"AT THE COVE"

"Bloody hell, what am I doing here?" I thought as I jumped into about 4 feet of water from the small wooden boat that had brought us from the large troopships to the beaches of Gaba Tepe, Gallipoli Peninsula on this fateful morning of the 25^th April 1915. The water was running red with blood, there were bodies everywhere, some floating in the water and many, oh, so many on the sands of the beach.

We, who were of the 7^th Battalion, 1^st Division of the Australian Imperial Forces (AIF) were in the second wave to hit the beach; the first wave had really copped it and suffered tremendious casualties. Johnny Turk had the advantage, they knew that we were coming and were well dug in with substantial, well prepared trenches and machine gun positions. In the early morning, the sun was behind them and they had the advantage of height. The Turks were looking straight down at us on the unprotected beach and we had very little cover as we tried to climb the rising banks to cover.

All I could think of was to get out of the water onto dry ground and run like hell, to find a hole or someplace to hide. After struggling through waist high water, my feet eventually were on solid land. My boots were full of water, when I got to dry land, I was able to run but there was little protection to be had. I managed to run at a fair speed to a small shell hole in the sand. I could feel the heat from the bullets and the shell fragments as they whizzed past my face. Every second I expected one of them to rip into my body.

To my left and right, mates were silently dropping and lying very still. There were shells bursting all over the place and men and parts of men were flying through the air. Even the dead and dying were being hit over and over again. "This is no place for me," I thought, I must get to a safer spot where I can do some good and help with returning fire and fighting the Turks. Slowly lifting my head, I looked about for a suitable new position. Over to my right I could see several men hunched behind a machine gun blazing away when one of them was hit and fell sideways. I decided to go to their aid and take the place of the hit gunner. Jumping to my feet, I ran at full pelt, I felt I was running in slow motion and every Turk on the peninsula was shooting at me.

I crashed to the ground along side the depleted gun crew and immediately started to feed the ammunition belt into the machine gun. Not a word was spoken, it just all happened; this is where the fine training of the A.I.F. showed. Eventually, after a lot of hand to hand fighting by the men further forward, the order was given to advance. The shrill piercing sound of the officer’s whistle was heard and to a man, we jumped to our feet and started to advance. The casualties seemed a little lighter now as the returning Australian fire had done quite a bit of damage to Johnny Turk and his guns.

The Turks were turning on the hot lead. Our mob had to run up Shrapnel Gully to new positions. This gully was about a mile long with both sides going up at 45 degrees and covered with thorny bushes about 2 to 4 feet high. The Turks sniped at us and many of our men were wounded and killed before any of us had fired a shot. This was our introduction to the Gallipoli peninsula.

I was considered to be a fair athlete while at school, I was in the upper levels of the football, cricket and track events. About 5 foot 11 inches, around 10 stone 7 pounds. I stood out in a group with my blond, short cropped curly hair and gaunt features. The family called my handsome but of course they were biased I think.

The battle ships off shore had pounded the positions above us on the ridge with the ship’s guns, the Australians below took advantage of the confusion created and the troops stormed up the hill. The Turks fought well and were a strong formidable opponent. We fought hand to hand; the fighting consisted of bomb throwing, small arms fire and the dreaded bayonet. The Turks soon learnt to fear the Australians and their bayonets.

My fellow gun crew and I found a new position to set up a reasonably good machine gun post with a wide range of fire and a good view over enemy territory. We dug in and made our selves as comfortable as we could and had a small snack of bully beef and biscuits. Things were quiet for a while, then the Turkish shelling started again, The shells were landing all around us and it was starting to make life a very precarious. Eventually, I realised that I must find my own section and return to being a rifleman. I said goodbye to my gun crew pals and headed off to look for my correct unit. Crawling back down the hill a few hundred yards, I found part of my platoon and rejoined them. It was good to be amongst familiar faces; I noticed that a lot of my mates were missing. Our casualties had been very heavy, we had lost a lot.

The day was drawing to a close and the sun was falling towards the horizon behind us, it slowly sunk into the Aegean Sea, the sunset was very colourful and it made it very difficult to accept that we were there under such dreadful circumstances. The Australians were now preparing to bed down and post lookouts but the Turks did not let up. The shelling increased and the Turkish machine guns racked the valleys below us, not sparing a square foot. Many of the Australians hiding in the undergrowth were in deep trouble and many ended up in a very poor situation. Hiding in the boxthorn type scrub was really bad as the ‘box-thorn’ was tearing the soldiers on both sides to pieces.

Digging in was very difficult on the slopes as all the topsoil had been washed away over the years leaving a very hard and stony surface. When a shell landed, the shrapnel was subsidised with the small stones, many a soldier on both sides were wounded or killed by small stones acting like shrapnel.

During the night both sides sent out patrols and probed into the opposing lines and there were small skirmishes. In the morning many Australians found themselves behind the Turkish lines and in some cases captured, but most hid until the next night and managed to crawl back to their own lines.

We dug in as deep as we could and survived the night with out any major mishaps. A small 3 man Turkish patrol came to grief when they stumbled upon some of our mob, they did not live to see the dawn. We were expected to get to the top of the ridge and eventually move up the peninsula to Constantinople to take the Turks out of the war. The Turks were fighting off invaders from the other side of the world, so both sides fought and died thinking they were doing a very important job for their countries in the overall scheme of things. There was no real animosity between the opposing sides, but each had a job to do.

At dawn, I took part in a charge up the opposite side of Shrapnel Gully towards the Turkish lines. The Turks were caught unawares and we captured a few trenches with minimal casualties and took a number of prisoners. It was only then that we saw our enemy closeup. They were fine looking and fit fellows. All very sorry to have been captured.

Water was running short as it was difficult to get supplies up from the beach to us, we were always thirsty. The Turks were OK for water, being on the top of the range, all their supplies, ammunition and reinforcements were easily bought up from behind and direct from Constantinople.

We had to have all our gear and supplies shipped in. They would land and store it on the beach, all under continual artillery and sniper fire from the mountaintops. A lot of our equipment and stores were destroyed before we were able to use any of it.

I had a pal; Jack Melvin, we have been together since early training in Broadmeadows, Melbourne. Jack’s family had several members in the military. He knew me as ‘Snowy’ due to my blond hair. Jack was shorter than me and was a tough, stocky sort of bloke. He also did very well in the sports, with a mop of red hair that always looked like it needed a comb or a brush. He was a good mate and we looked out for each other. We were lucky to be placed together in the same section.

As the fighting continued, we slowly advanced up through the mountainous country until we reached a place that was called ‘Courtney’s Post’. This location was heavily defended. Hard and heavy fighting took place and casualties were heavy in both armies. The shellfire rained down heavily, it was hailing pieces of hot steel. We were both in the thick of it when a Turkish grenade landed on a small out crop of rock just to the left of Jack’s head, it blew him over sideways and he collapsed at my feet. I bent to help him. But as I looked closer, I realised poor Jack was finished as half his head had been blown clean away.

