of Gallipoli, that we may occupy it. Possess yourselves also of the
command of the Narrows, that all who are free may enter.”
3. Therefore, the Colonels, Majors and Captains took heed, and after
much lengthy pow-wowing issued to their men this edict: “Hear ye, men
of Australia and New Zealand, what the ‘Boss’ hath commanded. Ye
shall girdle yourselves about with ammunition, and, after landing as
seems meetest, make assault upon the hills and valleys of Gallipoli,
which the sons of Abdul do hold to our detriment.”
4. To the Ninth, and the Tenth, and the Eleventh, and the Twelfth
Battalions of foot soldiers this follower of Medon addressed himself
thus: “Prepare ye the track that the First, Second and other
Brigades, even your comrades, may make peaceful footing. And each man
take with him a first field-dressing and two days’ rations, for we
know not what difficulties we might encounter.”
5. And to the Army Medical Corps likewise he addressed himself,
commanding them to attend to the weak, the injured and the weary,
and lo! his words were not in vain, for the land was treacherous and
harboured many pitfalls.
6. And it came further to pass that the enemy proved themselves
“hard-doers”; yea, verily, they were a stubborn folk, for they had
builded unto themselves dug-outs and trenches on the land of their
forefathers, and were aware of the coming of the invader.
7. But “Birdie’s” host were of the hills and dales; men of much
cunning and resourcefulness.
8. Therefore, without the flourish of trumpets, they sallied forth to
the right, and to the left, and the centre.
9. And they did that which was right in the sight of the “Boss,” for
they used their “Blocks” and held the ground, which seemed impossible
to those not possessed of faith in his judgment.
10. And on the day of the twenty-sixth, and of the twenty-seventh,
and on succeeding days, they did also build trenches, and burrow
holes into the earth like unto the rabbit, that they might abide
safely, for it was further commanded that this should be done.
11. Now it came to the ears of the Chief, and it was a true saying,
that the Valley of Shrapnel was even as Gehenna, fraught with many
dangers to the unwary. Therefore it was commanded that the pioneers
should prepare a track crooked, making it thereby difficult, yea,
insurmountable.
12. And when this and sundry tasks were completed, the First, the
Second, the Third and the other Brigades of human pack-horses, so
that the good work might be continued, were reinforced by a multitude
of those who are known as the Lost Horse Regiments.
13. And lo! the host of Birdwood flourished amazingly, even to the
extent of rum and porridge.
14. By this time, being the twelfth month of the same year, it waxed
“plurry” cold, even unto a fall of snow, and the erstwhile Land of
Jacko did breed much “flue” and “pneu,” and it did seem as though the
plagues of the ancient Gyppos had descended upon them.
15. But the Iodine Infantry were magnanimous with their potions; thus
in our generation the sick were cured of their suffering, and the
balm of Gilead descended upon them.
16. At the time of the eleventh month of the same year as this is
written a Chief of the Rulers journeyed from afar to take counsel
with his chiefs, and, by his guiding, smooth out and make plain the
difficulties which had beset their paths.
17. This accomplished, it was given unto “Birdie” that he should
command all, excepting only the good ship _Argon_, which contains
such a heterogeneous mass as that good ship of Noah’s did contain.
18. Now, the rest of the Acts of Kitchener, and all that he did and
said, have they not been written in the _Peninsula Press_ and other
vaporous rags, erstwhile our “filthy contemporaries”?
19. Heed ye all of this, ye who dwell in the Antipodes, for the time
is nigh when the clouds of war shall lift and we may abide in halcyon
peace; for this is the Dinkum Book of Jobs, as will be written in the
Book of Revelations.
W. R. WISHART,
No. 1 Aust. Stat. Hosp., Anzac.
3. THE PERFECTLY TRUE PARABLE OF THE SEVEN EGYPTIANS
Now a multitude of Egyptians journeyed unto Anzac, even nigh unto the
seats of the mighty. And when they had come unto the place whereon it
was written they should rest, they took counsel one with the other,
saying, “Lo, behold, we have no light.”
