Читать книгу There and Back: The Story of an Australian Soldier 1915-35 - Edward Lording - Страница 8

Table of Contents

Physical jerks and china dogs—A brief command—A returning leave train—Assuming manhood—A sergeant's medicine and duty—Beer and breath lollies—A father's advice—A trip to Melbourne and back to the 30th Battalion.

(July—August 1915)

Awakening with reveille and hurriedly dressing to the skirl of Scotch pipers whose job it was to rouse the camp, Ted was one of the few ready to fall in for physical jerks parade. When at last the late-comers had fallen into line and the sergeant had abused all and sundry, he went into further fits of abuse as he endeavoured to put them through numbering, separating odd from even numbers, and opening ranks. Being sufficiently familiar with the exercises—bending backward, forward and to the sides, bending arms and legs and turning head left and right—Ted had time to concentrate on and marvel at the instructor's versatility. He was picked out and ordered to the front as a good example, but was sent back to the ranks on bursting into laughter when the sergeant suddenly exploded: "Gawd a'Mighty, yer as stiff and slow as a lot of china dogs."

All signs of stiffness however, vanished when the squad was dismissed and the orderlies arrived with breakfast. Had all hands been trained in athletics they could not have been more active in their rush on the dixies.

Ted's khaki shirt, on account of the piece missing from the tail, already had earned him the name of "Freezer;" but it was also apparently responsible for his being detailed to take charge of a squad. And had he adhered to text-book regulations instead of trying to emulate the pomposity of the sergeant who conducted the physical culture parade, he probably would have been made a corporal. At first the members of his squad were bewildered and then indignant at having a kid in charge of them, but resentment turned to amusement and culminated in a wild outburst of laughter, when he stood them at ease and addressed them in the regular sergeant-major style thus:

"Once upon a time when I was a little boy I had a box of wooden soldiers. I loved my wooden soldiers and became more and more attached to them as time went on. Then came a day when we moved away and the wooden soldiers were lost. I cried and cried; and my mother said, 'Never mind, my boy, your soldiers will all come back some day'—and now by cripes they have."

Unknown to Ted, the sergeant was standing behind him as he related this story. After joining in the laughter, the N.C.O. made use of a hefty boot and so it was that Ted, much to his satisfaction yet physical discomfort, was relieved of his short-lived command.

To those with previous experience of military training the elementary stages of drill were most uninteresting, but Ted's sense of humour saved him and he found much amusement in seeing and hearing the awkward recruits being put through their paces.

That night he was given leave. Not waiting for tea he hurried off to the station, his valise containing pyjamas and other articles as did not become a private soldier. Feeling about a foot taller on arrival home, he did justice to his dinner, told Mother and Dad all about the nice chaps he knew in camp, and said that the sergeant was a little bit "rough" but was going to get him into the signallers; and after supper, when he had convinced Mother that it was against orders to wear pyjamas in camp, invited the family to visit him the following Sunday. Then, with a bag of home-made cakes under his arm and head full of advice, he hurried off for the train.

The returning leave train with its mixed freight of humans caused Ted, when trying to sleep that night, to ponder on the strange ways of men. The great majority in that train were of course decent fellows, and they attracted little notice; as usual, it was those in various stages of drunkenness—sleeping, laughing, cursing, crying, vomiting, fighting or arguing—or with immoral women, who gave the superficial observer a disjointed and wrong perspective of life.

Like most others and particularly the younger men, Ted soon acquired the habit of evincing a coarseness of manner, which, though at times causing him to feel inwardly ashamed, served him as a means to outwardly establish and demonstrate his manhood. Adapting himself to all phases of this new life, two weeks' training hardened him to soldiering. He growled with the others about the food, complained with them about the drill, and helped to plan revenge on the sergeant for not allowing regulation rests on the route marches.

Some few miles out on a march one day the sergeant, who for about a mile, had shown signs of discomfort, called a halt. It transpired that someone had put caustic soda in his boots, and so, after placing Ted in charge, he returned to camp. When he disappeared from sight, the troops, without waiting for an order, ambled down to the river with Ted bringing up the rear, and there enjoyed a quiet hour before returning to camp. Whether or not the medical officer diagnosed the sergeant's complaint is not known, but the events of the next day seemed to indicate that he had ordered m. (medicine)—in the shape of a number nine pill—and d. (duty), which, much to the discomfort of the troops, the sergeant carried out with callousness and determination.

