Gallipoli Read online

  Dedicated to the Fighting 10th

  1st AIF, 3rd Brigade, 10th Battalion

  and

  Clifford Claudias Schrader, 1st Division,

  Signal Company

  ‘Goodbye cobber. God bless you.’

  Final words of Trooper Harold Rush of the

  10th Light Horse Regiment

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  The Diary of Victor March: Gallipoli, 1914—1915

  Glossary

  Historical Notes

  About the Author

  Copyright

  The Diary of Victor March

  Gallipoli, 1914–1915

  Saturday, 18 July, 1914

  I left school the day a job became available at the mines. My parents needed the extra income. Father’s job is not well-paid so any money I bring in helps Mother manage household expenses.

  My parents left school aged twelve but can read and write very well. I enjoy writing too so I bought this diary out of my first week’s pay. I was keen to record my new working life experiences.

  Sadly, there’s not much to write about. My job as a pickey-boy is boring. I sit alongside a conveyor belt and pick out the copper ore from the rubble as an endless supply of rock passes before my eyes. I’m seated alongside my friends but it’s impossible to talk because of the endless squeak of the roller wheels, the clatter of the ore and Mr Cornthwaite’s relentless gaze.

  Father tells me I’ll get used to it. He says I only have to do it for another eighteen months. The day I turn sixteen I can apply to work underground.

  ‘That’s where the big money is, Son.’

  Father made good money… until his accident.

  Mother is happy for me to get another job and travel. ‘The church encourages all its members to train and work overseas as missionaries. My brother had many wonderful years in China.

  He was slashed with a sword and nearly died.

  Hopefully I’ll soon have something exciting to write about. My boss, Mr Cornthwaite, said he has a special job for me next week.

  ‘And I promise it won’t be boring,’ he told me with a funny smile.

  Thursday, 23 July

  The job was hellish. No wonder the other lads chorused ‘Flue-devil, flue-devil’ when Mr Cornthwaite led me off to the boiler shed. They knew what I was in for.

  I spent the whole day inside the boiler flues removing the mineral build-up. It was dark, hot, dirty and noisy. I used a hammer to chip off the muck which had baked onto the metal.

  By the end of the day I had a booming headache, filthy clothes and mild toothache. The vibration set up by the constant hammering seems to have set the nerves in my teeth on edge.

  I slept poorly last night because of the ringing in my head and the aching in my mouth.

  Saturday, 25 July

  I met up with my workmates Richard and William this evening. We hung around our favourite street corner and watched the locals promenade back and forth. My friends are happy working as pickey-boys.

  ‘The pay’s better than nothing, Vic.’

  ‘And it’s more fun than school.’

  They’re a year or so older than me and only have to pick for a few more months before they can work underground. Father is not keen for me to be a miner because of what happened to him but we need the money and underground work pays well. Mother looks sad every time the matter is raised. She is aware of the dangers only too well.

  ‘Accidents happen in every job,’ Father tells us.

  That’s probably true but I’ve seen enough crippled ex-miners around town to know that mining is more dangerous than other jobs. The retired farmers and shopkeepers don’t have life-long injuries.

  Father’s legs were trapped by a rock fall. It took his mates hours to free him by which time the circulation to his left leg had been cut for so long that his leg withered and he became permanently lame.

  He claims he’s one of the lucky ones because the company re-employed him as a clerk. But the pay is poor and he’s not really happy. He misses working underground.

  ‘My forebears have been miners for generations. There’s not a mineshaft in Cornwall that a March hasn’t worked,’ he often tells us with pride.

  I don’t want to be a miner. I have other ambitions. I don’t want to be a missionary either but at least in that job I’d get to meet new people and to travel.

  Father must have had the same wanderlust as me as a young man otherwise he’d never have migrated halfway around the world.

  Mother is happy for me to do a job other than mining. If I decide to do something different I know she’ll support me.

  ‘When you grow older and marry, Victor, I don’t want your wife going through what I’ve been through. As much as I love your Father, there are few joys in being a miner’s wife.’

  Mother and Father married sixteen years ago. I was born two years later, in 1900. I am as old as the Australian nation.

  Sunday, 26 July

  The minister’s sermon at this evening’s service was about self-improvement. He preached to us, as he often does, that no-one is God’s favourite, no-one is automatically saved and no-one is automatically damned.

  I know I shouldn’t try to interpret what he’s saying to suit me but I think he means I don’t have to do what anyone else says—I can do what I want. And as long as I treat my neighbours well and avoid obvious sins, I can still live a good life.

  My family, like most in Moonta, are Methodists. We attend the Wesley church every Sunday evening along with a thousand other people. The church is the centre of community life in Moonta, if you don’t count the mine. The Mine Captain never misses a service. He sits at the back and looks down upon the congregation. All the mine workers feel obliged to attend even if they’re not strong believers.

  Mother also attends mid-week prayer sessions and hymn singing. Before Father’s accident Mother prayed regularly: after his accident she became more devout. She prayed that Father would regain the use of his leg. The day the doctor told us that he would walk again, Mother dropped to her knees and thanked God.

