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Extracts from the last letters of PRIVATE F.W. ROBERTS, C. Company 21st Battalion, to his wife. (He was killed in the attack on Mount St. Quentin, on Sunday, 1st September, 1918.
FRANCE.
Wednesday, 21st August, 1918
At present we are out for a few days spell and are camped near a canal – one of the many waterway systems that vein France hereabouts, and my word, dear heart, it is a fine change to the scenery and surroundings we have had for such a long stretch this last time in. We've had "bookoo" stunts, but they have been worth while: in particular the 8th August affair when for the first time all the Aussies worked together to our huge delight, and did'nt we cane the old Hunk up! I was most pleased to be a humble member in such a fine victorious push. From what we imagine we'll have some more good fighting, - and good wins at that,- leave it to us – before we settle down to a spell in winter quarters. We are all weary but have lost none of the fighting qualities that cause the Aussies to be such vicious thorns in the hide of the German hogs, but when that long spell does come we will relish it, and it will be well earned too.
Friday, 23rd August, 1918.
You mention it is sickening that there is no sign of peace yet. My dear girl, we don't want Peace yet, because we have the Hun where we want him – we've got him licked and we want to give him a taste of war in his own country then he'll lie down like a whipped cur and we'll get the terms we are after. Peace at the present moment would mean terms rather beneficial to the enemy,- he's going to accept out terms unconditionally. Soon the Yanks will be in full swing – then look out for news. Patience – we're nearly through – let us finish the job properly. Not that I am in love with this life, very much from it, but I do'nt want my future life as a peaceful farmer interrupted with war's alarms, I don't want to be campaigning once again.
Friday, 23rd August, 1918
I've had a lot of pals killed and wounded, good fine fellows who paid the price. By God, Sweetie, I wouldn't be a slacker who has to look the men of Australia in the face when we march home. I consider myself a man, Darl, I've faced death with the fine lads of Aussie, done my little bit to the best of my ability, and I'll be proud to be one of them to the finish. I'd like to tell you how we are double worked because we require men to reinforce us but I daren't. But when it can be told you'll be proud to think I was one of the boys in the line who bluffed the Hun in small numbers, were given impossible
tasks and carried them out and carried on for a stretch of time that in the earlier stages of the war was considered impossible. God damn all white livered cowards. I've seen men die because exhaustion undermined them and they couldn't fight as they fought when fit. I'll change the subject because as a fighting man I feel most strongly on this subject, particularly of late.
Friday, 23rd August, 1918
Now let me tell you one bit of comforting news that has reached me in a roundabout way, that I won't attempt to describe to you, but it is authentic news: some very fine reports of your fighting husband have been forwarded and received at Australian Corps Headquarters, and something is expected to come of it. But what I like best of all is the opinion of my pals of the line. I'm considered a "good man, one who will stick", and that's the finest thing one man can say of another over here. Are we down-hearted? By Hell, NO!! I'm in the best fighting mood and spirits I've ever been in, and why? Because we're winning, sweetheart, and hands down at that.