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By the Rt. Hon. W. M. Hughes

My dear Mr. MacGill,—

From the day on which The Children of the Dead End came into my hands, I have been amongst the most devoted of your worshippers. In this and in your later books, your genius has won world-wide recognition, and no words of mine are needed to commend to your very wide circle of readers this story of the achievements of the Australian soldiers in France.

The imperishable deeds of Australia's glorious soldiers have carved for themselves a deep niche in the topmost towers of the Temple of the Immortals. The story of their valour will live throughout the ages, and future generations of Australians will speak of them as we do of all the heroic figures of antiquity, and strive to mould their lives upon the sublime spirit of self-sacrifice and love of country and liberty which animated them. Their valour has covered Australia with a lustre that shines throughout the world, so that her name, which but yesterday was almost unknown, is now a household word in the mouths of all the peoples of the earth.

The war has made of Australia—a young community without traditions—a nation, acutely and proudly conscious of its nationality, its record in this war, and the great future which awaits it. Upon that day some four years gone, when in the grey of early dawn the Australian soldier leapt upon an unknown shore and in the face of a murderous fire scaled the heights of Gaba Tepe—a feat of arms almost unparalleled in the history of war—the young Australian Commonwealth put on the toga of manhood, and at one stride entered on a footing of equality the family of free nations of the earth. Gallipoli—scene of that most glorious attempt which though falling short of success lost nothing of its greatness—thy name is and for ever will be held sacred to all Australians! In that fiery furnace of trial, of suffering and death, was formed the mould, in which throughout the long and dreadful years of war the young Australian soldier has been cast. From that day onwards, through the fearful horrors of trench warfare in France and Flanders, on the burning sands of the East, on land and on sea, the armies of the young Commonwealth, casting out not only fear but doubt, have dared, endured, and died, supremely confident of victory.

Through the long dark days when the skies were black with omens of disaster for the Allies, they faltered not, nor for a moment doubted that the cause for which they fought would triumph. Their record is a glorious one, and its lustre is no fitful gleam, but shines brilliantly throughout the long dread years of trial.

It is of the deathless story of the Australians before Amiens that you write, and inspired by such a theme yours will be a story to make the pulses of all Australians leap in their veins with exultation.

When in the Spring of 1918 the great German offensive pressed back and by force of numbers broke through the sorely tried British line, the Australian divisions were hurried down from the North and rushed up to stem the German armies, flushed with triumph and supremely confident of final victory.

The story of the battles fought by the Australians before Amiens is amongst the most thrilling in the history of this great world conflict. Here was the fate of civilization decided. The great German army, marching along the road in column of route, reached the crest of high land overlooking Amiens, and with but a few miles between them and this key to Paris, were held up by a veritable handful of Australians, later reinforced as the rest of the Divisions came to hand. It was the turning of the tide; the fighting raged around Villers-Bretonneux, but the car of the German Juggernaut rolled forward no more. From that day the onward rush of the enemy offensive was stayed. An impassable barrier had been set up beyond which the enemy could not pass. But the young soldiers of Australia, not satisfied with arresting his onward march, began to force the Hun back; at first slowly, and then faster and faster, until in the great offensive of August 8, when along with four Divisions of Canadians and two British, they swept him back in headlong rout, nor gave him pause until breaking through the vaunted Hindenburg line they stood victorious at Beaurevoir.

The deeds of these brave men will remain for ever fresh in the minds of Australians. Australia has reason to be proud of her war effort; she has done great things; but she has paid a great price. That a small community of five millions all told should have recruited 417,000 men and sent 330,000 twelve thousand miles across the seas, is a great thing. The number of our dead—57,000—and our total casualties—289,723—show how great is the price which Australia has paid for Liberty.

Although I have not seen the manuscript of The Diggers, with such a theme it is impossible that the author of The Children of the Dead End and The Great Push can fail.

Sincerely yours,

W. M. HUGHES.