will they return? Sometimes months later they pop up again, back in civilisation, back to their buddies and families who had almost given up hope. We the people have not heard of a more desperate fight against slow death than that put up by Staff Sergeant Grady S, Gaston of Frisco City Alabama. He's home on furlough now. Sergeant. Gaston, welcome home and welcome to the microphone.'
'Thank you, Mr Boulton. It's good to be home.'
'Tell me, Sergeant, what was it you thought most about during all those weeks by yourself?

Responding to questions, Gaston recounted the ordeal from a censored script.

'Well, Mr Boulton, during the day I spent as much time as my strength would allow looking for food and night after night I would dream of home in Alabama when the crepe myrtle was in bloom; of walking down a shady street to the drugstore, then I would wake up and see the desolate Australian wasteland; the glistening hot dry sand'

'What now' Sergeant?'

Im in tiptop shape now and report for duty July 29th. I'm ready and anxious to go back.'

Grady Gaston was neither ready nor anxious to return to duty. From his new posting in Salt Lake City, he wrote the hardest letter of his life:

Dear Miss Speltz,

I am Sergeant Gaston, a crew member that was on the plane that your brother Lt Speltz was on. I don't know how to umte this but if I say anything that I shouldn't, please forgive me.
The authorities have probably told your Mother the details that 1 told them. I also gave them Lt Speltz'wallet and watch and the money he had on him. I hope she got it okay.
As you probably already know Lt Speltz passed away in his sleep Feb.
24th while I was lying by his side. It was just about more than I could
stand, for this left me alone and it was almost two months later that I was
found by a native and finally got out to civilisation to the hospital on May
12th.
I have been home on leave and have reported back for duty now. I am in Salt Lake City and will leave before Sunday, don't know just where I will go from here, but I don't think I will be any good for anything elsejor I can't seem to get over the past, it just keeps pressing on my mind at all times.
Lt Speltz was agood man. He was a hero and he was my buddy. I don't now how to express my feelings towards his family, but if there is any way I can help clear up things in your mind, don't fail to let me hear from you.

 Sincerely a friend.

 S/Sgt. Grady S. Gaston
Prov. Sqdn A
Army Air Base
Salt Lake City, Utah.

Gaston's next posting was in Casper City, Wyoming. He was attached to the 461st Squadron in a training capacity. While in Casper, Gaston met a young woman called Naomi. She was living near the base with her sister and her sisters husband:

My brother-in-law was based at the Casper Air Base and brought Grady home one night. I met him again later. I was a 'Rosie the Riveter' type and worked from 11 pm to 7 am. lie was standing, as were all workers and soldiers. It was the last bus of the night and we sat together. It was a cold night — below zero. He was very quiet, but he seemed anxious. His nerves were very bad. We met again in a non-cons club in 1944. Casper Base closed in early 1945. Grady was transferred to the Kirkland Air Base in Albuquerque. I went home to my parents in Kansas. He got a cross-country flight and proposed in Salina, Kansas. We were married on March 31st 1945.

The other two survivors of the Little Eva ordeal found themselves more capable of social and military involvement. Norm Crosson was allowed some rest and recreation in Sydney. On 12 January 1943, he wrote a letter to his parents, Margaret and John Crosson of Dryden, Cincinnati. It was the first time they had heard any details of the tragedy.

After recalling the essentials of the mission and his rescue, Crosson wrote:

I am now in one of the big cities and will have a two-week rest. I am feeling fine now and soon will be OK. I am a little nervous now when flying but should get over it soon. Our squadron censoring officer said it would be okay to send this. I hope the main office does not stop it. If I do not get over my jitters, I will probably get sent back to the States. I could have asked to be sent back when I got in, but did not want to. I had better start out and get some thing to eat. It is great to be able to get ham and eggs, cokes and hamburgers and all those things we have been missing.

