Max Billington on the anniversary of the Royal Commission into British Nuclear Tests in Australia and what is still hidden from historians, veterans, and their families.
This week marks 41 years since the Royal Commission into British Nuclear Tests in Australia began. Between 1952 and 1963, over 8,000 Australian defence personnel took part in British atomic bomb testing at Monte Bello, Emu Field, and Maralinga. Many of these “atomic veterans” wore no protective clothing and had little to no idea what radiation might do to them. By 1984, veterans’ efforts to raise public awareness of their experiences, in combination with a controversial government plan to return a still-radioactive Maralinga to its traditional owners, succeeded in prompting a Royal Commission to investigate the tests’ impact on Australian civilians and servicemen.
The Commission heard evidence from veterans and civilians alike of systemic failings in the application of safety standards during the tests. Its examination of both official test documentation and the testimonies of eyewitnesses revealed a rich and highly complicated record of military involvement in an experimental weapons’ development program emblematic of the Cold War imaginary.
Despite this, the Commission was ultimately unable to achieve redress for atomic veterans. The Australian government today still does not recognise the presence of defence personnel at the British tests as military service, referring only to “participants”, rather than veterans. As the number of surviving veterans dwindles, their first-hand knowledge of the nuclear testing is increasingly lost. Yet, historians and families of veterans continue to face obstacles in accessing alternative information about the British program, including service and medical records, as well as records of compensation cases. As part of my PhD research into Australian atomic veterans, I have had difficulty gaining access to records held in both Australia and the UK. Like many researchers, I have become increasingly reliant on the private collections held by the children and grandchildren of veterans to help me better understand veterans’ experiences.
It shouldn’t be their responsibility to keep this knowledge alive: that belongs to the governments who allowed and administered the tests.
Without the memories of atomic veterans, we risk forgetting that Australian servicemen were ever there at all. The Australian and British governments, through their archival institutions, must ensure that the wealth of test records in their possession remain open and accessible to both researchers and the public.
Service personnel kept in the dark
The soldiers, sailors, and airmen involved in the tests had little understanding of what their duties would entail. Their main role within the program was operational support – physical labour, maintaining aircraft, security services, and transport for British scientists. Their superiors decided that these tasks did not require even basic knowledge of nuclear science.
At the Royal Commission, atomic veterans remembered banal duties. Engineer J C Hutton described himself as “just…a manual labourer” on Operation Buffalo at Maralinga in 1956. One of the main duties of G R Townsend, an engine reconditioner, was cleaning aircraft. Townsend was told aircraft that had flown at Operations Hurricane (Monte Bello, 1952) and Totem (Emu Field, 1953) were “[s]ometimes…safe, and other times they would say that they were not safe”. He was required to clean them all the same.
Image: Australian War Memorial, 1952, construction of a radio antenna ahead of Operation Hurricane
Personnel in the Royal Australian Air Force (RAAF) performed cloud-tracking and air-sampling exercises, following and sometimes flying through a mushroom cloud to record its trajectory and the level of fallout. Even these personnel had no training to comprehend the risks they were facing. Signaller W A Turner, who flew at Operation Totem, explained that he did not understand fallout readings given by a machine onboard the aircraft, despite being in charge of operating it.
Testimonies at the Royal Commission also show that the Australian forces had an equally poor understanding of radiation and proper decontamination procedures. Wireless operator L Edwards also flew at Totem and was told to take multiple showers to rid himself of radioactivity after landing. Those overseeing the showers did not realise that Edwards might need a different towel to dry himself off in between washes.
The lack of training led to a lax attitude around safety procedures, both among ordinary servicemen and their superiors. Although servicemen were issued with equipment to monitor their exposure to radiation – such as Geiger counters – they were not told how to interpret the readings.
In some cases, this equipment did not work at all. Mechanic Ric Johnstone told the Commission that everyone at Maralinga received a film badge, which would change colour when exposed to radiation. Once they realised it never changed colour, Johnstone said the badges “became a joke”.
Ignorance of radiation exposure discouraged defence personnel from taking safety precautions seriously. Pilot K Wilson thought the protective suits worn by British scientists during Operation Hurricane were ridiculous compared to his own shorts and shirt. Wilson explained to the Commission his opinion that, “if they wanted to wear overalls…up there in the heat, they were welcome to it”.