I was shocked and collapsed to my knees and wept, it was the first close pal I had lost. This did not mean I could sit there and cry, I had to get to my feet quickly, leaving my pal lying there dead and continue fighting, this we all did with much anger, we fought like men possessed. We ran, we shot, we threw bombs and I used my bayonet until I was covered with Turkish blood.

Slowly the fighting subsided and we, the Australians were able to catch our breath. We posted some lookouts, the survivors were able to help the wounded and take a well-earned rest. It did not last very long as the Turkish artillery zeroed in on us again and many more of our boys were killed and wounded.

The shellfire was so bad; we had to move back out of sight and range of the big guns. The ground so expensively gained was lost, all the dead and wounded were wasted. Many of the dead were left behind and not recovered for many weeks. We got a message back to Head Quarters calling for the big guns on the battleships out in the Aegean Sea to help. After a short time, they were able to make life in the Turkish Artillery very uncomfortable.

As I huddled in a trench with shells bursting all around me, I forced myself to let my mind wander and try and remember the good side of life. I tried to imagine I was still at home, still a kid. I remembered being at school where I studied to be a plumber, how I worked so hard to pass my exams so I would qualify for an apprenticeship. I also thought of the times when I would watch the girls in a nearby girls school playing basketball, wondering what it would be like to have a girlfriend, some one to hold in my arms and maybe make love to.

Just before I joined up, I did have a girlfriend for a while but it did not work out. Some of my mates had small children, I wondered what it would be like to see and have a small little human being that was part of me and the woman I loved.

This was never to be I thought, I was not going to make it home. Eventually the shelling would subside and we would return to our duties and chores, making ready for the next time.

The fighting continued like this for many long and weary weeks. To and fro, back and forth. A few yards gained and then lost again. Many young boys gave their lives helping a mate who was wounded. The Turks were fair soldiers and in most cases respected the Red Cross or a white flag of truce to recover the wounded and dead. Both sides fought bitter battles but held a high respect for each other.

Late in July 1915 we heard that the Australian 2^nd Division was to land in the very near future. Within a few days thousands of men arrived. Some of them were not so lucky as their ship had been torpedoed just off shore and about 60 lost. We heard some horrific stories from the survivors a few days later when the new men filtered up into the front line.

One young fresh faced signalman from the 21^st Battalion, 2^nd Division by the name of Ivan Alexander slid into our dugout one evening and related the story of the near disaster of the ship ‘Southland’ being hit with a torpedo. This is what he wrote in his diary: -

September 2nd 1915 was the day that will be impressed on the minds of many of our Battalion. All who survive this war will never forget it as long as they live. At 9am I went below and had a shave and at the same time upset a bottle of Iodine over my razer case, thus making it look as if it was not worth picking out of the gutter. Shortly after I went up on deck and was sitting on a seat with my pal Reg and a couple of others: after a while Reg asked me the time, I looked, it was 9.50am. Just as I was fastening up my watch the boat gave a lurch, a wiggle, shook violently and then gave a sound of a terrible explosion. On the top of this came a deluge of water and spray. About a minute after this happened the "ABANDON SHIP' Signal was given. This meant every man for himself as we were torpedoed and it looked as if the ship would go under any minute. The boys took it quite calmly as they stopped and lowered all the boats. Every one went down below, got their lifebelt and stood their boat stations as if it was a drill move instead of being in earnest.

We should have been the third boat to leave, but owing to my good luck, I suppose, was filled before I could get down to it. Anyhow there were four of this party drowned. By about 1 o'clock we had lowered all the boats and they took some lowering too as they were simply painted and stuck on to all the fixed woodwork, a disgrace to the authorities.

The Hospital Ship "Neuralia" eventually picked us up. She is a beautiful boat and when I boarded her I was just about done and collapsed on the deck at the top of the Gangway for about 1/4 hour. All I managed to save was my shirt and trousers; but others were not even so lucky as myself. At 2.45pm the "Neuralia" on which we had a good feed proceeded to Lemnos arriving there at 4pm.

Ivan was tall and gaunt, good looking with an angelic face, very skinny but all muscle, the tough training in Egypt had made us all very strong and keen to fight. Ivan was only 17 ¾ years old when he joined up.

I was truly lucky, a couple of days later I was out on patrol when I was blown over by a shell blast and copped a large lump of shrapnel in my left arm. If it had been a few inches to the right, I would have been a statistic, one of the dead. I became one of the ‘walking wounded’ with my arm in a sling. I struggled down towards the beach where the aid stations were. I assisted where I could with the more seriously wounded. The ones riding the donkeys were sometimes a real mess. It was a shocking and sickening sight. I had to make my own way down to the beach for further treatment and eventual evacuation to a Military Hospital on the island of Lemnos.

"MENDING"

I had a few problems getting to the beach from where I had been positioned on the front line as the Turkish artillery and sniper fire were still blasting away at us. I left on foot and started to weave my way down through the scrub keeping my head down. I stumbling and fell many times into the box thorn bushes onto my injured arm. I was in dreadful pain.

Finally, I arrived on the beach where I found the Aid Stations after passing hundreds of other wounded and crippled young men. The beach was littered with dead and wounded. Stores and equipment was scattered all over the place. Shells were still dropping amongst all this causing added problems every minute. Ammunition exploding, more wounded being wounded and killed as they lay there. I noticed one particular stretcher-bearer with his donkey, using it to transport wounded who could not walk. He was later to be immortalised in statues throughout Australia as "Simpson and his donkey". In the treatment area I was left to last as there were many others hurt worse than I.

There were many strange reactions to the terror of shelling when it was relentless and went on for hours. Some of the men would huddle in a corner of the trench and shake like jelly, some would cry, some would just sit there and sleep. The most evident were the joke makers, they would try and lighten the tense situation by playing the fool and/or telling jokes. Me, I would sit and shake like hell.

After medical assessment I was graded and placed back into one of the small boats that had transported us from the troopship to the beach only a few weeks before. Finally I was on board the hospital ship and had my wound attended to properly and I was able to have a wonderful shower, get some new and clean cloths and then a decent feed. Once I had all this done I was able to rest in safety for the first time for a long time.

At long last we arrived at the Military Hospital on Lemnos Island where we were placed in nice beds in large long tents. There were hundreds of these, row after row of them. Ambulances, stretcher-bearers, Doctors and Nurses were everywhere.

It was sad to see the stretchers being carted away with limp figures on them with their faces covered. These poor fellows had not made it. I could hear a faint bugler playing the ‘Last Post’ in a not so far away burial ground.