Crosson eventually returned to Iron Range and the 90th Bomb Group. In February he was transferred to New Guinea. Loy Wilson also served in New Guinea. He returned to the United States and became an instructor in the Field Training Branch. On 17 April 1943, he was awarded the Purple Heart.
Harry Nuss never again had to encounter anything approaching the significance of the Little Eva incident. The remainder of his career in the Queensland Police Force was uneventful —just the way he wanted it. His last posting was in the country town of Toowoomba. Harry Nuss retired in 1964, and would die before the end of the decade.
Roy Marsh left the Queensland Police Force in 1950. He vanished from the outback and from public record.
Bob Hagarty left Gregpry Downs in 1950 and served in other rural centres until his retirement in Cooktown in 1969. The Liberator of Moonlight Creek never left him. Until the day he died, Hagarty told anyone who Avould listen, 'I would have found them; just a couple more days and I would have found them.' He now rests with his wife Alice in a small plot in the Cooktown cemetery. The inscription on his tombstone reads:

Robert Phillip Hagarty. 6-7-1909— 14-9-1991.
A Police Officer of Channel, Gulf, Cape Country and Cooktoum.
An Accomplished Bushman and Horseman.

The wounds that Ted Heathcock suffered during the First World War finally claimed him during the Second. He died some time in 1943, a much admired man.
Old Jack Keighran always regretted selling Seven Emus in 1948. He reckoned that he should have sold it a few years later, when both property and cattle prices were better. He bought a much smaller property, a few miles from Seven Emus, called Greenbank, and spent the rest of his days doing what he had always done — minding cattle and minding his business. He died in 1974 and his boys buried him in the back paddock, which is what Jack would have wanted.
In July 1980 a reporter for the Greenville News decided to explore the myth and legend of the person 'Little Eva'. It was revealed that 'Eva'was in fact Genevieve Davis Coyle, who had spent her entire life in Greenville. It is believed that she died in 1960. Her daughter, Jacquelynne, confirmed that Eva was a no-nonsense woman, who had once thrown a man through a glass door and was around 350 pounds. Eva's husbandjack, survived her and remembered Eva's place as being 'Nice — she was good to the boys. There was always some jitterbugging and the beer was always cold'. But he reckoned that Eva was more like 250 pounds than 350. Eva/Genevieve, unaware other place in history, rests in the Beaver Dam Baptist Church on Route 1, Pelzer.

Norm Crosson and Loy Wilson returned to the United States and enjoyed successful careers in the American military and in commerce. Crosson died at his home in Simpsonville, South Carolina, in May 1989.
Loy Wilson died in the arms of his beloved Billie, on 13 July 1991. They had been married for fifty years.
Gaston returned to live in Frisco City, Alabama, in a house 400 metres from where he was born. In 1946 he became the father of a daughter called Mary-Lou. There was further tragedy in his life when the young girl was diagnosed as suffering from cerebral palsy. Gaston did not continue his career in the military. For forty years he delivered mail in the Frisco City area. It seems that he never recovered from his ordeal in the Australian outback and he would seldom recount the incident. Naomi Gaston recently revealed that the only time Grady would confront the Little Eva demons was 'when he was imbibing. His nerves were very bad'.

In 1977, Gaston told researcher Jim Eames:

We didn't give survival all that much thought. We thought that we would be picked up in a matter of hours. We didn't realise, of course, that we were hundreds of miles from where we should have been. When we did move off, we just happened to go the wrong way. Water was always the problem and there wasn't that much eatin goin' on. The others were city people. They wouldn 't eat snakes and the like. I was born and raised in Frisco City, with a population of about 2000 people. I would chew anything, } cause it was the only way to stay alive.

In 1984,in response to a question about the incident,he was succinct: 'It was 141 days of hell'.
It was one of the very few letters Gaston wrote. In 1985 he expressed little interest in a proposed screen treatment of the saga. He had even less interest in the annual 90th Bomb Group veterans reunions.
Gaston fought both his demons and leukaemia in the last years of his life. The chemotherapy treatment for the disease tortured his wasted body. He eventually lost a third of his body weight. It was similar to his plight in 1943, but in the mid-1990s his body lacked the capacity to resist and his mind lacked the resolve.
The Little Eva demons came back to haunt Gaston one more time. On 19 December 1995, Wiley Woods Jr, the 90th Bomb Group's official historian, received a letter from Sergeant First Class Drew T. Holliday, from the American Embassy in Canberra, Australia.

