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their soul shining in their eyes - I thought of it again, when I heard the Russian's description of the Anzacs - "The eyes of children, and the bodies of Gladiators." There were others on the boat, who were saying good-bye to loved ones, and the time came all too soon, when there came a final cheer to speed them on their way, and an answering one from them that reverberated in its mightiness. Then the big grey ship turned away, and soon became as a little speck, and we turned homewards with saddened hearts.
It seemed to me, the sun had set. I went back to my lonely house, but could not go inside, nor, could I seek anybody's company I just went into the garden, and dug and dug, until I felt that my heart must break. Every day I went though the usual routine, busying myself with duties, and Patriotic endeavour, and somehow the weeks passed, but every Sunday saw my dinner untasted. That always seemed the hardest day to bear.
One morning in the following September, I awoke out of my sleep with the idea that I must go to England, and it became so firmly implanted, that my husband, seeing my earnestness, helped in my hurried preparation.
I was able to get a berth on a boat leaving on the 27th of that month, September 1916, and when every thing was in readiness, and there was time to think, I wondered if the war strain had warped my saner judgment. I realised just how futile might be my journey, how awful even the possibilities that might await me on the other side, and almost longed that something would happen to make me stay; but nothing did. I was so distraught, that lying all night awake en route Adelaide, I made up my mind to put my luggage ashore, and return. My sister, who met me there and had previously counselled caution, advised me to go on. A long telegram from my husband at Fremantle, did much to put my mind at rest, and from there I set myself resolutely and steadfastly forward, feeling that something for which I could not account had impelled my going.