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[Page 590]
The Weekly Dispatch. May 14, 1916.
"Like a Holiday - After Gallipoli!"
What the Anzacs Think of Their New Quarters in the Trenches of France.
€‹By E.C. Buley, Author of "Glorious Deeds of the Australasians."
Private "Snowy" Black, of the -- Battalion of Australian Infantry, is over in London on eight days' leave from "Anzac-in-France". He is a man who has crowded a great deal of travel and experience into the past two years.
He helped to drive the Germans out of New Guinea; he won a prize for a race up the side of the Great Pyramid; he camped for days on an extremely dusty section of the Sinai Peninsula; he charged up the slope of Achi Baba and made night marches through the broken country on the flank of Sari Bair. And after bearing arms in four continents in rapid succession he has settled down amiably to the monotony of trench life "somewhere in France." Let him speak:
"I left all the boys contented and happy. You see, they've got what they came for at last. Egypt and Gallipoli were only interruptions, as you might say. Most of us got the biggest disappointment of our lives when we were first pulled up at Egypt instead of coming straight over here to tackle the Germans. Of course, those who wanted fighting had no reason to complain of what they got from the Turks. But Gallipoli was only a sideshow anyhow; and we reckon we are lucky now that we have come to the real thing.
"Raw Onions"
€‹"We knew what was coming long before we got the word because of the sort of drill we were getting. We're all salted to trench work with rifles and bombs. But when we began to shake hands with poisonous gas and flame jets and weeping sheels - raw onions, the chaps call them - we gave a good guess at what was coming.
"We found out what a big family we belong to when we got to Naples, half-way to France. The Italians made a great fuss over us, and all who wanted had a chance to see the place - a fine harbour, but nothing to Sydney. The girls gave us flowers and little black cigars, and the people came out to the transports after dark in little boats and sang and played their mandolins. It was a moonlight night, and reminded me more of Australia than anything I have ever seen since I left.
"But Naples was nothing to Marseilles. The crowds that had gathered there to meet us were as big as those that said goodbye when we left home. When we came near to the wharf some goat among our fellows sang out 'Si-Exia', just as we used to do in the East. A whole lot of the chaps took it up, and the French people couldn't make it out. I suppose they thought it was black-fellow talk. Then somebody sings out 'Vive la France', and we all joined in with that. And they came back at us with 'Vive Anzac' - yes, they'd got the Anzac all right. Presently we were marching through a long lane of them, our band playing 'Australia will be there', and the French people throwing flowers and cigarettes. My word, they were kind.
"From then on we saw a good deal of the French soldiers; they are jolly fellows, but they did look small alongside our chaps. But I shall never forget the first time we came on a British regiment. We came on them round a turn of the road, and as soon as I saw four of them making tea in a steel helmet I said 'They're Micks', because the Irish always use things for purposes they're never intended for. We had fought alongside the Irish at Hill 60, and we were keen to see them. And they seemed pleased at the sight of us, which was just as it should be.
"We had some more training before we took over a section of the trenches, and the French generals used to come and see us at our work. I hear they were a bit struck with the size of us, and it must have been so, for one day General Joffre turned up without any warning. It was a cold, bleak day, but the boys made a fine show. I saw him quite close - a big, burly man, who looks wonderfully fit. He gave me confidence somehow, like our own general does; I mean General Birdwood. It means a lot to us being with him again.
"We could hardly believe we were really at the front, because everything was so comfortable and convenient. After Gallipoli, it was like being on a holiday. Good, regular meals, plenty of water and everything else, a reasonable quantity of wine and beer, and none of those heart-breaking hills. The Germans seemed to expect us, and stuck up boards with writing on them as soon as we went into the firing line. But our fellows know something too, and we splintered most of their boards before they could get them down again. The trenches were quite close, and we had been warned not to show ourselves, because the German snipers shot very quick and straight. Some of our 'blokes' rather fancied themselves at the sniping business. We had sniped the Turks off the face of the earth all along the old Anzac line, and we reckoned we ought to hold our own at new Anzac. The boys were not long in getting to work, and in two days we had them walloped. It's weeks now since we heard from their famous snipers, though we ask anxiously after them every night and morning.
Spring in France.
€‹"But it's slow work; just as slow as spring is in France. You know, few of us ever saw a real spring before this one. In our country spring is just a jumping-off place for summer. It is there one day and it's gone the next. But we've watched the trees putting out a few buds, and then thinking for a week or so, 'What comes next?' Everything wakes up bit by bit, if you follow me, instead of coming on with a rush. I think I rather like it, but it's quite new to me. And what a beautiful country! Of course, it's all knocked about by the fighting, but it's lovely all the same, especially after Gallipoli and the sand of Egypt.