Dear Mr Woods,
To be brief, I was recently approached by an Australian citizen who has in his possession a shell inscribed with a message concerning the December 1942 crash of tail 123762, 'Little Eva', Staff Sergeant Gaston's B-24 Liberator bomber.
The man now in possession of the shell apparently wants to sell it, and has been looking for various buyers, among them the United States.
Frankly, it seems terribly incongruous to demand money for such an artefact of human tragedy.
For that reason, I have begun work with the Australian War Memorial, one of Australia's most respected historical institutions, to attempt to have the shell donated to their museum as a lasting and poignant symbol of the human sacrifices and bonds between America and Australia. The War Memorial agrees with this viewpoint. If we can convince the current owner to donate it, they would place the shell on permanent display in their museum here in Australia's capital.
However, before we can attempt to persuade the owner to donate the shell, we must verify its authenticity to the greatest extent possible. Staff Sergeant Gaston is literally the only person on earth who can do that.
If possible, would you please pass this letter on to Staff Sergeant Gaston, with our request to confirm whether he did, indeed, 'leave a message scratched on a shell.
Also, what are his personal sentiments, if any, regarding the shell? What does he think of the idea to have it placed in an area of honour in the National War Memorial Museum?
Mr Woods, this is a matter of great interest and potential importance to a great many people. We very much appreciate your help with the case.

 Sincerely,
Drew T. Holliday
Sergeant First Class
United States Army

Wiley Woods had long been a stalwart for the 90th Bomb Group. He was also a protector of their history and heritage. He had spent years writing the official history of the group. It was called Legacy of the 90th Bombardment Group — The Jolly Rogers and was hailed as being one of the best of its type. His archives, notes and records have been meticulously catalogued and stored in various institutions. He had never ceased in his search for data on his beloved organisation, and was one of the few veterans who possessed the enthusiasm to send and receive copious letters on the men, machines and exploits of the 90th. Unlike many of his fellow veterans, age had not wearied him. With the exception of a minor hearing problem, Woods — then in his late seventies — was as good as new.
The letter from Canberra came as a surprise. He was well versed with in Little Eva saga and his account of the tragedy in his book was masterly in its narrative, brevity and authenticity.
Drew Holhday had chosen his contact well, even more than he knew. By the mid-1990s, Wiley Woods was a one of the few people who could claim to be both friend and confidant of Grady Gaston.

January 4, 1996.

Dear Sgt. Holliday,

I referred your letter of December 19, 1995 to Grady Gaston in Frisco City, Alabama, for a reply.
I have just talked to Grady by phone. He asked that I advise you that he cannot remember if he left a shell with a message on it. He said it is possible that he could have left such a message, but cannot recall if he did.
Grady is suffering from leukaemia and has lost 50 pounds. He said that he is not up to writing and ask that I reply for him. If you learn more information about the shell that may aid Grady in recalling it please let me know and I will pass it on to Grady.
It would be a nice addition to the War Memorial if the shell could be authenticated.
It is a shame that Grady's health is so bad. He is a major part of the history of the 90th Bomb Group.

Sincerely yours Wiley O. Woods Jr

The man who claimed ownership of the shell was Harry Mackney, from Mareeba in North Queensland. This was the same small town that served as a base for the squadrons of the 90th Bomb Group in 1942.
In a response to inquiries by Drew Holliday, Mackney gave an account of how the shell came into his possession:

The shell was given to me by my stepson in 1963. He had carried it around in his haversack for a number of years prior to that. He is now deceased. He said that he found the shell near a campfire in the MacArthur river area of the Northern Territory.
Intrigued by the writing on the shell he made some local enquiries. He was told that the shell could have something to do with a plane crash during the war. If authentic, it would be one that was originally picked up by an Aboriginal stockman and given to his boss — the head stockman — or manager— on that cattle station. It had subsequently been lost, or probably just dumped or forgotten.
My stepson carried it around for years in his haversack, which served to cut off a lot of the writing. However, I feel that enough remains to allow Mr Gaston to recognise his own hand.

Halliday sent a number of photographs of the item, which revealed some legible text:
'US Army B24. Bailed out Dec 4,1942 Reached here Dec 24 1942'. There were four names scratched on the surface which were still legible: 'Grimes', 'Dyer', 'Speltz' and 'Gaston'. There was also some more text, but it was indecipherable after all these years.
The letter and photographs were sent to Gaston by Woods. In a subsequent letter to Holliday, Woods made an interesting comment:

From my conversation with Grady, I get the impression that Grady does not want the shell to be authentic.