2. Then one, more bold than the rest, journeyed forth to gather fuel
that peradventure had been washed to the beach and had escaped the
claws of Apollyon, the Camp Commandant. And after he had searched
a while he raised his eyes and praised Allah. For near to the
waters he found a tin can having a wick, like unto the lamps of his
forefathers, even from the days of the Prophet. And straightway he
returneth to his companions, saying: “Rejoice with me, for Allah has
been bountiful and I have had good fortune.” Thus saying, he kindled
the lamp, but it would not burn. And he kindled it a second time,
but still the lamp refused to give her light. Then they cast it into
the fire, and they all gathered round to enjoy the light and warmth
thereof.
3. And it came to pass that while they yet warmed their hands there
was heard a mighty crash, and of the “Gyppies” that remained were
picked up seven stretchers full.
4. Verily it is not meet at Anzac to put to “base” uses such jam-tin
bombs and other trifles as Apollyon abandoneth, even when you find
them kicking about on the seashore.
Capt. A. ALCORN,
No. 1 A. S. Hospital.
FOOTNOTES:
[22] Imshee is the Arabic for “go away.” The Australasian Corps,
which had so far employed it only to street hawkers in Cairo, used
this war cry on April 25.—EDS.
[Illustration: Decoration]
[Illustration: “—— THAT FLEA!!”]
[Illustration: Australian sees Snow for the first time
_Drawn by B. H. C. PRICE_]
[Illustration: This _is_ the Life
_Drawn by L. F. S. HORE_]
THE SILENCE
This is indeed a false, false night;
There’s not a soldier sleeps,
But like a ghost stands to his post,
While Death through the long sap creeps.
There’s an eerie filmy spell o’er all—
A murmur from the sea;
And not a sound on the hills around—
Say, what will the silence be?
Private R. J. GODFREY,
7th Aust. Field Amb.
[Illustration: Death as a soldier]
THE GROWL
They told us w’en we ’listed
We’d have a lot to bear—
There was ’ardships, good and plenty,
And a chance to “do and dare.”
An’ since lobbing ’ere at Anzac
We’ve ’ad a scrap or three,
But wot we’re goin’ crook for is,
_There’s only tea for tea_.
We can take our “iron rations,”
Tho’ they ’and ’em out like ’Ell,
An’ we’d charge the blankey Turkeys
Thro’ a cataract of shell!
But wot narks us more than any
Is to ’ear the sergeant say:
“The sea’s too rough to land our stores;
_There ain’t no jam to-day!_”
When we’re stuck up in the trenches,
W’ere the shells is fallin’ thick,
And Johnny Turk’s machine-guns
Does the interviewin’ trick,
We give ’em all they gave us,
And a bit of interest, too,
But w’y don’t someone tell ’em
_We’re just perishin’ for stoo_!
We lays down in the open
W’en our “bivvies”[23] isn’t dug,
The rain comes down in rivers,
And we’re anythink but snug;
We “stand to” ’arf the bloomin’ night,
But the whole of that is naught,
If they’d give us all we wanted
_Of the steak wot comes to port_.
W’en it rains they give us lime juice,
W’en it’s ’ot they give us rum;
The baccy don’t arrive because
The mule train didn’t come.
The mail is ’arf a day be’ind,
And w’en it comes to light,
We blanky well can’t read it,
’Cause it’s dark as Egypt’s night.
But, anyway, that’s roustin’,
You don’t want to ’eed our ’owl;
They say as ’ow a soldier
’As a perfect right to growl.
If it’s bully beef till Doomsday,
We ain’t goin’ to make a fuss—
So long as we can lick the Turks,
_That’s good enough for us_.
E. M. SMITH,
27th Battalion.
FOOTNOTES:
[23] Bivvy—bivouac, shelter.
