A hand-written notice hung up at the end of our corridor reads “On! On! (to what?) Glory or Death?” I ponder what miserable sod had the time and patience to put together those words of wisdom?
The next morning, I wake to find that we have cleared the heads. The ship travels south westerly, swings around Cape Otway, where I give a token wave to mum & dad in the general direction of Beech Forest, and then heads westwards.
It’s about this point where I realise I am an unproven sailor. My head feels light, my stomach even lighter and I need to lay down. I can feel my brain floating inside my skull. After a while the pressure becomes too great and I know I’m going to be sick. I make it to the open air sick bay where I line up against the rail with two hundred other chaps all feeding the fish at regular intervals. Another couple of hundred men are lying flat out on their backs on the deck, eyes shut, trying their hardest to stop the earth moving.
Those lucky enough to have been blessed with good sea legs are looking down from a higher deck, laughing their heads off at the line up and encouraging the chaps below with cries of, “Get it all up”, “There goes more fish tucker” and other unsympathetic words. It takes me a good couple of days for the spinning to stop and I can start to move around the ship a bit better. I notice that some of the poor lads are still prone on the deck four and five days later looking very dejected and miserable.
After the sea sickness passes and my appetite returns I start to take an interest in one of my favourite pastimes, eating. The tucker on board is good and plentiful. For breakfast we can have stew, bread, butter, and jam. For dinner, soup, meat and two kinds of vegetables. Tea is bread, butter, jam and plum pudding. Supper is biscuits and cheese.
There is a canteen on board where you can purchase almost anything you would want. It is extremely popular and is common to wait half an hour or more to be served with a hundred men lined up behind.
On passing the Victorian/South Australian boarder and again at the South Australian/West Australian point everyone is invited on deck where we all cheer, and the ships band play a few numbers that includes “Auld Lang Syne”. It’s quite a joyous occasion.
Each day there are notices pinned up around the ship with general information including our approximate position. As we approach Albany, the hopes of the men are that we will swing in there and have a day or two on solid ground, but the daily newsletter is not suggesting that. A good hint about our journey can be read into the fact that no mention is made of the mail being cleared any time soon. Sure enough, the closest we get to Albany is with very good eye sight to witness other boats at anchor in the harbour and the range of hills behind them. The Demosthenes does not slow down, she sails straight past.
The weather was fine through the Great Australian Bight but for two days around the Cape Leeuwin area the swell picked up and we ploughed directly into a storm. The ship rolled and lurched, it would pitch so hard you would think it impossible to right herself and then roll back the opposite way, all the time with your heart in your mouth.
It was extremely unpleasant. I tried to stay about amidships where it seems to be most stable and enabled me to hold down my food. The captain ordered all the portholes to be closed which made the air below deck very thick with the stench of many men rediscovering sea sickness.
After rounding Leeuwin, it becomes obvious to most of us that the angle of the boat to the setting sun has altered. My sense of direction which was developed around Beech Forest with considerable assistance from my father’s teachings, tells me that we are travelling in a north-westerly direction which would indicate land fall in India. We were thinking that London would be our destination based on this ship’s previous trip. Rumour has it that the Suez Canal is closed due to the fighting with the Turks so if we were going to London I would have expected us to aim due West and eventually sail past the Cape of Good Hope. Could India or Egypt be our disembarkation point? There is no solid information fed down to us.
Not long after the shores of Australia had left our eyesight, lifeboat/raft and Fire & Collision drills are introduced daily. When the exercise formulates into a habit, we can have everyman at his post in ten minutes.
Fourteen days on the “briny” and we cross the Equator. All on board play to the occasion, it is a joyous time and a lot of fun is had. Dress up and some tomfoolery going on, the atmosphere is good, and everyone is enjoying the trip. No bodies are left on the open deck sick bay anymore. Everyone is on their feet. Next morning Church Service is held on deck and conducted by the Captain of the Demosthenes. Over 900 men attend.
Since last sighting land, the only thing we have seen was another ship going in the opposite direction and water as far as the eye can reach. Every day we see schools of flying fish that I find fascinating. They leap out of the water and fly for considerable distances across the top of the water.
The sea has been lovely and calm since we cleared the storm and the temperature is quite warm. All I wear is my old tennis shoes, a short pair of pants, a shirt, and a white hat. There is no fashion show going on out here.
I quite enjoy going to the bow and admiring the marvellous sight of the waves breaking down the side of the vessel. I can watch for hours, it is mesmerising.
After crossing the Equator, we are instructed to post our letters by the next morning so that they can be censor checked and mailed on. This is positive sign that we will be pulling in somewhere and sure enough before the rumour train gets moving, a notice is pinned up to say we will be taking on supplies in Colombo, Ceylon. There is plenty of writing material on board including a postcard that is handed out with a photo of the Demosthenes. Everyone is heads down and bum up writing home before the dead line closes. I get a few of my own away, balancing a writing pad on my knee while sitting on an old steam pipe. Excuse the scribble.