Growing awareness of atomic effects
Atomic veterans’ attitudes toward their role in the nuclear tests changed as they began to suffer significant health problems following their service. High rates of cancer, coupled with the untimely death of friends from the testing days, suggested to veterans they had served in unsafe conditions. Yet, the difficulty of proving a link between an illness and exposure to radiation years prior confounded veterans’ attempts to seek compensation from the government.
The responsible government body, the Commissioner for Employees’ Compensation, reported in the lead-up to the Royal Commission that of 154 radiation-based claims submitted, just six had been accepted.
In the late-1970s and early 1980s, a movement of former atomic servicemen emerged, encouraged by growing public awareness about the dangers of nuclear exposure, the effects of nuclear testing and uranium mining on Aboriginal communities amid the emerging land rights movement, and parallel activism among Vietnam veterans to gain recognition and compensation for exposure to Agent Orange.
Former RAAF transport driver Avon Hudson was among the first atomic veterans to speak publicly about the tests. In a 1976 television interview, Hudson blew the whistle on secret minor trials held at Maralinga after 1957. Hudson then joined forces with reporters from the Adelaide Advertiser to expose lingering radioactivity at Maralinga.
Around the same time, in New South Wales, Ric Johnstone founded the Australian Nuclear Veterans’ Association (NSW branch) in 1979 with comrades from his days at Maralinga. Johnstone later appeared alongside four fellow veterans in the 1981 film ‘Backs to the Blast’, which revealed the poor safety standards at the tests. These included, as the name suggests, the instruction to simply face away from nuclear blasts.
Image: BBC, 9 May 2017, soldiers face away from an impending nuclear explosion
Video: Ric Johnstone speaks about his experience at Maralinga, UNSW Australians at War Film Archive,
‘Backs to the Blast’ also emphasised the lack of government support for Australian personnel in the aftermath of the tests. Peggy Jones, widow of Warrant Officer William Jones, was also interviewed for the documentary. She described the government’s refusal to provide financial support for her husband’s illness following his medical discharge at the conclusion of Operation Totem.
Hudson, Johnstone and Jones rapidly became the public face of a veteran movement which alleged that their service at the nuclear tests had made them ill, and that the Australian government was refusing to admit responsibility.
A Royal Commission: “our one and only chance”
By 1984, public outrage led to a Royal Commission – the nation’s first and only public inquiry into the British test programs. Atomic veterans viewed the Commission as “perhaps our one and only chance” to have their service officially recognised and compensated by the Australian government.
The Royal Commission focused on eight major areas of investigation, including the ‘Black Mist’ incident, a neglect toward Indigenous Australians living near the test sites, and the possibility that Australian cities had been contaminated with fallout. Three of these areas referred exclusively to Australian servicemen: their use of protective clothing; the safety of RAAF ground crew working on contaminated aircraft; and the measures the RAAF took to protect aircrew flying during the tests.
Image: press photograph of Totem 1, the weapon’s test associated with the ‘Black Mist’ incident in 1953
The Commission viewed the question of exposure as “two-fold”: first, the possibility of intense, acute exposure to radiation, and second, long-term, low-level exposure to a contaminated environment and equipment. This two-fold scope seemingly accounted for the difficulty of proving a definitive link between low-level exposure and an illness like cancer.
However, the final report, published in 1985, was inconclusive on the matter of the safety of defence personnel. The report found that while safety standards at the tests were “reasonable”, it also acknowledged “departures, some serious and some minor, from compliance” with these standards.
Furthermore, although the Commission ruled that atomic veterans were at an “increased” risk of cancer, it was ultimately “unable to quantify” this risk. The report concluded that “[a]ny illness, disease or abnormality” reported in witness testimony to the Commission “cannot be unequivocally associated with radiation exposure”.
Disingenuous proceedings
This outcome reflected a Royal Commission bedevilled by British and Australian government obstruction. Early in the Commission proceedings, it emerged that the British government possessed a right to “veto” the examination of any official documents relating to the British tests, including those not already belonging to British institutions. Chair of the Commission, J R McClelland, described this as “a rather unsatisfactory state of affairs” that severely limited the Commissioners’ understanding of nuclear testing in Australia. Frustrated, McClelland argued that “we should not conduct this Commission with our hands tied behind our backs”.