MY LADY NICOTINE
(_With thanks to all givers of cigarettes_)
The hills of old Gallipoli
Are barren and austere,
And fairy folk, unhappily,
Are few indeed out there.
But one I know whose industry
Both night and day is seen,
For all attest her ministry—
My Lady Nicotine.
[Illustration: “APRICOT AGAIN!”
_Drawn by DAVID BARKER_]
I do not pen unfeelingly
These random lines of thanks,
For I, in old Gallipoli,
Am fighting in the ranks.
However long the day may be
Or cold the watch of night,
My lady finds unerringly
The road to the respite.
Her gift is small and seemingly
Of little value, yet
It teaches me so charmingly
To think and to forget.
So I and those along with me
In all this dreary scene
Unite in giving thanks to thee,
My Lady Nicotine.
H. G. GARLAND.
[Illustration: Decoration]
THE RAID ON LONDON
_A Modern Chronicle by Private PAT RIOT_
England has been conquered by Julius Cæsar, William of Normandy,
nearly (but not quite) by William of Germany, and, lastly, by plain
Bill of Australia. And of the three it is clear that the conquest of
Australian Bill was the most successful of all, when it is remembered
that at the time of his triumphant entry into London he was not the
man he is; he was sick and wounded. He did not invade the city with
his shield in front of him. He was carried on it; he came a conqueror
on crutches.
Private Bill Kangaroo was a lanky, sawny bushman who, when a certain
foreign militarism went mad and the band began to play the concert
of Europe, read between the lines of his newspaper, thought a bit,
saddled his brumby, and rode for the nearest town that ran a railway,
staying there just long enough for a final shout. He passed the
doctor easily, took a quite insanguinary oath (for once) to do his
job as a soldier, and went into camp.
How Private Bill made his kangaroo-like leap up the ridges of
Gallipoli has been told by a war correspondent to a public which
had, up till then, been vaguely aware of his existence as a poor
relation from a South Sea Island. It is fairly certain that future
historians will teach that Australia was discovered not by Captain
Cook, explorer, but by Mr. Ashmead Bartlett, war correspondent.
Anyhow, the finding and exploration of the territory is not in the
same continent as the discovery and exploration of its people, and
Bill has seen the correspondent in the trenches, and regards him with
much more curiosity than ever he regarded the quondam explorer. But
he was unconcerned with these things, and was acting co-respondent in
the case of Crescent _v._ Southern Cross when a sniper’s bullet hit
him in the neck and put him out of court. A hospital ship brought him
to the City of London.
London first came to know him through the medium of its most useful
person, the policeman. Bill had no love for a policeman as a reader
of Riot Acts, but he developed quite an affection for him as a
Pointer of the Way. “I’m bushed” became a familiar greeting between
them, and the Kangaroo was never disappointed when he strolled across
the street to ask P.C. 49 the way he should go. A London motor-bus
might have done what a Turkish bullet failed to do if the man in
blue had not stopped the traffic and played the part of pilot to
him. The raised hand that held up the stream only for royal persons
was lifted for the strolling soldier from the South, and the busmen
laughed at the bushman. To be “bushed” in the heart of London became
a common experience with him, and one had a suspicion that nefarious
taxicab drivers often took advantage of his innocence of locality to
drive him in circles before dropping him at his destination, perhaps
five minutes from the starting place. It was the shortness of city
distances that puzzled him, and he was amazed to find names that
were historical and household words 12,000 miles away borne by quite
unpretentious streets and lanes. When English people learned that he
had travelled 1,000 miles to pass a doctor and join the Army, they
gasped and said he must be joking.
What a class war failed to do, a race war has done. The poor and
their patrons, noblemen gentle and simple, vied with each other
in dealing hospitably by the private soldier who had climbed the
heights that commanded a view of the Past and the Future. In the
stately homes of England, Bill (in the servant’s phrase) met the “big
guns” as “one of themselves,” and was astonished at the surprise thus
caused. But he was amazed, in turn, when the servants told him they
had been in the house ten years. With many embellishments, he assured
them that a girl in service in Sydney would think she owned the house
if she stopped so long in one place.
