Researcher Paul Spoonley recorded how one senior Treasury official in 1937 justified inequitable pension payments between the average Māori age-old pensioner and their European counterpart.
"The living standard of the Māori is lower – and after all, the object of these pensions is to maintain standards rather than to raise them."
When asked what he wants New Zealanders to understand the most, Gillies replied: "We were all volunteers for six years, six long years. Our battalion was all volunteers. We weren't conscripted. And not only that, the Māori war effort was second to none at home. And you know, it was all for nothing, all for nothing. We come back and things were much the same as for our forefathers."
On Wednesday, "Koro Bom", as he's affectionately known, will formally accept his knighthood at Government House in Wellington.
It's something this remarkably fit and mentally agile 97-year-old is not looking forward to, not because he doesn't feel hugely honoured, but because he hates being made a fuss of.
He still drives, lives alone in the red brick house he built 60 years ago, helps out around the marae hammer in hand and is still there to cheer on his beloved Waikite team.
As for the nickname "Bom", he's been stuck with it all his life, doesn't know what it means and says "It's a humbug name".
These days, he barely speaks above a whisper – he lost a vocal cord to cancer 8 years ago – but his memory is razor-sharp.
Poring over the old photos of mates long gone, he can still reel off their names, still remember the campaigns as if it was yesterday.
He's literally the last man standing and with comes the enormous weight of responsibility: that the stories are not forgotten, that the memories continue to be honoured.
His own story is typical of those who joined the 28th. They were often under-age – two of his mates were just 14 – they'd barely been outside the town limits and - inspired by the stories of World War I, they were looking for adventure.
The realities of combat changed everything. These days Gillies is firmly of the mind that war is a "waste of time" – whether it be the Ukraine or anywhere else.
After training in Egypt, he arrived in time for the brutal Allied effort to dislodge German forces from Italy in late 1943.
Though he didn't experience hand-to-hand fighting, so many of his comrades did, the campaigns in Orsogna and Cassino took a heavy toll on the men of the 28th.
Gillies tells of B-Company Captain Monty Whikiriwhi and his heroic crawl to safety after being brutally wounded - and of others cut down in their prime.
By war's end, the 28th had lost 649 men. It was the most highly decorated unit in the New Zealand Battalion.
But it's the futility of war that stays with Gillies. He remembers all too well the lasting impact on returning soldiers and their whanau – particularly the heavy drinking.
"I was lucky," he says. "For others, the booze took over their lives, and their experiences left them mentally scarred and affected their relationships with their families."
It took Gillies three months to find a job and to settle down. He met his wife Rae Ratima at a dance at Tamatekapua and they had three sons, Ture, Robert (who died last year) and Taupua.
In 2009, Gillies was appointed a Cavaliere (Knight) of Italy, which he said he accepted on behalf of the entire Māori Battalion.
When it came to accepting a New Zealand knighthood, Gillies at first refused – he just didn't feel deserving of it.
"I was the lowest ranking soldier," he told me. "You couldn't get any lower."
It took a legion of people to convince the old man to reconsider, which he did – reluctantly.
"I should have refused," the war veteran says, "Because I'm not worthy. But I thought…it's for the boys."
In 2007, the Duke of York (representing the Queen) presented a ceremonial sword in recognition of the gallantry of Lance Sergeant Haane Manahi, and it's that sword which will be used at Gillies' investiture.
But don't expect Gillies to fade away into well-earned retirement, he's still got one last campaign to fight; he is determined that the 28th Battalion's battle honours are enshrined on the Battalion flag.
"Well, Jim Henare requested it when he come home, that they put our battle honours on the flag and they haven't done it."
He's also hoping to retrieve the (now banned) semi-automatic he smuggled into the country after he returned from war and tried to register with the police last year. But that's a whole other story….
Te Ao with Moana, Mon 8pm on Māori Television