Exacerbating the access issue, a legal representative for the Australian Commonwealth government was not appointed until the beginning of October 1984, three months into the Commission. As Michael Adams, representative for a coalition of atomic veterans, pointed out, the absence of government representation made it impossible for the Commission to ensure its access to relevant official documents. Following the arrival of J McIntyre as the government’s chosen representative in October, Adams commented that “the Commonwealth [had been] hauled kicking and screaming” to its own inquiry.
McIntyre’s presence did not guarantee the Commission access to official Australian records. Three days after his arrival, McIntyre delivered a newly unclassified document containing information about RAAF involvement in Operation Totem, including “full” lists of participating aircrews. By this time, the Commissioners had already heard from four atomic veterans and were halfway through the witness testimony of W A Turner, a signaller who had assisted with air-sampling at Totem. The representative for Indigenous Australian interests at the Commission, G Eames, was forced to pause his questioning of Turner to consider the new information.
The following day, proceedings began with a new file from McIntyre, this time containing interviews conducted by the Australian Department of Defence. Additional RAAF files concerning flights at Operation Totem were also introduced later in the day. McIntyre suggested that the latter would “provide a much more readable, factual basis” for military service at Totem “than we get through these witnesses” – referring dismissively to the atomic veterans who had already taken the stand. The Commission lamented that the delayed introduction of official documentation might require recalling veteran witnesses, but in the end, those who had already testified were given no opportunity to respond to the new evidence.
Furthermore, according to the newly provided government record, some of these veterans did not even exist. L Edwards gave the Commission a detailed description of his role in cloud-tracking at Totem, including flying through a mushroom cloud, radiation readings, and decontamination showers. Edwards specifically remembered that most of the radioactive contamination found on his body during decontamination was detected “on the back of the neck”, where the concentration of Californian Poppy hair cream was thickest. At the end of his testimony, the Commissioners informed Edwards that his name did not appear in the lists of RAAF personnel present at Totem kept by the British Ministry of Defence. Neither did the name of former Squadron Signals Leader B Puxty, who explained at length his responsibility of sending radiation readings taken from the Totem mushroom cloud back to base.
Despite this obstruction and clear omissions, the Commission privileged the incomplete official test records over veterans’ testimonies. The eleventh-hour delivery of the aircrew records led the Commissioners to reconsider the value of veteran testimony they had already heard. Furthermore, throughout proceedings, the Commissioners bemoaned the lack of access to information – referring to government documents – in the face of extensive witness testimony offered by atomic veterans.
Avon Hudson later reflected that the Royal Commission “achieved nothing for the veterans”. Because it did not definitively link veterans’ radiation exposure with their illnesses, the Commission’s recommendation for compensation was “worthless”. After the release of the final report, Hudson remembers, many of his fellow veterans “just gave up trying”, feeling that they were simply being “wiped from the memory of the country.”
Out of sight, out of mind: atomic records hidden in the archives
Forty one years on from the Royal Commission, records from the British test program are significantly easier to locate. Accessing them, however, is another matter.
In 2021, I requested access to the Operation Totem Executive Committee documents, housed at the United Kingdom National Archives (UKNA). In January 2022, roughly four months after I sent my request, I received a letter from the UK Ministry of Defence (MoD), informing me that a “review of historic files relating to” the British tests was currently underway. As part of this review, my requested documents had “been withdrawn from general access”.
In other words, the Totem files had been removed from the UKNA and were in the possession of the MoD. What had started as a standard request to the UKNA was escalated, without my knowledge, into a request under the Freedom of Information (FOI) Act. The MoD informed me that it was treating my inquiry as an FOI request in the same letter which informed me such request had been denied.
My experience with the UKNA’s testing records is not unique. A major review of records pertaining to the UK’s nuclear weapons program has been underway since January 2021. This information is not available in the UKNA catalogue, which indicates that the files are accessible. The last update provided on the MoD review was published in November of last year. It states that the Department is in the final stage of its five-part review process – the same stage it commenced work on three years prior. While the MoD claims that over 67,000 files have been released to public access during the review, the Totem files remain closed under the Freedom of Information Act.
Researchers of atomic veterans face similar challenges in accessing records from the National Archives of Australia (NAA). Searching for “nuclear veterans” in the NAA catalogue yields 44 files, including veteran association newsletters, written submissions to the Royal Commission, and correspondence between veterans and the Australian government. Of these 44 files, only 9 have been opened, and the remaining 35 are yet to have their access status determined.