To Bill, going into the Carlton or the Hotel Cecil wasn’t sitting in
the seats of the mighty, but just the same as entering the pub at
Yungaburrah, and he wandered in these places without any desire to
“cut a dash.” He approved of the costly surroundings, but when he saw
the smallness of the glasses put before him, Bill sat in the seats
of the scornful. He really enjoyed himself better in that inn where
he found a group of Cockney cronies. The landlord had to respond
repeatedly to his “Fill ’em up again,” and Bill afterwards declared
it to be the cheapest night’s fun in the town.
Parsimonious people would say that Bill Kangaroo didn’t know the
value of money, for it took him some time to appreciate the small
coins of the realm at their face value. He thought it looked mean to
keep on asking, “How much?” and when seeing the sights of the city he
always pulled out silver more than sufficient to cover expenses. The
pennies he received in change soon filled his pocket, and at first
he gave them away; but as he saw that he would soon be penniless,
he would go into one of those places described as being “strictly
within the meaning of the Act,” and surreptitiously ask the barman
if he could do with change. His dislike of the base metal and a habit
of tipping in silver bade fair to earn for him the nickname of the
“Silver King.” Tipping he reckoned a curse, but, knowing that many
men lived by tips alone, he passed the coin quite as cordially as he
disliked the practice. Bill never bought in the cheapest market to
sell in the dearest; he didn’t think it “on the square.”
His greatest adventure was the Zeppelins. Seated in a theatre one
evening, he heard a woof! And just after that a second one, closer
a third, a fourth, and then a fifth just outside. Woof! Crash! Men
and women began to rush for the doors, until the man who rose to the
occasion on that memorable 25th rose to this one, and shouted above
the tumult of falling glass and tramping feet that it was safer in
than out, and that if they kept their seats all would be well. The
actresses on the stage, though quaking with fright, stuck pluckily to
their parts until the final act. Bill himself wanted dearly to go out
and see the infernal machines and their effect, but, for example’s
sake, he stayed till order was restored, when he slipped out of the
building.
What he saw outside filled him with thankfulness that he was a
soldier, helping to smash the raiders and their kind. Wandering down
the street, past great gaping holes in the roadway, an overturned
motor-bus and some wrecked buildings, he found himself on the
Embankment, and then on the bridge, where he saw a damaged arch of
masonry. He sat down to think, little dreaming that he was fulfilling
Macaulay’s prophecy concerning the man from “down under” sitting on
the ruins of London Bridge.
Bill’s furlough was finished shortly after this; his raid terminated
with that of the Zeppelins. He was glad to return to the front; and
he knows now that, in assisting in the pruning of Prussia, he is
fighting for more things than ever he thought of when he took the
oath of allegiance.
But he swears that when the job is done he will again visit the land
of his father’s fathers, and toast it in a big, big toast.
9th Battalion.
SING!
Trooper Sing, of the 2nd Light Horse Brigade, on the right, was said
to have sniped his two hundredth Turk.
But his name and fame had not spread all around the lines, for a
Staff Officer, in visiting the snipers of Quinn’s Post, came upon a
Light Horseman who, very justifiably, was priding himself upon having
definitely hit twelve of the enemy.
“Did you hear that fellow Sing on the right of the line——” began the
Staff Officer.
“Well, sir, they don’t sing in front of me,” put in the Quinn’s Post
man promptly. “They’re too b—— well frightened!”
ANOTHER ATTEMPT AT AN ANZAC ALPHABET
=A= was the _Anguish_ that spread o’er my face
When I saw the remarkable look of the place.
=B=’s “_Beachy Bill_,” who fired at my ship—
Punctured the funnel and gave me the “pip.”