"So there we are at Anzac-in-France, and the chaps are giving the places names that make it like the old Anzac. But there the likeness ends. You feel safe in this new Anzac, though you come in for a good deal of shelling, and can expect a lot more. But a man who keeps in his dug-out seems pretty safe, whereas in the old place the shells followed you wherever you went. And the reserves can get really out of it, but you were never out of it on the Peninsula.
"And now I'm in England, that I've heard so much about. The people here are kinder than ever, and I wish I had more time to look about me a bit. This is the eighth country I've been in since I joined up, not counting Australia. And I'm coming back here for a good look one day. But in the meantime I want to see a ninth country. You know what it is - Germany. So long!"
Daily Express, May 10th 1916.
Battalion of the Dead
€‹An Australian Epic of Lost Heroes.
A special correspondent of the Melbourne "Argus" in the Near East gives the following stirring account of an "inspection" by a Commonwealth general.
There were eight perfect rows of little mounds. Some of the men in those regular ranks had taken part in a dozen desperate fights; two had been awarded the Victoria Cross, and at least a dozen had been "mentioned in despatches". All of them were Australians.
A sergeant at the general's elbow held a book, containing every valiant man's name and record - it was called "The Roll of Honour". Turkish guns boomed and were being answered on the ridges, while rifles snapped and cracked viciously. The staccato notes of machine guns chopped spasmodically into the medley of sound. Starting from the left, the general strode along the front while the sergeant read aloud from the open book:-
"Burns - Member of landing party; led number of patrols into enemy territory; example throughout inspiring to comrades; hit by bomb at Steele's Post."
The Donkey Man
€‹"Simpson - Conspicuous bravery following the landing. Rescued sixteen wounded men under fire. Made a great many trips daily with injured down Shrapnel Valley, when enemy guns were most active. Hit by sniper from the Bloody Angle."
"How did he move the wounded?" asked the general. "On a donkey, sir. Every one here in the early days knew Simpson. He was a wonder."
"Hogarth - Fearless in the most trying circumstances. His confidence was contagious. Went single-handed into scrub to find a machine gun, and came back riddled with bullets to report."
"That was at the beginning?" said the officer. "Yes, sir. He was 'mentioned in despatches' a school teacher in Victoria, one of the bravest."
"Oliphant - A recalcitrant spirit at Mena, frequently in trouble, but the essence of courage under fire. Always in the forefront of the Anzac fighting, where his skill as a bushman was of inestimable value. One of the keenest and most successful of our snipers, being a skilled rifle shot. Knocked out in attack on German officers' trench."
"Married?" inquired the general. "Yes, sir - widow and five children, living in Gippsland."
"Edwards - Clever patrol. Made frequent night excursions to enemy lines. Brought back identity discs and papers from dead men's pockets after Lone Pine affair. Shrapnel while at breakfast."
"What was he at home?" "Rabbit-trapper at Queanbeyan - born in the bush."
"Anderson - Self-appointed cook, who went on with his work in spite of most intense fire. Never failed to have hot meals ready for men in first line, and insisted on taking them up himself. The comedian of the battalion; kept troops in high spirits. Hit by bullet from cartridge exploding in his fire."
Final Name
€‹Eventually the final name in the last rank was read out. It was:-
"Summers - Bravery at landing; conspicuous service at Pope's Hill and Walker's Ridge; ready to lead any adventure; cut off for six days with scouting party; buried by 8-inch shell, but was dug out alive. Hit at "Tasmania Post".
The general walked back to the starting point. His face was very serious, and he could not trust himself to speak for a minute or two. Then he said simply: "What brave fellows they all are."
The bugler had his heels together and his head up. The sergeant closed his book. "Sound the general salute!" the officer said. While the clear notes rang out the little party stood at attention with their hands to their brows.
"Now, blow the 'Last Post'!" For some minutes afterwards there was silence. Any one of them would have had difficulty in speaking.
The general once more looked up and down the lines with the little mounds so equally spaced out. At the head of every one was a rough wooden cross with a white number painted on it. From one or two tiny shrubs were sprouting, and on others wild poppies were shooting up. There was an open hole in the last row. It was to be filled in next morning, and a new cross would be put up with another number.
"How many will that make?" the general asked. "Nine hundred and ninety-two, sir."
"For them the war has finished. Their joys and troubles are ended. Australia should be proud of them - and she is. How many did you say?" "Almost a battalion, sir."
The general thought for a moment. Then he turned away, whispering; "The Battaion of the Dead!" - Central News.