Note: Alan was a very keen and accomplished sportsman. In his final year at Woodville High School he was captain of both the school cricket and football teams. He was also a reasonable golfer (although not as good as his younger brother, Ken) and a good tennis player. (He used to practise with Davis Cup and Grand Slam champion, Ken McGregor, who lived nearby.)
Due to some illness around this time, he had to give up football and so cricket became his primary focus. At age 17 he played his first district cricket game for West Torrens and quickly established a hitherto unmatched record. His district cricketing career was very short being broken up by country postings for the bank and by the second World War. However, in a mere 4 seasons he scored 3669 runs for an average of 40.77, hit 12 centuries and took 37 wickets. The 12 centuries still, in 2009, stands as a club record shared with two other players.
Alan also played 12 matches for South Australia between 1932 and 1935. Here he wasn't quite so successful, his highest score being only 80.
During the 1950s Alan also coached the Sturt district cricket team for three seasons taking them to two premierships. His sons recall fondly how he helped develop their own sporting prowess, not by competing with them, but by teaching them the skills and tactics of the game. "You must watch the ball as it leaves the bowler's fingers, observing its spin, swing, bounce and turn and then see it compress onto the bat, playing it with your weight on the front foot."
Note: Alan left school after his Leaving year and immediately joined the Savings Bank of South Australia as a clerk. He rose all the way through the ranks to the very top, becoming General Manager (CEO) in 1972 until his retirement in 1977.
The Savings Bank held massive capital reserves made up of the savings of conservative South Australian families with long memories of the depression. The bank focused on providing housing loans at interest rates marginally below the rates of its national competitors, such as the Commonwealth Bank, the National Bank and the Bank of New South Wales. The Bank of Adelaide and the Commercial Bank of Australia were the major lenders to private enterprise. The premier of South Australia at the time was the young Labor Party turk, Don Dunstan, who wanted to merge the government owned State Bank with the Savings Bank in order to tap into its reserves to fund major infrastructure and other projects in the State. The bank had an independent charter, beyond the legislative power of the government. So to achieve its goal the government had to get the trustees of the bank to agree.
Don Dunstan's campaign started early in Alan's term of office by progressively hand-picking and tutoring new trustees. Alan was totally appalled at the proposition and took it as his personal vocation to convince every trustee that the Savings Bank should stay independent and maintain its charter. Despite the physical and mental toll Alan was successful and the banks did not merge until a few years after his retirement when the fortitude of successive managers finally gave way under the onslaught.
The rest is history, as they say. Tim Marcus Clark, the new head of the merged bank, lead it to total ruin, bringing down with it, the state government and the premier. It took the intervention of the federal government to save the depositors and borrowers.
This was no consolation to Alan. However, he eventually got over it, and gave his retirement years to growing prize roses and to his grand-children.
Alan enlisted in the RAAF on 31 Mar 1941. He trained in wireless, gunnery, signals and later, radar. He was promoted to Pilot Officer on 1 Oct 1942. On 23 Oct 1942 he was posted to No. 2 Squadron as a wireless and gunnery officer flying Hudsons and then Beauforts out of Darwin. On 1 Apr 1943 he was promoted to Flying Officer. On 1 Oct 1944 he was promoted to Flight Lieutenant. On 4 Dec 1944 he was posted to No. 24 Squadron as a signals officer flying Liberators out of Morotai, New Guinea and Balikpapan, Borneo. He was demobilised on 7 Dec 1945. He was awarded the Star, Pacific Star and the Defence Medal.
Publication: https://www.ozatwar.com/ Citation Details: FORCED LANDING OF A LOCKHEED HUDSON AT ANNESLEY POINT, NT ON 14 MARCH 1943 Text: Peter Dunn has compiled a comprehensive story about this crash. https://www.ozatwar.com/ozcrashes/nt216.htm
Scanned images from the accident record are included in the media section of this page. The crew list omits Alan Shepherd but his Flying Log Book entry verifies his presence on the flight.
Note: Extract from AG Shepherd 416156 Flying Log Book:
Converting lat/long minutes to decimal gives the nominal location as 11.5333ºS, 132.9167ºE. Drawing a circle around this point of 1 minute of latitude and longitude encompasses Wauk Lagoon and Murgenella where now (2009) there is an air strip, both about 1.8Km SSW of the nominal landing point.