During this time of hospitalisation and rehabilitation, I met and grew friendly with an Australian nurse, Sister (Lt.) Jeanne Miller who by chance was from Carlton, Melbourne, my hometown.

Wow, what a stunning lady, she was about 5 foot 4 inches, a mop of beautiful brown hair tied up in a tidy bun, I reckon it would look great to see her ‘with her hair down’. She looked about 7 stone with a waist I would love to measure; she really knocked me for a loop.

Due to the fact she was an officer, it was difficult to pursue any close friendship, as the military did not condone officers and other ranks mixing socially.

All the boys thought Sister Miller was a great nurse, she was in charge of our ward and tried very hard to be strict and keep the young Australian diggers under control. As soon as we started to regain our health, we became a problem for this young and pretty nurse. The once wounded and sick were now full of life and spent most of our spare time setting up pranks to annoy and upset the nurses and many of the doctors who were also British Officers.

We Australians had an aversion to authority, particularly British, and we would do anything we could to create frivolity at their expense. The British Commanders and some of their doctors had some strange and sometimes stupid regulations. When a doctor and/or officer entered a ward of sick and wounded men, we (the patients) were expected to get out of bed and stand to attention at the foot of our beds until the visiting officer/doctor left.

This was a great concern to Australian Sister Jeanne Miller and on several occasions asked the doctor if the really sick could return to their beds. Of course this request was granted. Sister Miller would call out "OK fellas, you can all return to bed". On one occasion a senior officer spoke to Sister Miller and said, "Not all are that sick!" Sister Miller replied "They would not be in hospital if they were well", this did not make her particularly popular with the hierarchy but she was a heroin amongst the troops. She was indeed a very special lady.

When there are dozens of young men concentrated in a hospital with little to do, they usually find mischievous activities to occupy their time. One of my pals caught a mouse that was running around the place. He tied a piece of string to it’s tail, connected the other end of the string to a drawing pin inside a draw in the Sister’s desk and closed the draw. When the poor unsuspecting lady opened the draw, the mouse leapt out at her and was stopped dead in mid flight by the string. The Sister let out a load scream and we all roared with laughter.

Sister Miller was soon to get her own back when our health improved. Some of us were allowed leave in the evenings and we would go out and visit the local nightspots. We were directed to be back by a certain time but of course on many occasions crept in after the lights were out. Sister Miller got her revenge when she witnessed several of us creeping in late one night. She gave us time to enter the ward and then she made enough noise to let us know she was coming, we jumped into bed fully clothed; it was a very warm night.

Sister Miller casually wandered into the ward, looked at the ‘sleeping’ diggers and then went to the cupboard, removed a pile of blankets and placed two blankets on each of the offenders, of course we sweltered. She then sat at the end of the ward in full view and did some paperwork, we were made to suffer for some time before she allowed us to remove the blankets and get undressed. We all respected her and loved her more than ever from then on.

I slowly recovered from my wound and was regraded and made ready to return to the peninsula. I was not over joyed with the prospect of returning but I knew it was inevitable. I said my farewells to Jeanne, never knowing if I would ever see her again. I knew I had fallen in love with her even though she was a few years older than I was.

I now had a new reason to survive the war, I wanted to catch up with her after the war and hopefully marry her.

After I had been re-equipped, issued with a new rifle and equipment etc, I again was transported back to the beach, which by now was known as ANZAC Cove. It was a lot quieter now but still being shelled at regular intervals. It was now well into November 1915, seven months since the landing and still the Australians have not made much progress against the well established, well equipped hard fighting Turks.

I reported back to my Company Commander up near the front line just up from ‘Lone Pine’. I was re-posted to a new job as a signalman and guess who was to be my corporal, the newly appointed Corporal Ivan Alexander who had been transferred to my company from the recently arrived 2nd Division. My new job under the guidance of Ivan was to run and maintain phone lines, repair damaged cables and keep communications open at all times. It was not long before I found myself crawling around in the middle of the night over ‘No Mans Land’ repairing phone lines as they were hit by shellfire. I found working with Cpl. Ivan Alexander was good and we became great pals.

By now both sides had the shelling down to a fine art. Ivan and I had to be proficient in morse code and I was lucky as I learnt fast, I had to, the heliograph was well used. The heliograph is a device that reflects sunlight and is able to flash morse code to communicate with other units. One day we were instructed to set up a communications post on the top of a nearby mound to enable Battalion Head Quarters to communicate with the ships in the bay. We were setting up the heliograph when a shell exploded so close that we were blown clean off the hill top and crashed down into a nearby trench and we were buried under about 2 feet of loose dirt. Both of us were stunned by the blast and it took some time before our mates were able to dig us out, no worse for wear, but very dirty, scared stiff and shaken.

Rumours started to circulate that we were going to evacuate the peninsula, the men could not believe such a thing could be considered after so much hard work and so many lives lost. However, the rumours proved to be correct and the preparations started. Weapons were rigged up to give a false impression that troops were still in the trenches long after the men had left. Ivan and I had run phone lines that would trigger explosions miles away. The Australians totally fooled the unsuspecting Turks and we were well away before the Turks had the slightest idea that we had shot through, we were all out by late December 1915. There were no casualties caused by the Turks.

Our battalion returned to the training camps in Egypt where my friendship with Ivan flourished. We spent all our leave time together visiting all the local sites. On a visit to the pyramids we decided to venture down one of the downward passageways into the centre. The local Arab guides would take the Australians deep into the tunnel using candles for light. They would say "Two Piastas, Mr. Mc Kenzie" (all Australians were ‘Mr. Mc Kenzie’ to the native population). We went down about two thirds of the way and the guide blew out the candle, then asked for more money. This was a real racket and worked well until the diggers woke up to it. We soon made sure we were prepared and would have our own candles in our pockets.

There were many exciting and ancient places to visit. For many weeks we carried out manoeuvres and refreshed our skills in warfare. But a lot of the time was spent having a good time and regaining our fitness. I thought of Jeanne a lot and dreamt of when I might see her again.

After a period of 8 to 10 weeks we were informed that our battalion was soon to embark for France. We knew it would be tough over there as the shocking reports and large lists of casualties had been made public. Preparations started and the camps were struck as thousands of Australian diggers prepared to take part in the most horrific series of events in the history of mankind.

"TO HELL ON EARTH"

We all knew of the huge battles and bloodshed in France. Allied troops from the British Commonwealth had been fighting there since 1914. The number of Australian Divisions had now grown to 5 with replacements arriving daily. It was an enormous operation; thousands upon thousands of Australian and Allied troops were being made ready for the big action ahead. Ivan and I were very excited and seeing the enormity of the preparation for the operation soon to take place made us confident of success.

