I imagine that the Fuzzy Wuzzy Angels looking down on us would have been nodding quietly in approval. It was, after all, nothing less than what they would have expected from their own. For the Australians watching our Papuan carriers helping Monty along the Kokoda Track, the emotion was more palpable.

Bill ‘Monty’ Montgomery was 79 years of age. A retired Automotive Warehouse Manager with GMH, Monty lost his right arm in an accident just before his 21st birthday. He learned early that in spite of his injuries, his destiny was in his own, well, hand. A successful career, a 53 year marriage, two children and 5 grandchildren are all testaments to Monty’s approach to life.

Though too young to serve, Monty clearly recalls his war time childhood. “There wasn’t much food around. As kids, we thought we were starving! But the reality was, they did a marvelous job of keeping the food up to us.”

At 79, Monty isn’t quite the oldest person to complete the arduous 96 kilometre Kokoda Track. Even so, I’d lay odds that no-one else of his vintage has done the job with one arm.

Many of us took our turns walking with Monty at the back of the line. But to suggest we did so out of a sense of duty or pity would be way off the mark. We spent time with him, quite simply, because the man is an inspiration. Day 5 saw us on a section of the track that is particularly difficult. The previous night had been spent in Menari, where we had been privileged to meet one of the few remaining Fuzzy Wuzzy Angels. Faure is a diminutive man; medaled and uniformed, graciously receiving visitors with his welcoming smile and strong handshake.

Heading to Efogi, the track is, in parts, less than a metre wide, with a gradient of around 1 in 3. Overnight rain provided extra challenge underfoot; those of us with all limbs intact slipped and slid our way forward, and I understood why navigation of this area had been the subject of considerable forward planning.

Monty negotiated the track with his two carriers. Gibson, walking in front, is a Pastor from the village of Buna – ‘Bloody Buna’ - where 312 Australian soldiers lost their lives and more than 600 were seriously wounded. Tethered to Monty with ropes and karabiners was barefoot John, a deeply religious man who touched us all with his beautiful, haunting voice, and the gentleness of his soul.

Both Gibson and John carried around 25kg, however in the more treacherous sections, John removed his pack to further ensure Monty’s safety. At this juncture, my aptly named carrier, Noble, simply lifted the pack above his head and laid it across the 25kg he already carried on his back. My query as to whether he was OK was met with a shrug and a puzzled smile. Why wouldn’t he be?

Our group inched ahead. “Are you with me, Monty?” asked Gibson at regular intervals. “I’m with you, Gibson,” was the quiet but steady response. Concentration was paramount.

As I stood ahead on the track with my camera poised, I watched these wonderful men at work and, unbidden, an image of the Fuzzy Wuzzy Angels carrying our soldiers flashed into my mind.

The parallels were undeniable. If there was ever a man more cast in the mould of the diggers than Monty, I’ve yet to meet him. Courageous, stubborn and determined, Monty gave plenty of cheek, but no complaints.

And then there were Gibson and John. Yes, the context was different; we are – thankfully - in peacetime and no-one is firing bullets or destroying villages. But the care and attention these two extraordinary men provided to Monty to help him fulfill his dream was no less, I believe, than that shown by the Papuans in rendering assistance to our men in 1942.

Day 8 brought us to Isurava, where we held a private service to honour our armed forces, and in particular the fathers of 4 of our group who had served in Papua New Guinea. As was fitting, we also honoured our Papuan friends, both those who have gone before us, and those who were part of the circle we formed to the backdrop of the 4 granite pillars each bearing a single word - Courage, Endurance, Mateship and Sacrifice.

Had it not been for the loyal and continued support from the Papua New Guineans during the war, the outcome could have been vastly different. Though the Australian Government has steadfastly refused financial recognition of the contributions made by the Fuzzy Wuzzy Angels, these wonderful people continually risked their lives and livelihoods, and deserve nothing less than our ongoing gratitude and respect.

As we are the descendents of the brave men and women who fought for our freedom, so too are the current day Angels descendents of a proud heritage, and it is appropriate that together we continue to share the journey of honouring our history.

For those who are continually disillusioned by a mercenary, materialistic and conflictual world, I have some good news for you. Brotherhood is alive and well – and living in Papua New Guinea.

And how did Monty pull up? Just another day at the office, really. There was never any question, he told me, that he wouldn’t finish the track, still walking. Safely back in Port Moresby and enjoying a beer, Monty reflected on his journey. He was, he said, simply following his motto in life - "Never give in."