  She has great respect for Minister Penhall. He married Mother and Father and christened me. He is a friendly man who cares for people in the community. He gave Mother great comfort when Father was trapped underground then hospitalised, and visited our home for months afterwards while Father was recovering and getting back to work. He still visits even though Father’s as fit as he’s ever going to be.

  Mother says she feels as if he’s part of the family. He always asks how I’m getting on and has a quiet chat. His sermons are quite good although sometimes I find them a bit long and boring.

  Monday, 27 July

  I inherited a keenness for reading and writing from my parents. They’re more literate than many in our community who can’t even read the hymn book. The minister reads each line aloud just before it’s due to be sung.

  Richard and William aren’t as good at reading and writing as me but they don’t care.

  ‘Who needs to be able to read or write when you’re working underground?’ Richard asked. ‘You’re lucky if you can see the nose in front of your face down there.’

  ‘You only need to know up from down,’ William added with a smile. ‘You go down at the start of your shift and up at the end.’

  I suggested reading and writing would be important if they got injured like Father or if the mines closed and they needed to do another job. They disagreed.

  ‘Just go to work, come home and have fun with your friends,’ William suggested.

  ‘I do, but…’

  ‘But you don’t like our company?’ Richard teased.

  ‘You’re my best friends, but…’

  ‘But you don’t want to wor
k in the mines. Maybe you want to own the mines.’

  ‘I don’t want either. I just want to do something different, maybe even live and work Adelaide.’

  ‘Have you ever been to Adelaide?’

  ‘No, but Mother went once and says it’s exciting.’

  ‘Doesn’t she like Moonta?’

  ‘Of course, and so do I, but I don’t want to end up damaged like Father and so many other men around town.’

  I gazed at the men sitting outside the bank on the opposite corner.

  ‘Those men were miners and look where it’s got them. They can hardly walk and they’re not that old.’

  One of them started coughing uncontrollably.

  ‘And I don’t want to sound like that.’

  ‘That’s just miners’ cough. It comes with the job,’ Richard explained. ‘All the men get it.’

  ‘None of the local farmers get it. I want to work outside in the fresh air and sunshine like them.

  ‘But you’re a Cornishman: we’re born to work underground.’

  ‘I’m only half-Cornish. My mother’s Australian-born.’

  Later

  I sat and talked to Hans when I got home. He’s boarded with us since I was a baby. He came to Moonta as a farm labourer and helped clear the scrub and cart the timber for the boilers at the mines. His wife died about the same time as Father was injured. He moved in with us so he had some company. He has one German friend in the Moonta area but both are old men and find it difficult to travel to one other’s houses. The rent he paid helped our family through the tough times when Father was being paid a small benefit out of the Miners’ Sick Fund.

  Hans’ children are married and live interstate. Hans preferred to stay in Moonta, as it was where he lived with his wife. He is a sentimental, gentle man, and like a grandfather to me.

  One of my real grandfathers lives in Cornwall. I’ve never met him although I have seen a photo. Grandmother died ten years ago. Mother’s parents live in Kalgoorlie. They moved there before I was born. When they didn’t strike it rich in the gold rush, they stayed on to work for a big mining company. We’ve never met.

  Hans, Mother and I often chat while enjoying supper each evening. Father prefers to sit and read. He keeps to himself quite a lot.

  ‘You take after me,’ Mother often tells me. ‘You’re gregarious.’

  The first time she used that word, she had to explain it to me. It means I like the company of other people. Hans is gregarious too but he’s not very mobile and can’t get out to meet people. His arthritis is particularly bad at this time of the year but he doesn’t complain much.

  ‘Winter and I are not gut friends these days, Victor. Her cold fingers freeze my joints up gut and tight,’ he told me recently. ‘In summer again I am an athlete and my bones are young.’ He chuckled at his own joke.

  Hans speaks English well, but he still sometimes uses German words, like ‘gut’ and ‘Ja’, which mean ‘good’ and ‘yes’. A lot of German words are very much like English. He has taught me a few simple words, my favourite is ‘wunderbah’, meaning ‘wonderful’.

  Hans pays less board nowadays but as Mother says, ‘He doesn’t eat much and he’s no trouble to have around.’

  He helps her look after our garden. He calls it his little farm, his ‘kleiner Bauernhof’.

  Friday, 31 July

  Father reads the newspaper at work every day. Sometimes he’s allowed to bring it home. This evening he informed us that two European countries, Austria and Serbia, are at war and there’s a danger that their conflict could spread across the whole of Europe.

  ‘Why?’ Mother asked.

  ‘Because nearly every European country has signed a treaty to protect its neighbour. As soon as two nations start fighting, others are obliged to help.’

  ‘Germans must be siding with Austrians,’ Hans explained. ‘Much loyal friends they are. Gut friends.’

  ‘And according to the paper, Russia will team up with Serbia and France has a treaty with Russia and Great Britain has a treaty with France. Before you know it everyone will be fighting.’