While in Egypt, I wrote many letters to Jeanne and had received just as many. I was very excited with the prospect of marrying her after the war. By now Jeanne had been shipped to England to nurse Australian and other British troops from Gallipoli and France.

Our battalion Commander, Lt. Col Alex Hughes was a fine commander, we all thought very highly of him. He was very keen on new fangled gadgets and liked having telephones all over his area, but Australian supplies were short and Ivan and I were unable to do as the Colonel asked due to the lack of phone equipment. Col Hughes called Ivan to his tent and handed him a bottle of whisky, told him of a British Supply Depot about 3 miles away. Without actually saying so but the suggestion was to use the whisky to gain access to the supply depot where the phones and other equipment were stored.

About midnight that night, two of us (Ivan could not go, as he was a Corporal) wandered down to the British camp with the whisky bottle under my arm. Australians were well known for their friendliness and mateship and it did not take much to get the English guards into a drinking session. After about an hour, the English guards were wiped out and had collapsed in a drunken heap.

We loaded up a hand wagon with phones, cables, switchboards and took off into the night as fast as we could go. By midday the next day, Col Hughes was a very happy man. My co-conspirator and I had to keep out of site for a few days in case the British Military Police should drop by.

One by one the battalions travelled from Egypt to France by ship and within days started to travel in dozens of different trains, some times marching for many miles for the western front. I was amazed at the beauty of France after the aridness of North Africa. It was all so green and full of life. The French people welcomed the Australian soldiers as by now our roll had changed. In Gallipoli we were the invaders of Turkey and were fighting on Turkish soil. Here in France we were fighting to defend France from the invading Germans. The French could not understand why soldiers from the other side of the world should want to fight for them.

It took some time to reach the front, as the logistics of it all were enormous. Thousands upon thousands of troops, equipment, guns etc from several nations had to be transported to the combat zone, we had to be fed, billeted and fully re-equipped for the new environment, as it was to be a different world and a different type of war.

As already mentioned, the train system was used extensively to carry men and equipment to the trenches, but the last miles were travelled using horses and on foot. As we got closer to the front line, evidence of shelling and the fighting became more and more. We started to hear the heavy guns going flat out in the distance. In many cases entire towns and villages had been totally flattened. Wagon after wagon were transporting wounded from the battle front back to the field hospitals, it was an awful sight. Ivan and I were horrified and scarred stiff, what we had seen and witnessed at Gallipoli was nothing compared with this massive slaughter. Closer and closer we moved towards the constant pounding of the big guns. Shells were landing to the left, the right, behind and in front of us, we felt it was only a matter of time until we were ourselves blown to kingdom come.

The attitude of the diggers had changed; they no longer feared death as they did when they first saw action in Gallipoli. We accepted that we would die, the only unknown factor was when. All we really wanted was that we do our job and do it well and if that meant dying, so be it. Each time after waking after a sleep (when I got some!), I would think "Will it be today, will I die today or be crippled?" I’d look around and see the smelly bodies of the dead and cannot help but wonder if tomorrow I may be dead and become one of those rotting heaps of slime that was once a happy human being.

The bottom of the trenches were soaked in blood, where the soil had dried, it was clumps of dried blood, dirt and mud. Every few hours I was notified or saw evidence of another pal gone. All our uniforms became splattered with our own and our mates blood and bits of flesh.

We saw our mates being blown sky high, the wounded being wounded over and over and many killed. Eventually we made it to the support trenches that were just behind the front line. The men in the support trenches would relieve the troops up front and after a time of rest would swap back again. This would go on for weeks at time until new battalions came to take over all together. This was in theory at least but it did not always happen that way due to confusion and bombardments could go on for day after day or assaults by the enemy or shear lack of men and this of course delayed replacements etc.

Some of us were trapped in our trenches for day after day with little rest, food or ammunition. On at least one occasion we were fighting for our lives, trapped in our trenches, unable to be relieved, unable to do any thing but survive when a number of Germans surrendered. This created a huge problem, as there was not enough food, not enough water, no where to keep them safely so the awful decision had to be made. They were shot, I felt very uneasy about this as the poor fellows like us had had enough and just wanted out, but it was all about survival now and this was at the time, the only way out.

It was so cold, all we had to set fire to biscuits to heat anything, all we had was bully beef and those hard army biscuits.

I had just returned from a very difficult patrol out in ‘No Man’s Land’ with Ivan and was resting in a trench chatting to another bloke when the shelling started again. Being exhausted, I was sitting with my head in my hands talking. After a while I noticed the digger next to me was no longer answering me and I looked up and the poor fellow was dead, a bullet or piece of shrapnel had silently snuffed out his life, he was sitting there, eyes wide open but stone dead. He had died with out a murmur. I had witnessed many deaths but this was a shock and I became very sick for a short time and was really rattled, I thought "There but for the grace of God sit I".

At that moment Ivan called me from further down the trench and that shook me back to reality, it was time to go back to work. On arrival in France we were issued with steel helmets for the first time, some of the men considered them a waste of time but after being shelled consistently for a few hours they learnt their value. They were never really intended to stop a direct hit from a bullet but to protect us from falling shrapnel that rained down constantly. We were in Battalion supports. It was 11 pm, after a fairly solid bombardment all day by both sides, our Brigade ( in fact the whole Division ) made an attack for Pozieres Ridge. The bombardment was immense, it was hell on earth.

The next day we heard that the charge the previous night was a great success, but the next mob had made a horrible mess of it. The casualties are terrific. Their wounded were coming down by the hundreds all day. Last evening I was up at the Dressing Station making coffee for the wounded. This was all night job so good-bye to another night's sleep.

After being up all night, we went back at 5 am and tried to get a little sleep but our luck was out. We had to pack up to go into the trenches again. The trip up there I shall never forget.

On the road up were the remains of a town and some nearby woods, now all that was left were a few scattered bricks and splintered logs and stumps. There was not one spot where you could find one square foot of earth not dug up by shells. Next we came to the remains of what had been a large town. It is something awful. There is not the slightest trace of a house or woods left. In most places even the bricks and tree stumps are missing, having been pounded to dust.

The ground is just honeycombed with shell holes and the whole aspect and contour of the ground is changed. All the old German dugouts, which have been some fine places, were all destroyed; they were full of corpses in all stages of decomposition. Some were 40 feet below the ground.

The saps, or the remains of them and the ground were just covered with corpses, some terribly mangled, the stench was something awful.

These were bodies of Huns, Tommies and Australians killed in the last advance. This was the most awful sight I have ever seen. The shells that pass from side to side are enormous and many. One cannot bear the row at times. During the afternoon I was hit on the back of the head with a lump of wood, but luckily, my steel helmet saved me, I ended up with an awful headache.

It’s amazing how callous you become after a period in the front line. I was helping Ivan to run some phone lines along a much shelled nearby trench. The earlier bombardment had caused the sides of the trench to fall in exposing all sorts of horrible things that had been earlier buried.