After a fortnight's training—during which there flew around many wild rumours known as "latrine wirelesses," and later "furphies," (Furphy being the name of the sanitary contractor at Broadmeadows Camp, Victoria)—the destiny of Ted's "mob" was determined, through its being classified as "C" Company, 30th Battalion. Leaving their palliasses and the much disliked sergeant behind, they now took up residence in a bell-tent encampment farther along the river bank. To be posted to an original unit was the ambition of most recruits; and, although living in tents meant still more congestion and discomfort, it was regarded, at least by Ted, as being more soldier-like. That night he was detailed for the guard, and was looking forward to the experience; but, happening to be the only one to fall-in in a khaki rig-out—the others were still obliged to wear the blue dungarees that had been issued to them at the outset—he was accordingly dismissed from the parade.

A few days later Ted was selected, with others, to attend a signalling school in Melbourne. Much to the envy of those staying behind, they were marched to the Quartermaster's Store and issued with uniforms, numerals, badges and kit-bags. This occurred on a Saturday afternoon, and they were to leave for the south on the following day.

Ted hurried home, dressed in full uniform and carrying his kit-bag. As he walked from his home-station he was very proud of himself and felt that everyone was looking at him, as indeed they were, though probably thinking more of his youthful than his soldierly appearance. Of course he simply had to call and have a pint at the hotel where a week ago he had been refused a drink for being under age. Then, after visiting a few shopkeepers for the sole purpose of answering their anticipated questions as to when he was going away, he bought some breath-lollies and arrived home.

What might possibly have been his last day at home—for the latest "furphy" had it that they would embark from Melbourne—was by no means a happy experience. His brothers and sisters were quiet and Mother and Dad were most serious. Ted had a feeling that they might alter their minds and not allow him to go away. While at odd moments' they did give thought to taking such action, their patriotism and feeling of pride in their son would not allow them to go back on their word.

The silence of father and son sitting side by side looking into the glowing coals of the evening fire was at last broken when the former, overcoming his restraint, warned his son of the many pitfalls of life and particularly those of a sexual nature. When the time came for him to return to camp, Ted assured his family that, although he would be back from Melbourne in a few weeks, he would write to them often; and he made the parting as brief as possible.

That night it was a most thoughtful lad who, after making a hole in the ground for his hip, and placing a waterproof sheet under him, rolled up in his blankets and tried in vain to sleep.

Next day the lad's father visited him in camp and they talked of anything and everything except the subjects of the previous evening, which made Ted feel glad. He introduced Dad to his pals and they all gave good reports. One of the company—the father of an old school chum of Ted, and now affectionately called "Dad" by all the boys—gave an undertaking that he would keep an eye on the lad. This offer was resented by Ted, but much appreciated by his father.

There was a big crowd to see them off from the Central Station at Sydney that night. After the train started, Ted found little chance of thinking or looking back, for a company of Queenslanders, already past the farewell stage, kicked up Hell's own row and caused trouble all the way to Melbourne.

On arrival in Melbourne they marched over Prince's Bridge to the signalling school in the Domain. Obtaining leave, Ted visited his uncle at Moonee Ponds, and returned to camp to find the rain coming through the flyless square tent and his cream blankets covered with mud. That night he wrote home a letter in which he said that he was well and was having a good time; but refrained from mentioning how one of the Queenslanders climbed through a window and scrambled along to another compartment, while the train was going, or of the smashing of windows and window bars on the Victorian train, though he did say something of a fight at Seymour.

It turned out that there had been some mistake in sending them to Melbourne, so, like the Grand Old Duke of York's men who marched up the hill and then marched down again, they arrived back in Sydney after spending only one night in Melbourne. Looking very weary and showing signs of a merry night's journey, they were marched to Victoria Barracks, given lunch at a cheap eating-house in Paddington, and returned to Liverpool, to be posted to headquarters signallers, 30th Battalion.