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[Page 18]
disembark. The sea the whole way from Cape Town has been little different to the average trip to Watson's Bay. The Bay of Biscay was as calm as Sydney Harbour. All around me as I write sit the lads waiting for lunch and then – disembarkation. A few fatigue parties are packing kit bags and blankets. The Quarter Master Sergeant has finished issuing our iron & biscuit rations, to last us for the coming 24 hours.
Just a few are making remarks which show that they possess just a few emotions relevant to this phase of our trip.
"Well, Bill there's the old dart, the bit of dirt we're going to scrap for; what yer opinion of it?" That's the finest little little [sic] piece of dirt you'll ever see my son" said a pommy. "You make me smile, dinkum you do you pommy rabbit. The best bit of dirt you left two months ago – way down south, and there ought to be laws for the stoppen of such as you getting there again. Chew that" .
But the majority are most concerned as to whether English beer will suit their palate, whether they will be able to wet their whistle, which they say, is clogged with Cape Town dust, or whether they will be paid & given leave. Well, you would expect the men to be interested in these things after two months on a troop ship. Its not all beer & skittles I can assure you. A great saying among the boys is this. Instead of saying "good morning" they say "What do you know Jack?" I heard the reply yesterday – "Not to b---- much or I would not be here" ! Still, that isn't a real opinion its just a humour of the moment.
We are drawing nearer & nearer our destination. Its foggy in this great ocean roadway but we should soon draw up to Eddystone and then it isn't long. The next time I add a few lines to this book will probably be in Salisbury plains Camp, but one never knows. Although we hate this old boat, the A18, she's been a good home to us and we have had our little jokes althrough. So farewell Father Neptune you old traitor, with your German tin fish, once more we have beaten you. And farewell to H.M.A.T. Wiltshire, ye noble galleon who hath borne us all these miles and who hath once more evaded the glassy eye of the afore-mentioned tin fish. Ahead of us is Plymouth Hoe with the banshee of old Drake watching us coming nearer & nearer, from the famous green. But we don't forget the living Jellicoe who has watched us all these 14 thousand miles. And so I close.