SERGEANTS THREE
PARKES, TRESILIAN, ELLIS--POSITION OF THE NON-COMS.--THE "FIGHTING
SIXTH"--THE GERMAN SPY AGAIN--EASILY BEATS THE CENSOR--WHAT THE
NIGGERS KNEW ABOUT US--PADDY RYAN'S LUCK
Non-commissioned officers are the backbone of the British army!
This is high praise, of course, yet it is well merited; and I think the
same tribute can be paid to the non-coms. of the Australian Imperial
Force.
For our non-coms. hold their office by virtue of their merit. It is
simply a case of the survival of the fittest. We all started off
scratch. There was keen competition for stripes when our regiment was
first formed. The best men were selected. There was no favouritism.
Some old soldiers had an initial advantage, but all the appointments
were provisional at first, and they were all tried in the crucible.
Only the pure gold was retained; the baser metal was rejected.
The result was that when the 6th Light Horse Regiment left Sydney it
had a body of non-commissioned officers who would compare favourably
with any in the world. It was a great pity that the people of Sydney
never saw the "Fighting Sixth" ride through the metropolis. In Egypt
they were reckoned the best mounted regiment that ever left Australia.
The limelight has been turned right on to subsequent volunteers. Other
contingents--months and months and months after we left--bathed in the
smiles of the multitude. Special trains were run in order that the
country folk should see them. But our brigade, the 2nd Light Horse
Brigade, comprising the 5th, 6th and 7th L.H. Regiments, were hunted
off like thieves in the night. In deadly secrecy we struck camp. In
the dawn hush we stealthily slunk through the city streets. We were
all on board the transports before Sydney was well awake. The papers
were not allowed to publish a line about our departure. So the country
folk came to see their sons and brothers off--too late. The whole city
knew it--too late. Every German spy in Australia knew it--early. When
we arrived at Aden a nigger on the gangway of the transport told us
to a man the constitution of the force, the number of ships, and our
destination. So cleverly had our censors concealed our movements!
* * * * *
So it is a pity the brigade never rode with clinking snaffles and
clanking stirrups through the city--more for the sake of the city than
the soldiers themselves. Also because many of our soldiers will never
again see George Street, or Pitt Street, or Martin Place, or Macquarie
Street. The wastage of war has had its effect. We have been under fire
day and night. Snipers have taken their toll. Machine-guns have added
to the casualties. Shrapnel shells and high explosives have torn gaps
in our ranks. In killed and wounded we have lost over half our original
strength.
There were three sergeants of the 6th Light Horse Regiment, who now
are resting in little shallow graves in Gallipoli. Never again will
they watch the sun go down in splendour into the Ægean Sea. When we go
marching into Berlin they will be with us--but only in spirit; and
when the war is over and the boys from the bush ride home again, there
will be three sergeants missing. But their names will be emblazoned on
Australia's roll of honour. And we of the Sixth won't forget Sergeant
Sid Parkes, Sergeant F. R. Tresilian, and Sergeant Fred Ellis.
Sid Parkes was small and slight, so small that he was almost rejected
by the medical examiner. He had to show his South African record, and
remind the doctor that giants were not wanted in the Light Horse, but
light, active, wiry horsemen. So he just scraped through and went into
camp. I remember him at Rosebery Park. Not much over five feet three,
only about nine stone, but active and strong. He knew his mounted drill
like a book, and he knew how to handle men; so he soon got his three
stripes--and stuck to them. The men liked him. The officers appreciated
him. We saw several other sergeants made and unmade, but Parkes of B
Squadron was a fixture.
Already he had seen four years' peace service, and eighteen months'
active service in South Africa with the New South Wales Mounted
Rifles. So he brought the lessons of his previous experience to bear
on his new job. On parade he did his duty well. Off duty he was a
humorist, and as care-free as a schoolboy. On the transport he entered
into all the fun going. In Egypt he played the game. Somehow, I always
thought Parkes would come safely through the war. We joked together the
night we first went into the trenches, never anticipating ill. Yet he
was the first man of the regiment killed in the trenches. A sniper's
bullet came through a loophole and killed him on the spot.
* * * * *
Frederick George Ellis, sergeant in C Squadron, was an Englishman from
Hants. He had spent five years in the Royal Navy, some of the time on
the China station. He was one of the few survivors of H.M.S. _Tiger_,
which was rammed and sunk during the naval manoeuvres off Spithead.
Three years ago he came to Australia to get colonial experience, prior
to settling on the land. A few years in the nor'-west, at Bogamildi
and Terala stations, transformed the sailor into a bushman. So he came
to Sydney when war broke out, and joined the 6th Light Horse. He rose
to be lance-sergeant. On July 12 he was killed by a shrapnel shell on
Holly Ridge. Several of our fellows were killed and wounded that day,
for the Turks dropped 200 shells on the Light Horse lines, and for an
hour or two it was terrific.
* * * * *
A strong, dominant personality was Tresilian, one of the very best
troop sergeants that ever joined the Light Horse. He seemed to love
the firing-line like home. He was quite fearless. Somehow he seemed
to revel in the roar of battle. On one occasion the Turks sent a
dozen shells at our little section of the trenches, smashing down
the parapets, making the place a wreck, wounding two men, and half
blinding, half deafening, half choking, half burying six of us. When I
could see and hear and breathe again I saw Tresilian laughing merrily.
"Hello, Bluegum," he said, "not killed yet?"
He came from Humula, near Wagga, where his people were well-known
farmers. Till a young man he remained on the farm, and was known
throughout the district as a good "sport"--a good cricketer and
footballer, and a fine rider and shot, just the typical Australian
Light Horseman, though more sturdily built than the average. He tired,
however, of the farm, and yearned for the freer life of the Western
plains. So he tackled station life, became a station manager, rode over
the whole of the north-west, went to the Northern Territory in search
of pastoral lands, and when the war broke out was managing a station in
the Boggabri district. He had seen service in South Africa, and he once
more volunteered to serve the King.
On Gallipoli his scouting and patrol work were excellent. He seemed to
have a charmed life, for he had many narrow escapes in the open and in
the trenches. On the day he was killed a bullet whizzed past his head,
just wounding his cheek slightly. Later on he and Sergeant Paddy Ryan
were putting barbed wire entanglements in front of our trenches. A
sniper's rifle cracked. Ryan escaped. Tresilian fell dead.