Some times due the continual fighting, it was days before some of the bodies could be recovered and buried.

This sort of thing no longer seemed to bother us like it did earlier. The phone lines had to be continually repaired and in cases of advances or retreating, the phone cables had to be re-run to new locations every few days, some times hours.

I never in all my life thought things could be in such a state of desolation and ruin. Even from pictures you cannot imagine the time we were having.

My word it has made a different man of me. There were hundreds of dead and decaying dead lying everywhere. There are arms legs, pieces of bodies, armless, legless, and headless. They are the most gruesome sights I have ever seen in all my life.

Even after they are dead they could not rest in peace as the shells would land on top of them and blow them to pieces. The casualties are very heavy and we could not keep pace with the wounded that are lying everywhere and who are being wounded over and over again and being killed by the dozens. The bombardment by both sides was terrific. One big 6-inch shell burst about 10 feet from me and knocked me flat, I was otherwise unmarked apart from a tremendious headache. Our head quarters and trenches are being bombarded without ceasing. It was terrible. The number of shells in the air at one time was simply unbeleivable. We were out all day mending telephone wires which are broken as fast as we could lay or mend them.

Our headquarters was once more the centre of the Germans fury. He shelled us all day very heavily. I never thought it possible for such a bombardment. It was with 4.5, 6 , and 9.2 shells.

Our dugout, which was of solid concrete just simply danced and trembled all day. We could not keep a light burning due to the concussion. This was kept up all night. During the bombardment all our wires were broken again and again, our communications with the rest of the Brigade was near enough to zero. We tried to keep them mended but were ordered to abandon the attempt. The next morning I tried to get communication by lamp. All the boys said "Goodbye" when they heard what we had to do. Anyhow the enemy must have seen us and put a 5.9 over at us. It blew me and my lamp sky high and hurled the chap who was helping me right down the steps of the dugout. I was only bruised and very dirty. It killed my mate.

They were still bombarding as heavy as ever. The casualties were fearful. This continued till 2.30 am. At 12.30 I had to go with a dispatch. The shelling was so heavy on the track we usually took that I had to take another and longer track. This took me two hours to do which was usually a 15-minute trip. The particular little bit of the road I am referring to was where the main sap was leading up to the front line and was called the Centreway Sap. It crosses the sight of the Bapaume - Albert Road where it was used to enter Pozieres, a little hundred or so yards to our Headquarters. On this spot there are more dead than any other spot around.

It was literally covered with at least three hundred or more dead. In the dark I was walking on dead everywhere. In fact we had to sleep with them. The bottoms of the saps were absolutely covered with bodies and the tracks were quite soft where they had been trodden into the earth.

To come back to my message, I eventually arrived there safe and then made a run across open country with it. As I was nearing our destination I was knocked over three times in succession by shells exploding about 3 or 4 feet from me. You have no idea of the marvellous escapes one had. They started bombarding us again at 3.30 pm with the same violence as last night. The enemy spots a man running along a trench ( which we do at record speed ) and starts sniping us with 5.9 shells.

The Germans were able to do this as he had a full view of us, he on the hills and we lower down. The best event of the day was at 6pm when we were relieved by one of the other Battalions. Coming out we had to race for dear life from the shells. We were so weakened by casualties and the strain of the past few days that the Doctor ordered that he would not be responsible for the unit if we were to remain in the front line any longer.

At one stage Ivan was under heavy bombardment and was taking shelter in a shell hole, he was laying face down in the mud and his helmet was on the back of his head when he received a heavy wack on the back of his head. His hand automatically went to his head as he removed his hand he found he had a large piece of hot shrapnel in it. If he had not worn his helmet, he would have had a major head wound or even been killed.

The German steel helmet was a good design; it protected the side and the back of the head as well. They also had a slide on attachment that fitted on the front and was about 3/8^th inch thick and made of cast iron. This gave more protection to the front of the head of the infantryman and/or sniper. This attachment was very heavy and seldom worn. We found many of the protective shields lying about the captured trenches where the German soldiers had discarded them due to their heavy weight.

The shelling continued and the casualties kept on growing in numbers. In some areas of the front, thousands died each day. Some men were totally blown to bits and no chance of ever recovering their bodies. Our company was caught in our trench when the Germans came over the top in droves. The hand to hand fighting was horrific; we were using rifle butts, hand bombs, bayonets and bare hands. The trenches started to fill up with the dead, the men continued to fight, trampling the bodies into the mud in the bottom of the trench. Many wounded were trampled into the mud and died a long and painful death. The noise was awful, the yelling of the fighting men, the explosions of the hand bombs, the screaming of the wounded being trampled, it was a total nightmare. Something I will never forget till my dying day.

"THE SOMME"

News filtered through that our Brigade was going to be moving out soon, to where? Nobody really knew. Hopefully to some place of rest. Our destination was to an even worse place, the Somme. The major slaughterhouse of the war where casualties were higher than anywhere else. Guns were wheel to wheel on both sides and when they opened fire, there was not a square yard of the enemy’s area was left untouched by the shells. The trenches were no protection as the shells continually blew the sides in. Ivan and I were running some phone lines, I made the following entry into my diary: -

In the Centreway Sap, is, protruding from the side, the hand of a corpse and which has turned black. It is held out like someone begging. I do not know whose it is as there is only the hand showing, but someone, with a sense of humour has placed a piece of paper in it on which is written "Gibbit Backsheese". It has evidently reminded him of the beggars in Egypt. Anyhow to whoever it belongs is useful even after he is dead, as we used it to tie the telephone wires too.

Around this time the letters from Jeanne stopped. I was worried sick, not knowing the reason. I had been writing when I could. Paper and envelopes were very hard to come by and we would have to write on the back of incoming letters and readdress the envelopes and send them back.

I would sit some times for hours in the corner of a trench trying to remember what it was like at home before all this madness. I was a city boy; I went to a suburban state school. I played the drum in the school Drum Band. We played each morning as our fellow students marched from the Assembly Square to their respective classrooms after saluting the flag.

My teacher was a large but pleasant woman, for the life of me; I cannot remember her name. It really annoyed me. As a small boy my father bought me a train set. You could assemble the track in several configurations, wind up the clock work engine and away it would go. It was great! I enjoyed mechanical things; I could remember the magic of the first cars that had only been on the road a few years. I looked forward to some day owning one. But if this war goes on to long I may not make it home to enjoy that wish.

When I finished Primary School, I went on to a Trade School where I learnt to use all sorts of tools in woodwork, sheet metal and engineering. I loved it.

In 1911 compulsory military training for all males from 14 to 26 was introduced. I think this was the basis of the great name Australians had at Anzac, France and the desert.

