Padre Post

I remember how the RSM looked so depressed. He was one of those RSMs of august and classic fame - the bushy eyebrows, the moustache and, if it weren't for his great fitness, he could almost pass off as Colonel Sanders for Kentucky Fried. I never told him that, of coarse.

"Padre, I'm not happy," he announced, as if his expression were not obvious.

I too adopted the low, glum eyebrow position.

"What's up, RSM?" I asked, making several sacred soothing sounds. His face sank even deeper into dreadful depression.

"That brigade marathon," he announced, sadly. "Twenty-two of the brigade's fittest and best ran it. A soldier in our unit won it."

My low, glum eyebrow position immediately exploded into a gigantic gleeful gloat! Holy snapping snooker balls! What on earth was wrong with WINNING? Our unit never won anything, and so our victory in sport was as scarce as speckled rocking-horse poo.

RSM sighed, "Cpl Smithwell won it."

Well! What was wrong with that? This was a logistics unit, and it was great to hear that one of our soldiers had somehow outrun all those biceppy infanteers, and all those arty road-roadrunners. Hooray for the Loggies!

The RSM looked at me forlornly.

"No, no, no. You just don't understand, Padre. It wasn't a BLOKE who did it. This was Cpl BELINDA Smithwell. She ran that marathon, and beat every one of them. A GIRL won it."

I could understand why an infantry RSM might be inconsolable, to think that a "loggie girl" from somewhere else had beaten the very best in his premier battalion. But for this soldier's own RSM to be like that - it was mystifying, and somewhat chilling.

It then dawned on me that old attitudes really do die hard.

Yes, there are some female soldiers in the Army - like male soldiers - who do not fit in, who do not pull their weight. But, like their male counterparts, there are quite a number that shine, and shine brilliantly, and who are courageous pioneers. I say courageous in the highest sense of the word.

Because I was a cheery chummy chaplain, I absolved the RSM and, leaving him in his depression, I quickly went and found Cpl Smithwell.

She was unassuming and bright, and I learned that everyone respected her. She told me about the sportsmanship and the congratulations given her by the other marathon runners, and the gender thing wasn't an issue for these champions.

It was at about this time that another young woman called Cathy Freeman was exciting the national mind, and just as we are proud to call Cathy an Australian, I found I was more than proud to call Cpl Smithwell a great Australian soldier.

Recently, I learned that she had been commissioned. Not only was she a runner and a soldier, she was clearly a leader who was bringing much to advance our Army and our people.

I do not blame my old RSM for his attitudes, because it is only natural to be hesitant about change. But our Army has changed, and it's appalling to think how much lesser we would be if we didn't have people like Belinda Smithwell.

Of course, matters should be fixed in one's own backyard first - so, Principal Chaplain Army, I know you are reading this - what about some more female chaplains?

We have never had one in fulltime service. Not ever! Our Department and our Army can only be enhanced and strengthened by their service. I might even give Belinda a call.

By Chap Ben Granger