Similarly, of 2,400 records related to veteran compensation cases housed at the NAA, fewer than half have been assessed to determine their availability for researchers. Exactly three of those already deemed open access have been digitised. The rest remain unexamined and in storage at the NAA’s Canberra facility.
These delays at the NAA are likely due largely to funding, as the NAA has suffered from repeated cuts in recent years. The crisis in funding for the NAA has resulted in fewer staff and increasingly prolonged delays in accessing unopened materials.
Progressive cuts to NAA funding facilitate far-reaching political oversight of the history that researchers are capable of writing. The combination of the high volume of records yet to be assessed by a shrinking NAA staff and the significant backlog of assessment requests – 26,842 at the time of writing– limits researchers’ ability to examine the decision-making of past governments.
In the case of British testing, this includes the Australian government’s willingness to prioritise the acquisition of nuclear capability over the safety of defence personnel – decision-making that is increasingly relevant to Australia today, in light of the AUKUS pact and its potential to create a new generation of atomic veterans.
It also prevents researchers from interrogating sources cited in support of the government’s preferred version of historical events. The only contemporary official history of the British testing published to date, Britain, Australia and the Bomb, claims that “the mass of evidence” considered by the authors “shows that the health and safety” of defence personnel was “regarded very seriously and…a great deal of trouble was taken over radiological protection”.
The ransacking of Australia’s national institution for record-keeping further stands in contrast with the $500 million dollar expansion of the Australian War Memorial down the road – where the history of Australian service personnel in British nuclear testing is contained to a single, brief display highlighting Australia’s role in the Cold War nuclear arms race.
Australia’s atomic history remains obscured
Historians of today are stymied by the same lack of documentation that hindered the Royal Commission into British testing. Whether records are actively withdrawn from archives for review in the name of “security” (as the MoD assured me) or simply left inaccessible in the limbo of the NAA’s “not yet examined” category, the result is the same. Over 60 years since the conclusion of the British testing in Australia, the wealth of official documentation present in UK and Australian archives remains locked within a cycle of removal and re-classification.
The withholding of pertinent safety information from service personnel during the test program lingers at the core of the memories of Australian atomic veterans. Painfully aware of the difficulties of waiting on bureaucratic processes, they have worked to ensure their history is not forgotten. Some, like Avon Hudson, maintain their public presence as spokespeople for the anti-nuclear movement.
Video: AEON Media, teaser footage from Accounts of a Nuclear Whistleblower featuring Avon Hudson discussing the nuclear tests
Others generously give their time and cooperation to fellow veterans and researchers to ensure that the British testing can remain at least partially visible within landscape of Australian military history. My PhD project, ‘Manufacturing Acceptance; Erasing Inconvenience: Examining State Ownership of the Australian Atomic Veteran’, seeks to recover the stories of atomic veterans and their families through oral histories, to understand more of veterans’ lived experience of atomic testing.
However, old age and ill-health amongst surviving atomic veterans put this knowledge at significant risk. For example, the website for the Australian Nuclear Veterans’ Association ceased to be updated after Ric Johnstone’s death in 2011. The website, and the material Johnstone had meticulously collected, were taken down sometime later. The site is now only accessible in snapshot form via the WayBack Machine.
Image: Header of former Australian Nuclear Veterans Association website
Through this process, the forums previously maintained by the website, which served as a means for the descendants of atomic veterans to record and connect over their family’s experiences, have been completely erased.
The maintenance of this history should not be left solely on the shoulders of veterans, survivors, and their descendants.
As the opportunity to discuss and record the experiences of atomic veterans firsthand dwindles, the archival material possessed by the UKNA and NAA takes on even greater public and historical significance.
Importantly, it is not the archives that bear responsibility for the inaccessibility of test records, but the British and Australian governments themselves. In the case of Australian nuclear history, the persistent suppression of official records enables the Australian government to maintain the level of control over the narrative of British testing evident at the 1984 Royal Commission. As a result, the crucial involvement of atomic veterans in the tests is recast as “participation” – a description that obscures the government’s role in placing its service personnel at risk of radiation exposure.
Without urgent redress regarding the current stasis of records in our leading archival institutions, the experiences of Australian atomic veterans will become permanently lost. Australian and British archives possess a significant collection of veterans’ histories, told in their own words with the aim of counteracting records that deny their existence. These collections must be made available for public consideration, to enable recognition of veterans’ experiences beyond the halls of power.
Any atomic veterans or their descendants interested in discussing their experiences can see information about Max’s PhD project here