=C= was the “_Crump_” that went by with a screech
As I jumped from a lighter and fell on the beach.
=D= was the _Daring_ I failed to display
When fragments of shrapnel came whizzing my way.
=E= was _Earth_ which I found in my hair
As I woke in the morning and crawled from my lair.
=F= were the _Fleas_, and also the _Flies_,
Who feed on a fellow wherever he lies.
=G= were the _Gripes_ that gripped me within—
The result of commodities packed in a tin.
=H= was the _Hole_ that a howitzer made;
It would take me an hour to fill in with a spade.
=I= was the _Idiot_ who stuck up my head
Before I was taught to take cover instead.
=J= was the _Jam_ with our rations and rum—
We found it was almost invariably “Plum.”
=K= was the _Knowledge_ I quickly acquired
Of hiding whenever the enemy fired.
=L= was the _Louse_ that lurked in my vest,
Reconnoitred my person, and tickled my chest.
=M= was the _Monitor_, firing at night,
Which kept me awake when “above” didn’t bite.
=N= was the “_Night stunt_,” with trembling heart,
Expecting each moment the Maxims would start.
=O=’s the _O.O._[24]; let’s give him a cheer—
It isn’t _his_ fault that nothing comes here.
=P= are the _Piers_—see them shiver and shake
Whenever a launch makes a wash with her wake.
=Q= stands for “_Quick_,” to the tunnel we dash
When a horrible missile explodes with a crash.
=R= are the _Rumours_ we hear every day
That the Turkish _moral_ has quite faded away.
=S= is the gilded _Staff Officer_—who
Censors my letters and tears them in two.
=T= is the _Taube_ that drones in the sky
(Thank goodness, _I_ haven’t been ordered to fly!)
=U= is the _Underground_ sap we expand—
There’s a twopenny tube to the Narrows in hand.
=V= is for _Victory_. How we shall sing
Rule, O Britannia, and God Save the King!
=W= the _Wire_ we put round our works—
We generally find that it’s pinched by the Turks.
=X= the “_X-periments_” made with a bomb—
A neat little cross on a nice little tomb.
=Y= in the world have I ever been placed
In a trench of cold water right up to my waist?
=Z= is the mule corps recruited from _Zion_,
Bearers of water and rations of iron.
“UBIQUE,” 21st Indian Mtn. Battery.
FOOTNOTES:
[24] Ordnance Officer.
TO SARI BAIR
Did Ari Burnu, Sari Bair,
With lips of hot desire,
And clutch your skirts in wild despair
At your disdainful ire?
Oh, Sari Bair, with frowning brow
And flinty breasts of stone—
Fierce Anzac breathes a fiery vow,
Thou art for him alone.
To drive your Abdul from his lairs,
He comes in proud array;
And loud he swears, and when he swears
The Turkish hosts give way.
Dear goddess, wise in ancient lore,
Let Abdul curse the Hun;
The waning Crescent fades before
Australia’s Rising Sun.
But cheer up, poor old Sari Bair,
And smile ’midst battle smoke,
For Anzac, wild of eye and hair,
Is quite a decent bloke.
“BEN TELBOW,”
10th Aust. Battalion.
[Illustration: Decoration]
ON WATER FATIGUE
I’d like to get the Hun who sends
The little bits of shell
Which buzz around as wearily
I top that blooming hill.
He only does his duty,
But my only shirt I’d sell
For half a chance to give the cuss
A non-return to H——!
Trooper GEORGE H. SMITH,
7th Light Horse.
[Illustration: Sergeant (during wet weather): “Hallo, my lad, have
you got nails in your boots?”
Slowly Freezing Australasian: “Well, I’m that —— cold I hardly know
if I’ve got nails in my feet.”]
[Illustration: On Water Fatigue: “Me next!”]