From 14 to 16 you were junior cadets and parades were for two hours each Thursday evening and three hours every 2nd Saturday and it was real training, believe me. From 17 to 18 you were senior cadets and parades were 2 hours each Thursday evening, 3 hours every Saturday in four and it was 9 am. to 5 pm. All ranks gained in senior cadets were permanent and carried through to the C.M.F.

From 18 to 22 you were in the C.M.F. (Citizen Military Forces). Parades were 2 hours per week of an evening and 3 hours every second Saturday afternoon and one full day one in four. Also 10 days camp per year.

From 22 to 26 you were on the reserve and did 10 days camp per year. The training throughout was hard, thorough and real. This put us in good standing when we eventually joined the A.I.F.

My father was a mining engineer and we did not see much of him as he spent most of his time in the mining areas scattered all through Victoria. My sister, Marion who was a keen athlete, she was a good tennis player, very pretty, a few years older than me and very popular with the boys.

Most of my young years were spent playing football, military training and generally enjoying myself. Going to Church was not a big thing in my life, I was bought up in the Church of England but all I thought of as I got older was it was a good place to meet girls.

When the war broke out, many of my pals and I thought it would be great to join up and see the world, a great adventure at the Government’s expense. Even during our training, the thought of real war seldom crossed our minds. The main object seemed to get fit, very little ‘fighting’ training was taught. That did not happen until we got to Egypt, then it was too late to pull out.

My parents were very kind and loving people, as I said, Dad was not home much, Mum and my big sister supervised my youthful years and kept me on the straight and narrow. My mother was a wonderful lady who spent a lot of her time working in a variety of charity organisations helping less fortunate people.

Like any other boy of my age, I had my ‘Best mate’; his name was Alex Johns. We got up to all sorts of mischief, but managed to keep out of any real trouble. We were both in the same unit when we were doing our military training but we were separated when we joined the AIF.

Back to the war, we dug into the sides of our trenches to make a small possie to sleep in and rest. There was one disadvantage of these places and it was when the shelling got close, they would fall in and bury the occupant. This happened to nearly all of us at one time or another.

Some of the latest reinforcements started to arrive; I was shocked as to how young some of them were. It was very obvious that many had put up their ages to join up. How they got through basic training with out being detected had me stumped. They were scared stiff but when the chips were down, they were as game as Ned Kelly. The older men looked after them until they settled in and hardened to the environment and became used to their new and terrifying home. The boys soon became men and fought as well as any of the older veterans did.

Over in England, Jeanne was in a state of mourning as she had heard I had been reported ‘Missing In Action’ soon after arriving in France. Military records of that time were very primitive and seldom accurate. Many mistakes were made, men were wrongly reported dead or wounded as well as a lot of deaths and reports of wounded were lost in transit.

My letters to Jeanne written in France were lost when a large postal depot behind the lines was blown up when an ammunition dump nearby went sky high. Contact was lost and it was difficult to re-establish due to us both being moved and transferred from place to place.

Sister Jeanne Miller was also concerned for her brother, Doctor Hugh Miller; he was stationed in a field hospital in the Somme campaign area. Again, due to the loss of mail, she did not know where he was. She tried to carry out her duties, worry about her brother, keep in touch with the family back home and she was mourning my supposed death. However, like a true Aussie nurse she still gave her all to her soldier patients.

The weather on the Somme was dreadful, what with the rain and snow, the whole place turned into a quagmire, thousands of men died by drowning in the mud, as many areas were bottomless. Ivan and I had to continue with our difficult job of keeping the phone lines operational in the battle areas. On one of our many patrols, Ivan and I were out with a section of infantrymen and were making our way along a trench when a shell landed just ahead of us, killing all the men in front of us. The head of one of the diggers flew over my shoulder and another bounced off Ivan’s helmet. We were both ill with the horror of it all.

Christmas was fast approaching, the men on both sides were tired, sick and becoming demoralised and the battles subsided considerably. Days would pass and hardly a shot fired, hence the phrase "All quiet on the western front" came into our language.

During the Christmas period, we could hear the Germans singing Christmas carols and we would join in. There were stories of some areas calling a truce and the troops on both sides going into ‘No Man’s Land’ and exchanging food and drink. Ivan and I did not hate the ‘Hun’ in fact we felt sorry for them as they did for their own men who were suffering such equally shocking conditions. During a heavy bombardment, Ivan was heard to say during heavy shelling "Look at those poor bloody Huns flying through the air!"

We had to crawl out one night into ‘No Man’s Land’ to find a phone line fault when I copped it again, this time in the leg. A nasty one this time and here I was stuck out in the open and I could not walk or crawl as the bullet had entered the outside of the top of my leg, gone down inside and shattered my knee. Ivan dragged and carried me for about ½ mile until he was also hit, he got a piece of shrapnel in the back and punched a hole in his lung. Fortunately we were close to our own lines. Some of our boys, risking their own lives, came out and dragged us both back to our trenches. We were given medical aid straight away and were soon on our way in ambulances to the main base hospital well behind the lines.

Doctor Hugh Miller was exhausted after a long and busy day when we arrived. He looked at Ivan first as he was near death. With great difficulty, he was able to patch Ivan’s back and lung and gave him a good chance of survival. He wrote out a toe tag and marked it "Back to Blighty" (A nickname for England). He then turned his attention to me, by this time I was unconscious due to the dreadful pain. This was also to be a major job of repair. He knew I would never walk without a stiff leg. I was to learn this much later as I was still not of this world, I was still out to it.

"BLIGHTY"

I woke up in a cramped hospital ship heading for England. I did not really know what state I was in, I did not know if I would ever walk again, if fact I was not sure if I still had my leg. Where was Ivan? What was his future? So many questions and I did not have any of the answers. I was very confused and scared, what did the future hold? The sea trip was uneventful apart from some rough seas that threw us about a fair bit. I tried to find out where Ivan was and if he was still alive. Even though we were on the same ship, the records were poor and I could not find any information about him. I was convinced he had died back in France.

Time passed and before long the hospital ship was docking in an English port and we were disembarking. The entire wharf and surrounding areas were covered with thousands of wounded on stretchers, some just wandering around in a state of shock. Tons and tons of munitions and fresh troops were every where, ready to go over the channel to France. They looked so young.

I was one of the first unloaded and was delighted when I saw Ivan being bought down the gangplank on a stretcher. I called out to him but could not make myself heard over the din being created by the men unloading the ship. Rows and rows of ambulances were queued up waiting to take the hundreds of wounded to the Military Hospitals all over Britain. I gave up trying to contact Ivan and just laid back and rested now knowing he was alive. What a joy it was to know my pal was OK.