17 Mar 1943 Last Sunday we set out in our lovely aeroplane on a job. After being airborne for an hour or so both engines gave up the ghost and left us, so to speak, without means of support. Tom hurriedly jettisoned our bombs, we all jammed ourselves into what we considered the safest positions and within a couple of very long minutes Tom had miraculously landed us in a swamp about ten miles inland from the Australian coast and a good 150 miles from any white-man's habitation. Getting down safely was an exhibition of very excellent airmanship on our pilot's part, in the first place, and a marvellous combination of fortuitous circumstances, which we can call the guiding hand of God more than "luck".
For some reason he doesn't know himself, Tom was flying a thousand feet higher than usual, just in the right place was a small swamp clearing with heavy timber thick around it for miles and we just made it, taking the light top branches off a couple of trees and clearing heavy trunks that we couldn't have got through by just a foot or two. We were all scratched and one or two a little bruised, but not one of us was really hurt at all, though the poor plane was properly wrecked. Her flying days were over, poor girl.
Fortunately, the W/T equipment was only slightly damaged and within an hour we had repaired it and were in communication with our base. They cheered us greatly with the reply that help was on the way. We built beacon fires at a safe distance from the petrol and oil covered wreck and sat down to wait and review the situation. You may guess that the shining light that filled our minds was amazed gratitude at our good fortune in being alive to tell the tale. Now that we had been able to report and give our position to base we knew that, although there was some pretty stiff walking and some hardship in the way of mosquitoes, etc, in front of us, we would be rescued before many days were up.
Soon we heard a plane, lighted our beacons, and were located and succoured by provisions of water, bread and butter and good old bully beef together with a message to walk to a certain point on the coast and wait the arrival of a naval vessel, which had been sent to pick us up.
We set out on our trek at 1630 hours, carrying emergency rations, two gallons of water, a compass and map, the bread and bully beef and the silk from a parachute, which we hoped would provide us with a tent, which would reduce the mosquito menace to a minimum during our camping halts.
Gosh, that walk was a nightmare. For hours we walked through water up to our knees, at every step our feet sank into the mud and stinking water filled our flying boots and made walking a torture. We waded through creeks up to our waists and tripped over vines, which seemed like blooming octopus tentacles reaching out for us. At 10 p.m. we decided it was time to call it a night and we lit a fire, made what we thought was a mosquito-proof tent out of our 'chute and prepared to go to sleep. Mosquito-proof! My eye! Goodness knows where the mossies did come in but come in they did - in their thousands. I think that their noise was worse than their bites.
We set off again at 8 a.m. calculating that we were two miles from the beach. Before long we came to a wide belt of mangroves and spent a lovely couple of hours clambering over mangrove roots and stinking bog. Then we came to a river about sixty feet across and probably ten feet deep. Not liking the thought of crocodiles, which abound in most of these rivers, we decided to follow it to the sea, which we did. However, then we found ourselves a couple of miles away from our rendezvous and had to swim the river after all. In crossing we lost a couple of revolvers and one or two other things when our Observer tried to throw a bundle over and badly misjudged the distance. We did get our water and our provisions over though, which was the main thing. The river was a bit more than brackish and possibly fever-ridden as far as we were concerned, so we were rationing our water in case the ship didn't arrive as arranged.
The ship was not there, but another of our planes found us and signalled to us with an aldis lamp that she was a couple of hours away and for us to light a fire to guide her to us, which we did. About this time it started to rain heavily. We were fortunate to find a couple of native mia-mias, (little huts made of saplings and paper bark) where we were able to shelter. There were no signs of abos having been there for some time.
About 1530 hours the ship arrived and took us aboard - and we were thankful. Weren't we amazingly fortunate? First of all to come out of the crash alive and unhurt and then to be taken aboard ship 30 hours afterwards. The captain, officers and men are treating us very well. They were able to get to us so quickly because they happened to be on a job in the neighbourhood and were wirelessed to pick us up. The journey back to Darwin will take about three days. Because of the dangerous waters we travel only during the daytime and anchor at night.