The Demosthenes is too big to dock so we anchor a short distance off shore on the 14th January. The troops are permitted a day pass on the 15th to stretch our legs and have a look around the port town. We are ferried ashore using small boats. It’s refreshing to get off the Demosthenes and walk a few miles on stable ground although it takes a bit of getting used to after rolling around on the ocean for two and a half weeks. My legs think they have one too many shots of rum in them.
I’m unimpressed with the township, it is dirty and very poor. The trains and trams are in terrible condition, they all rattle and groan as if they are on their last legs. I’m amazed some of them even move they are so old and decrepit.
Ceylon became a British military outpost around the same time as Australia was settled but the development of Colombo has not been anywhere near as progressive when I compare it to Melbourne town. It’s more a shanty town, shabby and uninviting. The locals are warm and friendly enough, but their life appears to be a struggle.
The ship hands are kept busy for two full days loading stores and a lot of coal goes on board, all delivered by the smaller boats rowing out to the Demosthenes and being taken aboard by hand or a service crane for the heavier items. A few of the troops jump in to help, enjoying the exercise as much as anything.
For a few days before docking in Colombo the food on board had become quite poor and there had been many complaints. Obviously, we had been running low on some essential supplies. Sight of food products including fresh fruit & vegetables being loaded on board give us reason to think the quality may improve again once we sail.
We wave goodbye to Colombo on the 16th and I’m thinking that on the return journey it wouldn’t matter to me if we didn’t come this way. Maybe stopping off at Fremantle or Albany would suit me better.
The Demosthenes aims due west. Not much doubt about where we are heading now, no rumours or schooling in geography required. Egypt for sure. Any change to that plan would depend on the Suez Canal being open I assume. Next day the name of the ship, logos and ship number are painted out. We are now in Eastern waters and the danger of crossing the path of a submarine has increased.
I develop a rotten tooth ache
and put up with it for a couple of days until I find a Private who claims to be a qualified dentist. When he had his knees in my chest I did wonder if he should have been a bit more specific and added “horse dentist”. However, he does an excellent job in drawing it and I’m right as rain in no time.
We don’t get a lot of drill on board but there are a lot of games and sports organized to keep everyone occupied as much as possible. Prizes are given for different activities but so far, I haven’t won anything. Walking around the deck and callisthenic groups work out all over the ship. We are still very aware that we are heading to war, but the atmosphere has relaxed a bit during the voyage because of the travelling time and the secrecy surrounding our destination. As much as everyone else I make the most of this downtime, assuming that when it comes time to face the enemy it will be unlikely that I will be sipping tea with my white sun hat on.
Boredom and bravado run hand in hand when you have been trapped in a steel tub for three weeks with fifteen hundred men. One day, in the mess room, a soldier is passing around a photo of a lady that he had pulled out of his pocket. The assumption was that the lady was the love of his life back home. I found out later the true story was that the photo was of his sister.
Another chap sitting a couple of rows away, comments that the person in the photo has, “A head like a Drover’s dog.”
Not everyone agrees with this unflattering description and a brawl erupts. A few chairs get thrown, tables upended and a bit of argy-bargy. Add in some cross-border rivalry (Sydney versus Melbourne) that had nothing to do with the photo, and the blue went on for ten minutes or so. I stood back and watched. I haven’t seen the photo, so I cannot offer an opinion on the good lady’s appearance.
Next day the owner of the photo and the main antagonist are invited to sort out their differences in the boxing ring. Both declined, and the matter is settled with a handshake.
As we approach the North-East corner of Africa, land can be seen off the starboard side. Notices from the Captain have become more frequent and we are advised that it is in fact an island called Socotra. I have never heard of this place, I don’t remember it ever being mentioned at school or even having seen it on a map before.
The next land we sight is off the port side and is the town of Gwardafui which belongs to Somaliland. Not long after our interest is roused when three boats approached us at a furious pace. As they came closer we were advised that they are in fact British Cruisers who will escort us through the Red Sea. A bit of banter ensues about how precious we must be to deserve this attention.
We pass several other troop ships as we progress westwards through the Red Sea and a few Arab “Dhows” float by, they are about ten miles out to sea. The men on board are fierce looking warriors that carry knives in their belts. I wouldn’t trust any of them.
The African and Arabian coastline is nothing to be compared with my knowledge of the Australian. It rises sharply in places to around seven hundred feet and I can see it is inhabited by Arabs & Blacks. In other sections, the mountainous sand hills roll back into a vast desert with not one ounce of vegetation to be seen. The sea water is of a greenish colour, considerably different from the pure blue we followed around the Australian coast.
The Captain is obviously a deeply religious man and he keeps all on board enthralled with his knowledge and briefings. He gave notice of passing a point where the Mohammedans make their pilgrimage to Mecca, Medina and Jeddah. However, if you are not of their faith you are not permitted to go there. He also points out the direction of Mt Sinai where you know Moses offered up his child and where The Lord divided the waters for the Israelites to escape from Pharaoh. So, we take notice that we are now in the vicinity of “Holy parts”.
A hospital ship bound for Australia passes us. We watch intently, waving to some of our men on board and wishing them well. What is thought but not spoken about is if our own return journey will be on the same style of ship. Our ship band plays patriotic airs as we pass. Coincidently, it is Anniversary Day (Australia Day) which adds to the sombre mood.
