THE NEW DRAFT
_France, December 11th._
A fair-sized shell recently arrived in a certain front trench held by
Australians in France. It exploded, and an Australian found himself
struggling amongst some debris in No Man's Land. He tried to haul
himself clear, but the tumbled rubbish kept him down; and, as often as
he was seen to move, bullets whizzed past him from a green slope near
by. The green slope ran like a low railway embankment along the other
side of the unkempt paddock between the trenches. It was the German
front line.
Finally one of his mates, I am told, jumped over to his help and dragged
him clear. When he got in he asked to be put into the very next party
that should visit the German trenches. He wanted his own back.
He was one of the newest Australians. That is exactly the sort of
request that would have been made by the oldest ones.
We have seen the newest Australian draft in France, and the verdict from
first to last amongst those who know them is, "They will do." There is
always a certain amount of chaff thrown out by the oldest Australians at
the latest arrivals. The sort of Australian who used to talk about our
"tinpot navy" labelled the Australians who rushed at the chance of
adventure the moment the recruiting lists were opened "the six bob a day
tourists." Well--the "Tourists" made a name for Australia such as no
other Australians can ever have the privilege to make. The next shipment
were the "Dinkums"--the men who came over on principle to fight for
Australia--the real, fair dinkum[3] Australians. After them came the
"Super-dinkums"--and the next the "War Babies," and after them the
"Chocolate Soldiers," then the "Hard Thinkers," who were pictured as
thinking very hard before they came. And then the "Neutrals." "We know
they are not against the Allies," the others said, when came news of the
latest drafts still training steadily under peace conditions, "we know
they are not against us--we suppose they are just neutral."
[3] "Dinkum"--Australian for "true."
There has always been some chaff thrown at the latest arrival--and it
is a mistake to think that there was never any feeling behind the chaff.
I remember long ago at Anzac when a new draft was moving up past some of
the older troops--past men who were thin with disease and overworn with
heavy work--there was a cry of "You have come at last, have you?" flung
in a tone of which the bitterness was unmistakable. There has always
been a feeling, amongst the older troops here, that they have been
holding the fort--hanging on for Australia's name until the others have
time to come along and give them a hand. There is a tendency to feel
that soldiers who are still at home are getting all the limelight--the
parading of streets and praises of the newspapers--and will probably
live to reap most of the glory at the end of it all.
If so, there was never a feeling that melted more quickly the moment
each new draft arrives and is really tested. The moment it goes into the
whirl of a modern battle, and acquits itself through some wild night as
every Australian draft always has done in its first fight and always
will do, every sign of that old feeling melts as if it had never
existed; and the new draft finds itself taken into the heart of the old
force on the same terms as the oldest and proudest regiment there. I
make no apology for talking of them as "old" regiments. There are
regiments in this war, not three years old, which have seen as much
terrible fighting as others whose record goes back over hundreds of
years. Ages ago, prehistoric ages, the "Dinkums" became a title for men
to be intensely proud of. Men who were through the first fortnight at
Pozières need never be ashamed to compare their experiences with those
of any soldiers in the world, for it is the literal truth that there has
never in history been a harder battle fought. The "Chocolate Soldiers"
became veterans in one terrible struggle. The "War Babies" were old
soldiers almost before they had cut their teeth. It is one of the pities
of the censorship, but a necessary one, that the Australian public
cannot know, until the story of this war is fully told at the end of it,
the famous Australian battalions which will most assuredly go down to
history as household names.
And if there are not battalions, amongst the newest troops, which will
go down to history with some of the very best Australia possesses--then
I am a German. They have had a wonderful training of late--a training
which can only be compared in thoroughness with that of Mena Camp in
Egypt where our first troops trained, and with the full experience of
this war to back it. The British authorities are equipping the new
Australian drafts generously. The discipline of Australians, once they
come to understand their work, has never given the slightest real
anxiety to those responsible for them. The newest men have exactly the
same straight frank look and speech as has every other batch that I have
seen. If there is any difference between them first and last I will be
bound that it is beyond the keenest eye to detect it.
Indeed, if there is a difference between one Australian infantry
battalion and another, it is, and has always been, a matter of officers.
A commander who can make all his subordinates feel that they are pulling
in the same boat's crew--that they are all swinging together, not only
with their own but with every other battalion and brigade; who can make
them look upon themselves as all helping in the one big cause; who can
make them regard the difficulty of another battalion merely as a chance
for freely and fully assisting it--a commander who can do these things
with his officers can make a wonderful force of his Australians. This
may sound abstract and vague, but it is real to such an extent that it
is the main reason of all differences that exist between Australian
units.
Australian units have, like the Scots, a wonderful confidence in each
other. They have been proud to fight by the side of grand regiments and
divisions; but I fancy they would rather fight beside other Australians
or New Zealanders than beside the most famous units in the world.
Chaffing apart, that is the feeling of the oldest unit towards the
newest.