FERRY POST AND THE SUEZ CANAL DEFENSES
The first attack on the Suez Canal caused the authorities to realize
the need of protecting the canal by having a line of defense in Arabia
far enough east to prevent the enemy reaching the waterway itself. For
if the Turks should again appear on the banks of the canal, they might
easily put enough explosives in it to blow it up. So vital is this
artery of the British Empire that a German general stated that if they
struck a blow there they would sever the empire's neck. The Turkish
attempt to cross the canal was easily frustrated, and of the Anzacs
only a few New Zealanders had a part in the scrap; but the iron boats
that they carried across the desert are in the museum in Cairo and will
be for generations "souvenirs" of this enterprise.
After the evacuation of Gallipoli there were constant rumors of another
attack being contemplated, and for several months the Australians and
New Zealanders were kept in Egypt for the defense of the canal. Before
we dug the trenches in Arabia (which were about ten miles east of the
canal) passengers on steamers passing through it had some lively
experiences, as the Bedouins of the desert would sometimes amuse
themselves by sniping at those on board, and the wheel-house and bridge
had to be protected by sand-bags.
We were camped first at Tel-el-Kebir and then at Ferry Post, near
Ismailia (where the canal enters the Bitter Lake). Those who took part
in the march from Tel-el-Kebir will not forget it in a hurry. The
camels bolted with our water and we only had our water-bottles in a
hundred miles across the desert. By the time we reached the Sweet
Water Canal we were panting like dogs, our tongues swollen and hanging
out, our lips cracked and bleeding. There were many poor fellows just
crazed for need of a drink, under that awful sun that was like the open
furnace-door of hell, with the sand filling every orifice in our faces
and parching our throats till they were inflamed. We were warned that
the Sweet (or fresh) Water Canal was full of germs and that to drink it
might possibly mean death, but most of us were too far gone in the
agony of thirst to care whether the drink were our last, and we threw
ourselves down at the water's edge and lapped it up like dogs.
Fortunately, there were few ill effects, and the medical staff was not
overworked because of it. There might have been many casualties,
though, if it had not been for the New Zealanders, who, hearing of our
plight, came out with water-carts and ambulances and picked up those
who had fallen by the way.
At Ferry Post there was a reorganization of the Australian battalions
and we lost many of our old pals--alas! never to meet again this side
of eternity.
This was the concentration camp whence brigades were despatched for a
spell of trench-digging and guard duty at the outpost line. There was
a good deal of rivalry between us and another brigade known as "The
Chocolate Soldiers." They received this nickname because they were the
most completely equipped unit that ever left Australia. They were
commanded by a well-known public man, and the womenfolk had seen that
they lacked nothing in sweaters or bed-socks. They had a band for
every battalion, while we had to tramp along without the aid of music
to enliven our lagging steps. Maybe we were a bit jealous, because
they on several occasions went by train when we had to hoof it. When
we went to relieve them in the trenches we met on a narrow concrete
roadway where there was only room for one set of fours. The proper way
to pass would have been for each to form two deep, but our boys
spontaneously called out, "Give the gentlemen the road!" and we stepped
aside into the sand. It took us about half an hour to pass, and all
the time there was a running fire of comment. To no one in particular
our fellows would remark, "Why, look? Some of them even shave!" "What
a nice _figure_ that captain has!" "They let them have real guns,
too!" and as the transport passed piled high with officers' kits, there
was a shout of "There go their feather beds!"
We had a sports meeting in the desert, and everybody in our brigade
from the brigadier down to the cook's off-sider was delirious with joy
when we carried off the "championship cup," beating the "Chocolates" by
two or three points. We might not have been so elated had not the
"Chocs." been such "nuts" on themselves, for they had been offering ten
to one on their chances.
The part of the trenches that we occupied was known as "Hog's Back."
On our left was "Duntroon" (named after the Australian West Point). In
front of us was a peculiarly shaped hill called "Whale Back." We did
not live in the trenches themselves, as they were continually falling
in and had to be cleaned out again practically every day. Our supplies
were brought within about three miles on a light tramway. Sometimes we
went short, as this train had a habit of turning over when rounding a
corner and emptying our much-needed tucker in the bottom of the gully.
From the rail-head, which was also the end of the pipe-line, food and
water were loaded onto camels; and as I had seen something of camel
transport in western Queensland, I was for a few weeks put in charge of
the camel-loading. Camels are curious beasts and know to an ounce the
weight they carried yesterday, and if you attempt to put on them one
jam-tin more they will curse you long and loud, end up with some very
sarcastic and personal remarks, and then submit to the injustice under
protest. They are very revengeful and will harbor a grudge for days,
waiting their chance to bite your arm off when they can catch you
unawares. A camel's load has to be equal weight on each side, and it
was some problem making a ham and a side of beef balance a case of
canned goods. These camels were a mongrel breed, anyway, and poor
weight-carriers. We usually put an eight-hundred-pound load on a camel
in Queensland--I have seen one carrying two pianos--but these beasts
would not carry more than two hundred pounds. A camel has never really
been tamed and they protest against everything they are asked to do.
They growl and swear when made to kneel, and make as much fuss again
when urged to get up. Their skin never heals from a cut or sore, but
they can have no feeling in it, for the Arabs simply stitch a piece of
leather over the place. An old camel is all shreds and patches. They
have to be provided with separate drinking-places from the horses, for
they put germs in the water that give the horses some kind of disease.