Meantime at a hospital near London, Sister Jeanne Miller was busy preparing for the expected influx of new wounded from the horrors of France. She was a little happier as she at long last had heard from her brother and knew he at least was OK. I was to later find that she was still saddened by the thought of my death; she too had fallen in love. She had met many young soldiers since but none like her Snowy. It would be a long time she thought, before she could be attracted to another man.

At the Hospital the noise started as the dozens of ambulances started to arrive, there were orders being shouted to the Orderlies. Doctors and Nurses started to sort out and grade the patients and allocate where they were to be taken. I was graded ‘severe’ and was sent to the appropriate ward. I eventually found out that Ivan was in the next ward not far away from me. I hoped that in time I would be able to visit him. I was now relaxed and fell asleep.

In yet another ward Sister Miller was looking through the list of patient’s names that had just arrived and became very excited when she saw my name on the list. Within minutes, she was by my bed checking my charts to see what was wrong with me. She was delighted to see that my wound would only give me a stiff leg. She bent over me as I slept and kissed me on the forehead, this woke me, I could not believe my eyes, I thought I was dreaming. After much hugging and kissing, we were able to relate what had happened to each other over the past months. We were both on top of the world.

After a few days, Jeanne was able to get me into a wheel chair and take me to visit Ivan. He was lying in bed dreaming of home when I was wheeled into the ward and he shouted with joy. He looked at the Sister pushing me and he thought, "How did an ugly bastard like you Snowy, manage to get such a lovely nurse to push him around"? Imagine his surprise when I introduced her as my Jeanne. There was much joy in our little group.

There was so much misery surrounding us but for those few minutes, life was great. After a few weeks, both Ivan and I were well enough to ask for leave and look around London. I was on crutches and Ivan had to take it very easy as he ran out of puff very easily. We spent many days looking around London seeing all the places we had heard of in our history lessons at school. Occasionally Jeanne was able to go with us, Jeanne and I fell deeper in love and I asked her to marry me while sitting at the base of Nelson’s Column in Trafalgar Square. Jeanne was delighted and accepted on the spot. The first thing I said to Ivan when I told him was "Will you be my best man?" "Of course", Ivan answered with joy.

We heard of the big battles that were taking place in France and going in our favour, the Australians were doing very well and Germany started to talk of an Armistice. Ivan and I were mending and were looking forward to going home to Australia and our loved ones.

"GOING HOME"

The orders finally came through that I was going home to Australia; I was to embark within a few weeks. The war was in its last days; Ivan was still not strong enough for the long sea voyage, so I would be on my own going home.

Jeanne had no idea when she was to return to Australia as there were still thousands of young Australian men in hospitals all over the British Isles, many still very sick and unable to travel, Ivan being one of them. Her brother, Dr. Hugh, was sent home, to help with the care of the thousands of sick diggers on one of the ships and later in Australia that would need help for years to come.

Back in Australia, the Miller family were looking forward to their daughter’s return and very curious to meet this "Snowy" she had filled her letters with. My trip back home seemed to drag on forever; it actually took about six weeks. The news came through that the armistice had been signed and the war was over at last. Millions of young men from many countries had died for a cause, but what cause? By this time we knew we would be home for Christmas, this was great.

Finally we reached the docks in Port Melbourne and we received a great and wonderful reception as related in my diary.

Thus my diary ends after relating some of the most enjoyable, interesting, and some of the saddest times of my life. One has a clear conscience though; that he, at least, tried to do a little for those at home we love better than all the things on this earth.

After nearly four years I now close this diary and enter civilian life a very much wiser man, thanks to the Army and to "Kaiser Bill and his cobbers "

"REPATRIATION"

On arrival, I was taken to Victoria’s major repatriation hospital in Caulfield where I was to stay on and off for many months as my leg wound continued to give me trouble. There was no such thing as antibiotics to fight infection and the only treatment at the time was to keep cutting the wound open, clean it out, stitch it up again and wait. This went on for many months before it finally came good.

About two months after my arrival home, Ivan turned up from France, he also suffered a great deal from his damaged lung. He never really recovered from his wound. It would be a long time until he recovered enough to return to civilian life. While Ivan and I worked hard to get fit, Jeanne languished in England, although very busy, she wanted to get home to Australia, her family and little old me. She had only 10 days leave in 2 ½ years; she was really looking forward to a break.

Our Repatriation Hospital received regular visits from several concert parties consisting of a great variety of artists, one of, which was a pretty girl called Elizabeth (Lizzy) Ross who was a great singer. She was also very pretty and really turned the eyes of all the young soldiers, jet-black hair and a figure to match, she was a real beauty. Ivan could not help looking forward to the concert party visits and enjoyed this angel singing. Over a period of months, Ivan eventually plucked up the courage to ask Lizzy to go out with him. She did not hesitate and it was not long before they were seen everywhere together.

I was pleased to see that the Doctor in charge was the same doctor who had attended to me in France, Dr. Hugh Miller. Miller being a reasonably common name I did not connect him to Jeanne and was thrilled to find out she was his sister. Through Dr. Hugh, I was able to find out that Jeanne was soon to be coming home. Ivan and Lizzy became engaged and the plans for marriage were in progress. Lizzy had a brother Frank in the artillery and he had been gassed. As a result of this he lost half of one of his lungs. He never returned to work again and remained on a pension as a TPI (Totally and Permanently Incapacitated) for the rest of his life.

Time passed and eventually Dr. Hugh came running into my ward calling "She’s coming home, she’s coming home!" He was so excited, he had not seen his sister for nearly four years. I was beside myself and jumped to my feet only to fall on the floor as my leg was still giving me a great deal of trouble. Dr. Hugh rushed to my aid and we both ended up on the floor laughing and crying at the same time; our beloved Jeanne was coming home.

Ivan was also thrilled when he heard as he and Lizzy wanted all their pals and family to be at their wedding. It looks like he will never be fit enough to do manual work again so he had to start thinking of what he was going to do with the rest of his life. The only positive thing at this stage was his growing relationship with his dear and lovely Lizzy.

Port Melbourne was bustling for months with activity as many more recovering diggers were being unloaded from ships returning home and placed into dozens of waiting ambulances. Eventually Jeanne’s ship arrived, we saw Jeanne standing at the top of the gangplank looking out into the crowd on the wharf looking for a familiar face. Looking hard into the sea of upturned faces she eventually picked me out as I was waving and calling, alongside me was her brother Hugh and Ivan. Three people whom she loved dearly. What a welcome she got, she did not know who to hug first so she hugged us all.

I was so excited, I was jumping about until my leg gave way and I had to be helped back to the tram to be taken back to hospital, the day had been too much for me. Ivan went with me. Dr. Hugh had to report back also. Jeanne was taken away to Army Medical Headquarters close to Melbourne city to find out what her job back home was to be before she was given leave to go home to her family.