[Illustration: A Cheery Optimist]
[Illustration: NEWS ITEM
The TURKISH extremity WAS blocked on our left.—]
WHEN IT’S ALL OVER....
We were finished with the fightin’, we were finished with the war,
And the dove of peace looked healthier than e’er she did before;
For the Allies put the acid on the Hohenzollern crowd,
And they piled the costs on William when they knew they had him
cowed.
But _we_ didn’t care a cussword if his soul were saved or sold;
We were bound for home and beauty, and the wanderlust was cold.
Yes, we dream of home and Mother, and of Dad and Sister May,
And the girls who used to know us, waitin’ half a world away;
And we’re wantin’ but to find them just the same and nothin’ more—
Just the same old dear old home-folks that we knew before the war.
And I’m hoping they’ll be looking for the boy that used to be,
Not a hero with a halo for the crowd to come and see.
Oh! I’ve snarled to read the phrases that the writers coined for us—
“Deathless heroes—lasting glory,” and the other foolish fuss;
For we’re simple sinful soldiers, and we’re often rude and rough,
And our characters ain’t altered since we donned the khaki stuff.
(“Smithy” terms this “the outpourin’s of an overburdened soul,”
But I’d like to stuff a blanket in that long-offendin’ hole.)
As I gaze on Bill, me cobber,[25] sure I smile a little smile,
For his happy, careless nature doesn’t fit the poet’s style;
No, he don’t resemble Cæsar in his looks or in his speech,
Nor Napoleon nor Cromwell—why, they ain’t within his reach.
He’s a decent sort of cobber, but he doesn’t push a claim
To be classed “a gallant guardian of Britain’s honoured name.”
I’ve a grouch on jingo writers and the poets and them all,
Who have placed us common persons on a public pedestal;
Will they dust our coats and speak to us and help us _when we fall_,
Or paste a different label on us—something very small?
It’s their fault I’m entertaining just a tiny little dread
That me friends may want a hero with a halo round his head.
HARRY MCCANN,
4th A.L.H.
FOOTNOTES:
[25] Cobber—Australian for a well tried and tested pal.
SPECIAL A. & N. Z. A. C. ORDERS
The following are some of the “special orders” issued on notable
occasions to the officers and men of the A. & N. Z. Army Corps.
I. THE LANDING
AUSTRALIAN AND NEW ZEALAND ARMY CORPS
_April, 1915._
OFFICERS AND MEN,—In conjunction with the Navy, we are about to
undertake one of the most difficult tasks any soldier can be called
on to perform, and a problem which has puzzled many soldiers for
years past. That we will succeed I have no doubt, simply because I
know your full determination to do so. Lord Kitchener has told us
that he lays special stress on the rôle the Army has to play in this
particular operation, the success of which will be a very severe blow
to the enemy—indeed, as severe as any he could receive in France. It
will go down to history to the glory of the soldiers of Australia
and New Zealand. Before we start, there are one or two points which
I must impress on all, and I most earnestly beg every single man to
listen attentively and take these to heart.
We are going to have a real hard and rough time of it until, at all
events, we have turned the enemy out of our first objective. Hard,
rough times none of us mind, but to get through them successfully
we must always keep before us the following facts. Every possible
endeavour will be made to bring up transport as often as possible;
but the country whither we are bound is very difficult, and we may
not be able to get our wagons anywhere near us for days, so men must
not think their wants have been neglected if they do not get all they
want. On landing it will be necessary for every individual to carry
with him all his requirements in food and clothing for three days,
as we may not see our transport till then. Remember then that it is
essential for everyone to take the very greatest care not only of his
food, but of his ammunition, the replenishment of which will be very
difficult. Men are liable to throw away their food the first day out
and to finish their water bottles as soon as they start marching. If
you do this now, we can hardly hope for success, as unfed men cannot
fight, and you must make an effort to try and refrain from starting
on your water bottles until quite late in the day. Once you begin
drinking you cannot stop, and a water bottle is very soon emptied.