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[Page 2]
MY PERSONAL REMINISCENCES of the WAR.
Britomarte James.
Everybody remembers August 1914, and no Mother with sons will ever forget the varying emotions the announcement of War called forth.
At the time we were living on St. Kilda Road and the tramp tramp of the soldiers, as I lay sleepless, brought some sort of realisation to my mind.
Both my boys were in Queensland, and though I wanted them to be brave enough to offer their services and knew in my heart they would do so, I quailed at the thought, and as hour after hour passed I desperately searched my mind for some excuse to prevent them, and called up every argument that I could bring to bear to prevent their going. If only I could hide them somewhere I thought, and then after hours and hours of mental torture, just as daylight was creeping into my room, there came a dreadful thought, worse than any of my own craven fears. Suppose they should not offer, and against that awful possibility my fears for their safety became utterly insignificant. How ashamed I should be, if in their country's crisis, they failed to answer its call. Beads of perspiration stood out on my forehead, and I prayed that they might be true to their manhood.
I need not have feared, for the coming week brought letters and telegrams from each, hundreds of miles apart, telling of their decision to enlist.
In the joy of having them in Melbourne for their training, one almost lost sight of the ultimate purpose, but as the time came for their departure, and when the elder came from Seymour one Saturday, to say good-bye, I shall never forget, as I saw him at the door, the roar of the crowd at a football match in the park beyond. I could have cheerfully taken a gun and shot