There are about a dozen abo boys, three abo women and two dear little tarbaby piccaninnies on board. The boys are Melville Islanders, said to be easily the finest type of abo in Australia. They seem more intelligent than most, but are just like children all the same. They are clean and cheerful workers. They are employed by the Government as aeroplane spotters, trackers, etc. When we anchor at night they go ashore with their spears and raffia baskets and come back with fish and turtle eggs for our meals. Scrambled turtle eggs taste very nice indeed.
Last night the black boys dug up some cobbers on the mainland, we all went ashore and they turned on a corroboree for us. They are great actors and portrayed in their dancing little plays about hunting buffalo, crocs, wallaby, fighting between the tribes and so on. They rather shocked us with one wedding dance, which was quite lurid in its uninhibited revelation of wooing and winning. In none of these dances do the gins take part except to sit well in the background chanting and occasionally rising and doing a sort of shuffle-on-the-spot as an accompaniment for their lords and masters.
We should probably be back on Friday. It is hard to realise that what we cover in an hour by air takes about three days by sea. The routes the ships take are governed by coastlines, shoals, reefs, etc.
Several times we have sighted aircraft in the distance. They have all turned out to be our own planes, thank goodness. The niggers have astounding eyesight and see planes long before anyone else.
19 Mar 1943 We arrived back at camp last night and very glad to be back too. We are all quite well except for scratches and bruises on legs and arms and mosquito bites, but are not allowed to fly again until the M.O. has given us an overhaul and treated our blood for malaria germs. Sgt. Matheson, who was our 3rd WAG, is going down on leave almost immediately. Colin Storrie, (2nd WAG) came back to find that his promotion to Flight Sergeant has been gazetted.
It was a funny feeling to think, "In a few seconds I may be dead". None of us was conscious of fear, though for a few nights Tom said he was haunted by visions of the trees around the edge of the little swamp looming up before his eyes every time he closed them.
There was one young "boong" named Ginger Mark 2 - as black as the ace of spades - who wouldn't go ashore at one place because "Longfeller Mary, she sit down along this place. Last time she killen me here" (placing an anguished hand on his behind) "she catchem hold er me, she chasem me, me go along shore. She want to marry me. No sir, me stay alonga ship." And although the boys teased him unmercifully, young Ginger Mark 2 stayed aboard where Longfeller Mary couldn't catch him.
Later. Just been examined by the M.O., and declared fit for operational flight again.
Note: From the middle 1950s, with his family now well established, Alan became more and more active in community service.
The Westbourne Park Methodist Church was central to the social and community life which he and Una made for their family of five children. Alan became a trustee of the church and treasurer. As well as bank, sport and local politics, church politics became a fascination for the children around the dinner table - much more exciting than Sunday School and the dreary sermons.
When Alan was elected to the Mitcham District Council the conversation became even more interesting. However, rather than lingering over his food and waxing eloquent, as was his wont, Alan often had to rush off to mediate disputes between various constituents whose fences, chickens, dogs or children were threatening World War 3.
Alan's rapid rise up the executive ladder at the bank put a stop to all of this and it wasn't until after retirement that he again tuned in to the local community, this time focusing on the things that interested him personally such as bowls and growing roses where he took on various offices when they were thrust upon him.
Note: Here are some of Dad's expressions, undoubtedly passed down through the generations:
If wishes were horses, beggars would ride. He's not worth a row of beans. You are a naughty-bad, wicked-bold, dirty-faced boy. Blast! [This was the extremity of his swearing. When tested to the limit, for example, after hitting his finger with a hammer.] You're not the only pebble on the beach. [Indignantly:] I resemble that remark. You can call me anything you like, but don't call me late for dinner. [Dad, can you come out to play?] Do I have to? I've got a bone in my leg. I'm flat out like a lizard drinking. This will warm the cockles of your heart. Clean as a new pin. [Particularly after wiping one of his babies' bottoms - Dad did his share.] Tender as a baby's bottom. [How old are you, Dad?] I'm as old as my tongue and a little bit older than my teeth. The kindness of your heart is only exceeded by your great beauty. [To anyone, female or male.]
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