Holliday was not be deterred. Interest in the artefact was considerable. He wrote to Woods on 8 February 1996.

The letter was virtually a plea:

If authenticated, the shell's formal and fitting entry into Australia's historical heritage would be an event of some importance. The War Memorial has told me that this would have Ministerial involvement, press and television coverage, and possibly even involve the attention of the Prime Minister. Seven men died in this tragedy. Seven American families were left grieving. We could now give their deaths meaning.

The response from Woods seemed to be the last word. After telling Holliday that he himself 'believed the shell to be authentic', he concluded:

I only wish that Grady could authenticate the shell and I am sorry that positive identification will never occur. I feel that I am unable to be of further help on this puzzle, but I would appreciate your advising me of the final decision as to its authenticity.

There is no question that the artefact was authentic. Gaston himself inadvertently confirmed its legitimacy. His official report on the incident, written shortly after his rescue, mentioned that the date of the bailout was December 4th. It was an error. The actual date was December 2nd. The date scratched on the shell was December 4th. Any potential forger would almost certainly have used the date revealed in numerous reliable accounts — December 2nd.
However, the opportunity to commemorate the men involved in the Little Eva saga was lost. The shell remained in Mareeba.
The world has changed since those dark days sixty years ago. The protagonists in the saga are long gone. The old shack that became the final home for the lost Americans has also disappeared. The only tangible reminder of this tragic event is the Liberator of Moonlight Creek.

Little Eva still lies in the same spot that proved so elusive sixty years ago. Although it is listed as a tourist attraction, few people visit the wreck. Norman Crosson could not have picked a more distant and isolated location to crash his aircraft.
However, over the years, Little Eva has been violated. The weapons and ordnance are long since gone and during the Sixties the four Pratt and Whitney engines were torn from the wing housings, presumably for use on other aircraft. The fuselage was broken up in the process and the wreck now bears little resemblance to its former glory. The few who now visit the wreck seem obliged to leave the legacy of graffiti on what remains of Eva's superstructure. Despite its condition the wreck still radiates a feeling of intimidation and a doomed sense of history.
The story of the tragedy is now also part of historic folklore. There seems to be more myth than reality. The search for the truth has been as elusive as the original survivors were.
It would never occur to Grady Gaston, or any other of the Americans involved in this incident, that the odyssey has inspired generations of Aboriginal people to celebrate the event in a ritual dance called the Ka-Wayawayama — the Aeroplane Dance.
Indigenous people from north-west Queensland recreate the incident with much enthusiasm and vigour. The dance was originally created by an Aboriginal elder called Karrijiji (aka Frank) from the Yanyuwa people. Frank was involved in the original search for the men. Aboriginal people from the Yanyuwa and tribes who perform the ritual have transformed the Little Eva incident into Aboriginal folklore.

On 9 June 2001, the Aeroplane Dance was performed as part of the Warrawulla Festival at Borroloola. Surviving Aboriginal searchers were presented with Territory Defender Certificates by Lieu-tenant-General Peter Cosgrove.
John Keighran was also a recipient. He dedicated his certificate to his father, Old Jack, who had found Gaston all those years before. Strike-a-Light's son, Kelly Martin — Burrulangii — was there to receive the certificate for his late father. It was a big day for Borroloola and for the Aboriginal people.
In April 2003, a memorial was unveiled in the town of Doomadgee. The names of the ten crew-members of Little Eva are inscribed on a plaque. This Anzac Day event was one of the most important ever associated with the town. Representatives from the Queensland Police Force, the United States Military, the Australian Armed forces, Borroloola police, the Aboriginal people and local homesteaders attended the service.
This grouping was a representation of the protagonists involved in the original search, sixty years before.
The saga of Little Eva was a little-known incident in a conflict that was dealing with death every day. During the war, most American servicemen had seen the civilised Australia, but only a few like Gaston and his colleagues had experienced the savagery and isolation of this sparsely populated land.
Grady Gaston may have survived the ordeal, but he did not survive the experience.

On 8 January 1998,the Savage Wilderness claimed its final victim.