After a few days, we were all able to be together again in the Miller family home where Ivan and I met the rest of the family.

Mr. and Mrs. Miller were very dignified and respected business people in the North Carlton business community, Mr Miller was deeply involved in the local football club and played a big part in the administration of same, he had also been a keen player in his day. Ivan, who had no family as such, brought Lizzy along; it was one great big happy family. After a relaxing and very enjoyable meal we all sat around and caught up on the past few years. We all had stories to tell.

Jeanne related the incident when she went out in the snow in France and fell into a snow covered trench and it took several orderlies to pull her out. There was great laughter from the rest of the group. She told of the terrible conditions that they (the nurses) lived under, the cold, lack of beds and bedding, they slept in and on the snow many times.

One of her funny stories was about the Greek patients who were told to stand to attention at the foot of their beds when an officer came in, including doctors and nursing sisters, this they did. Many had shirts on that were far to short or were totally naked; nobody had told them they had to be dressed.

She also told the story of a Greek soldier who had died and his family came and took his body from the hospital bed and tried to take him home on a tram. Also how all the digger patients called out "Aye, aye" each time a nurse or orderly carried a bedpan through a ward. The Ward Sister asked what it was all about and received the following explanation. They had to, like politicians, say "Aye, aye" when a motion is passed.

Jeanne was very conservative and very modest, she seldom mentioned the "Mentioned In Dispatches" she was awarded. She was one of only 66 nursed to receive this award. She was also one of the first 200 to go overseas.

I remembered my mate Jack who was killed on ANZAC day, I thought of this story he had told me: -

Before the war, it appeared that Jack had several mates who were deaf and dumb, as a result of this, Jack became very proficient in sign language. It was not long before he realised that he and his pals got better service in restaurants and shops when it was noticed that his friends could not speak, so Jack played along and pretended he could not speak either. The group frequented a certain restaurant for many months and became well known because of their affliction, they received very special attention until Jack slipped up and thanked the waitress, then the bottom fell out of their prank.

Ivan told of the torpedoing of his ship and the battalion that had liberated a town in France called Corbie where thet found many cellars full of French wine. The Colonel of one battalion was seen running down the main street dressed in ladies underwear and carrying a parasol.

He also told of the camel rides in Egypt, how unreliable they were, they would stand up or sit down differently each time and you nearly always fell off.

Dr. Hugh tried to get involved in the frivolity but he was very tired, as he had been working extremely hard and long hours over the past weeks with the thousands of sick young diggers who had just come home. He sat in the corner and with out any one noticing, had fallen asleep, he was exhausted.

"NIGHTMARES"

For years we all suffered from nightmares, flashbacks and moments of horrible memories. Every time Jeanne heard a bugle, she remembered the multi burials in the cemeteries adjacent to the hospitals overseas. After each group of six were buried, the bugler played the ‘Last Post’. At times this would go on for hours and hours. Each time she heard any bugles she would weep profusely.

I relived the deaths of my pals and heard the screams of my mates as they died in agony and the continual shelling that went on relentlessly for day after day. I remembered my pal, Jack Melvin who was killed at Gallipoli, He never knew the out come of the war. The thousands of friends, I will never see again as many were blown to bits.

Ivan relived the struggle across ‘No man’s land’ when he was helping me, his wounded mate to get back to our lines, it all happened in slow motion.

Dr. Hugh kept seeing hundreds of young soldiers lying in rows after row waiting to be attended to, not complaining, just waiting. He and his colleges would start to get close to the end and more would arrive, his job only ended when he dropped from exhaustion.

Ivan remembered having to crawl amongst the dead in ‘No man’s land’ looking for broken phone lines and being sniped at.

It would be many years before we were able to get the horrors out of our minds.

Jeanne and Dr. Hugh continued their careers in the medical profession, Hugh became a high ranking official in the Australian Repatriation Department, looking after the men who had served their country. Jeanne stayed in nursing, also in the treatment of the thousands of sick servicemen.

Jeanne was "Mentioned In Dispatches", she was nominated for the "Royal Red Cross’ but this never eventuated?

I worked in a clerical position within a government department.

To end this story, the ‘family’ of friends stayed together for the rest of our lives, most reaching 70 to 80s. They all had wonderful and loving families.

"MISSING IN ACTION, BELIEVED KILLED"

Many years after the war I met a relative of my pal Jack Melvin who was killed right next to me at ‘Courtney’s Post’ at ANZAC.

I was shocked to hear that his parents never really found out what had happened to him. Due to the fighting at the time, his body was not recovered and properly identified due to his horrific head wound and the fact that he body lay in ‘No Man’s Land’ for some weeks.

His parents received many conflicting reports from the officials and members of our unit as to what had happened to him. For some reason, I was never asked!

Various reports stated he had been seen in a hospital in Egypt, even in England. His parents were at their wits end trying to find out what had happened to their son. They both went to their graves hoping that one-day their son would walk in the front door saying something like he had suffered from amnesia or some thing.

Lizzy, who was in military records and a typist that kept all records on cards at Victoria Barracks saw the terrible and pathetic letters written by his parents pleading for news of their son.

EPILOGUE

In 1999, 81 years after World War One ended; the author visited the areas where all these events took place. At Gallipoli, France, Belgium and England. It was so peaceful and there was little evidence of the horror to be seen. There were dozens and dozens of war cemeteries scattered throughout the hills around ANZAC Cove and the plains of France showing where the carnage had taken place. The locals in France had many small museums to show their appreciation of what the allies had done for them, particularly the Australians.

The author stood within a few hundred yards of where his father was terribly wounded in France and where his Uncle was killed at Courtney’s Post on the Gallipoli Peninsula. He felt the presence of a young 20-year-old soldier, his Dad, he felt him by his side, not as he knew him as his father but as a young active soldier. It was a very emotional and awesome experience.

There were many families who lost so much. Some lost several sons, brothers and fathers. Some men suffered from their injuries for the rest of their lives. When the author asked his father 50 years later "Are you glad you went", the reply was "Yes, a job had to be done, we had to protect our loved ones and I made many strong friends and we have remained friends for the rest of our lives".

The author’s son Graeme, the Grandson of an ANZAC wrote this of his Grandfather in 2001: -

"He still abides in the heart and memory of three living generations and is still seen as a symbol of what is right and good".

Graeme Williams 2001

The Grandson of an original ANZAC

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Capt. Ivor Williams’ World War One Diary now in the Canberra War Memorial File Number PR 91/113

Sister Ellen (Lenny) Melville’s letters home to her family during World War One.

Private John Rossitor Melville’s World War Records (Killed in Action 25-04-1915)

Gunner Christian Moller (Later to become Lenny’s husband)

Family stories related to the author during his early years.

Some first hand information gained on a visit by the author when visiting the battlefields in 1999.

Who they were based on.