They are unsociable brutes and ought to be segregated, anyway. No
wonder every high-bred horse is terrified at the smell of a camel; the
first time you meet one it is like a blow in the face and remains a
weight on your mind until the camel is a long way to leeward. They had
a special objection to carrying fresh water, and nearly always bolted
when they discovered it was "Adam's ale" that was swishing about on the
outside of their hump. Perhaps it reminded them of their last week's
drink. The result for us was that when the transport arrived there
would be no water, and Mr. Ishmail and his camel would have to beat a
hasty retreat from the rage of the boys, for water was our chief need,
and it seems to me that there never was a time in those trenches that I
wasn't thirsty.
[Illustration: An Australian Camel Corps.]
I had some fun scouting in the desert, but on several occasions was
very nearly lost when there were no stars, and hills had been altered
in shape by the wind since I last passed them. We were expecting an
attack by the Turks, and some camel patrols we sent out reported signs
of camps but no sight of the enemy. As a consequence of these rumors
our sentries were very nervous, and we scouts ran considerable risk
returning to our lines before daylight. I was very nearly shot on
several occasions, and once was within an ace of firing on one of my
best pals. I saw a figure in the dark and, sneaking up to it, called
out: "Put up your hands!" He did so, but then foolishly dropped them
again. If he had not called out, "Who the hell are you?" at the same
moment, he would have been a dead man.
A squadron of our Light Horse discovered a Turkish well-boring party in
the desert. They were under command of an Austrian engineer, but soon
surrendered when they saw that they were surrounded. This made us sure
that the Turkish army could not be far away, but our aeroplanes
reported no signs of it. A few weeks later an attack was made by about
twenty thousand Turks on the Scottish regiment holding the line to the
north of us and we had a bit of a skirmish with their flank guard.
They surprised us completely; the fight was fought mostly in pyjamas on
our part, but we had little difficulty in driving them off. This raid
was some achievement and I take off my hat to the man who planned it.
They came across those many miles of desert without being seen,
bringing with them even six-inch guns. They bluffed our aeroplanes by
only travelling at night and hiding under sand-colored canvas in the
daytime. Their heavy transport was moved by laying a track in front of
it, taking it up behind as it passed on and putting it down in front
again.
We captured a lone Turk soldier nursing his blistered feet in the
desert and he was delighted to join us. We also brought in at the same
time a Bedouin who evidently thought we were some species of game, for
although he fired on us he had no love for his Turkish companion and
could not be persuaded to keep him company. The only request I heard
this Turk make was for one of our uniforms. He kept pointing out the
filth of his own clothes, so I had some water given to him to wash
them, but this did not satisfy him at all. It was not the cleanliness
of our uniforms he admired, but the cut and material. Perhaps this was
policy, for generally the Turkish prisoners would remark: "Englisher
very good--German damn bad!"
After this we returned to Ferry Post again and it was almost like going
home for we had daily swims in the canal and plenty of liquid
refreshment, the wet canteen doing a roaring trade. We were also able
to buy luxuries, such as biscuits and canned puddings; and even relieve
the monotony of marmalade jam with "bullocky's joy." This last is
merely molasses or "golden syrup" called "bullocky's joy," sometimes
"cocky's delight" because it is the chief covering for slices of bread
with the bullock-driver or cocky farmer in Australia.
When a steamer was passing through the canal during our bathing-parades
we had to get in up to the neck as we were warmly clad with merely a
tin identity-disk hung round our necks on a piece of dirty string.
Some of the passengers would throw into the water tins of tobacco and
cigarettes; and there were some sprints for these made in record time,
I tell you. Sometimes we would receive messages from home and it was
surprising how often the man whose name was called out would chance to
be present. There were occasions, however, when some one would call
out from the ships: "D'you know Private Brown of the Yorkshires?" and
we would have to explain that we were Australians. I suppose we could
not expect them to recognize us dressed as we were, though our language
should have given them a hint. On our part we would inquire if the war
was still on, and tell them to give our regards to King George.
One morning the camp was all agog and the air thick with "furphies."
We were ordered to get ready for embarkation, and speculation was rife
as to our destination. Some said we were going to Mesopotamia. Others
had it from a reliable source that we were bound for Salonika. _Some
one said, that some one told them, that they had heard_, that a sentry
outside the general's tent had overheard the general talking in his
sleep and _we were to make another attack on the Dardanelles_! There
were few who guessed we were going to France, such being too good to be
true, and only the bold ones dared to whisper "that it might be so,"
but they were immediately told to "Shut up! Don't be an ass! Hasn't
our luck been out ever since we left Australia?" I really think we
were afraid to voice our hopes aloud lest Fate should overhear us, and
if the word "France" was mentioned by accident we all immediately
touched wood, a handy pal's head serving the purpose.
When we took train for Alexandria our hearts beat almost to suffocation
and it was only when the troop-ship cleared the harbor, and eager eyes
watching the compass saw her course was set N.W., that we gave a cheer,
feeling that at last we might have a chance to show our mettle with the
Canadians and Tommies, where the biggest fight was raging.
Before we left the wharf our kits were inspected and cut down to
absolutely the minimum weight. Transport space was limited, but it
broke many of our hearts to part with the sweater "Phyllis" made. We
could only keep two pairs of socks; some boys had at least fifty. In
one boy's pack there was a red pair and he was thereafter always known
as "Coldfeet." No one wept at leaving Egypt, and France held all the
fruit of our dreams.