  ‘You would your friend help in a fight, Victor?’ Hans asked me.

  ‘I guess so. Depending on how big the other lad is,’ I replied laughing.

  ‘Yah. Very wise, Victor. Do not a black eye get for nothing.’

  Saturday, 1 August

  The Prime Minister, Mr Cook, has pledged Australia’s support of Great Britain if she enters the war.

  Hans was upset by the news.

  ‘If Britain into the war goes then an enemy she will be with Germany.’

  ‘But you’ve got nothing to be worried about, Hans. The war’s 10,000 miles away on the other side of the world. And all your family’s safely here in Australia,’ I told him.

  ‘Yah, yah. But Victor, understand you do not. Your country and mine will enemies be.’

  I must have looked puzzled because Father interrupted.

  ‘What Hans is saying, Victor, is that Australia is a loyal member of the British Empire so if our soldiers are sent to Europe to fight with British forces, they’ll fight German soldiers.’

  ‘My nephew’s children could fighting be against Australians.’

  ‘But you and I and Mother and Father will still be friends, Hans. We’ll always be friends no matter what, won’t we, Mother?’

  She stood and put her arms around the two of us. ‘We’re one family, Hans.’

  Sunday, 2 August

  ‘Australia and Britain are part of one big family,’ the Prime Minister told reporters. ‘If the European war expands, as it seems likely to do, and if Great Britain declares war, then Australia will be at war too.’

  He has ordered men previously trained in the Civilian Military Force (CMF) to report for duty immediately.

  ‘My first duty is to protect this nation. The CMF will be armed and ordered to protect our major ports from possible enemy sabotage or attack.’

  William and Richard are very excited at the possibility of war. Both said they’ll volunteer to fight the Huns (Germans) if war is declared.

  ‘But, what about your jobs?’ I asked. ‘Only the other day you laughed at me for wanting to do something different.’

  ‘Fighting a war’s more important than a job any day,’ Richard told me.

  ‘Maybe I’ll stay in England after the war,’ William added. ‘I’ve got dozens of relatives in Cornwall. I could get a mining job there.’

  Later

  I’ve never seen Hans so agitated. Even Mother’s reassuring words could not calm him.

  ‘To South Australia I came for a peaceful life,’ he told us. ‘I saw much bloodshed when a child I was. War is no gut. It kills gut people.’ He began to cry and mumbled, ‘My mamma, my poppa killed in war. They are farmers like me but enemy soldiers come, my parents they shot, our house they burned. All gone. So here I came. And now, war again.’

  ‘There’s still a chance peace will prevail,’ Father said calmly.

  ‘There is no hope, no hope,’ Hans replied almost to himself.

  Monday, 3 August

  Everyone at work says war is inevitable. They’re all very excited. German troops have invaded Belgium and Luxemburg. I’ve heard of Belgium but not Luxemburg. The British naval fleet has put to sea and will stop German troops occupying Belgium ports from which they could attack Britain.

  I don’t think any shots have been fired yet but as Mr Cornthwaite said, the closer the two forces get to one another, the greater the chances of conflict.

  Father thinks war’s definitely on the cards. He read in today’s paper that the Kaiser (the German leader) has told the German people to ‘go to church and ask God to help our brave army.’

  I was puzzled. ‘Aren’t the Germans Christian, like we are?’ I asked. ‘If both sides are asking the same God for help, how can God help either side?’

  ‘He can, if the answer to the prayer is peace,’ Mother replied.

  9 pm

  After work I spent time
with William and Richard on our corner. They are still talking about enlisting if war’s declared.

  When I arrived home Mother said Hans had been too upset to eat. He’d even lost his appetite for one of her homemade biscuits, which is a first.

  ‘The possibility of war has really got to him,’ she told me. ‘It’s brought back bad memories that he came to Australia to forget.’

  ‘Mother?’

  ‘Yes, Victor.’

  ‘About the war. William and Richard plan to enlist. Do you think I should?’

  ‘I don’t even want to think about that, Victor. I’m praying sensible heads prevail and war is avoided.’

  Tuesday, 4 August

  Father told us that the leader of the German community in South Australia has published a letter in the newspaper declaring his people’s loyalty to Australia if war breaks out.

  ‘Pastor Nickel says all Germans are willing to defend the honour of our beloved King George and our dear country, Australia. The Governor-General has replied. He acknowledges the loyalty of our fellow citizens with German ancestry.’

  ‘Let’s hope political leaders in Europe can be so civilised and agree not to fight,’ commented Mother.

  Wednesday, 5 August

  Australia is at war! The Prime Minister, Mr Cook, made the announcement today and pledged we’d send 20,000 troops to support the British Empire.

  ‘When the Empire is at war, so also is Australia,’ he told reporters.

  The mines were alive with the news this morning. Men from various sections were talking excitedly and their bosses had to continually order them back to work. I overheard lots of men say they’ll enlist as soon as possible.

  It’s not compulsory to enlist. Everyone wants to do their bit for the Empire. Maybe it wasn’t just me who was feeling unsettled at work and looking for a change.