Aboard the Demosthenes, we are split up into numerous groups and finally, officially, briefed on our destination. Port Suez, Egypt. The atmosphere on board changes in an instance. We are back focused as soldiers about to be engaged in war. The silly games are over, the smile is off, the apprehension is on.
We dock at Port Suez on Sunday 30th January 1916, thirty-two days after leaving Melbourne.
CHAPTER 6
EGYPT
February – March 1916
“Seven of us went to view the pyramids last Sunday, my word it was a great sight - we climbed the biggest which is named Cheops, it is a great view from the top, on one side is the great desert like waves of the ocean as far as the eye can reach, while on the other is the River Nile with beautiful farm plots all along it. If you can imagine blocks of stone weighing from 2 to 60 tons & placed one above the other in step fashion to a height of 480ft & the whole covering an area of 13 1/2 acres, you have some idea of the pyramid Cheops. I also had a look over the Sphinx & some of the underground passages of old time cities”.
ON ARRIVAL AT Port Suez, I have never seen anything so majestic. The water in the Gulf was like a mirror, wonderfully calm. The hills on either side are spectacular and the scene reminds me of the Bible’s stories. In the far distance, we can see trains travelling along the hills.
We anchor alongside ten or twelve other transport ships and the rousing reception they offer us is a memory that will stay with me forever. I could hear Coo’ees floating across this Egyptian harbour for an hour or so. You certainly feel a warmth in your heart when surrounded by mates like this.
One of our troop ships anchored nearby is flying a yellow flag (indicates fever on board) and the ship has been quarantined for many days. An epidemic of Mumps is the word.
Several small local sailing boats pull alongside and the Gypos5 on board beg for money. Our boys throw a few pennies over and they dive to retrieve them. Hard way to earn a living! After a while some military sailors arrive and shoo them away. They are considered the biggest thieves unhung and are not permitted on board. We are instructed to remove them (throw them over board) if we catch them walking around on board the Demosthenes.
There is a briefing conducted on deck and everyone aboard is called to attention. We are advised in no uncertain manner that we are now in a war zone. The Turks have crept through the Persian Gulf in the last couple of months and have been sighted on the eastern side of the Canal not far north of this harbour.
We observe several ships head off up the Canal, heavily sand bagged around their decks. It can be assumed we will be in the thick of this war very shortly. The port and ships anchored here are all in danger and it is critical that we disembark and clear the area as soon as possible.
A hospital ship full of wounded soldiers pulls away from the wharf and passes close by. Several nurses are on deck and being that we haven’t seen a girl for a month, they receive a hearty cheer and play to it. A light-hearted moment considering the suffering that must be going on below their decks.
Two hundred and four of us are held back to clean up the ship. We’re all keen to disembark so we get stuck into it, starting on the lowest level and working upwards. Hessian bags full of rubbish are taken to the main deck where they are bundled up and turfed overboard onto the wharf. Locals are waiting below and remove the waste by cart. We scrub, sweep and clean up thoroughly, each deck is signed off by an officer when completed.
Our clean-up efforts are appreciated, and we are given a four hour leave pass while still on the ship so that we can walk into Suez and have a look around. We came unstuck a bit and got chased out of town quick smart. Unbeknown to us, the town is under martial law, no Australian’s are allowed in, only the “Tommies”. We sulk our way back to the ship and have a cup of tea on deck to compensate.
At 06:00 on 1st February we disembark the Demosthenes and board a train for Ishmalia. We need to change trains and get delayed with
a three hour wait in between. I wandered about the town a little, filling in time. It’s a reasonably sized place, quite tidy. The train ride was interesting enough, however the land is quite barren. We sight some very big camps spread out along the way, full of soldiers from all over the British colonies. Many thousands of them were obviously Indian and happy enough to throw us a wave.
On the last leg into Cairo, I get an opportunity to study the landscape more and with my farmer’s hat on, the irrigation systems impress me. For a hot, dry, sandy climate they appear to be very advanced with pockets of good faming land dotted along the channels.
After arriving in Cairo, the fun part of the day commenced, with a twelve-mile march (in the dark). We arrive at Aerodrome Camp, North-East of Cairo around 02:00.
We settle in quickly and after a couple of days, permission to take leave and visit Cairo town is granted. I take the opportunity to travel in there on several occasions. The trip into town is by a very good tram system that operates quite fast. Cairo is a good-sized town but very dirty, the niggers6 keep it so. An area a bit closer to us, Heliopolis, is by far the better place. While not as large as Cairo it has some grand buildings and is a lot cleaner. The largest building is the hospital which they say contains twelve hundred rooms.
A week after arriving a few kit bags are stolen and some poor beggars lost all their belongings. Special lookout has been increased for niggers wandering into camp.
The company is advised of the aggravation that exists between the locals and camp soldiers, our presence here is not appreciated by everyone and we must remain on guard at all times. There have been a couple of riots in Cairo recently and one where eighty thousand troops and the Light Horse were sent into town to restore order. The week before we arrived, seven niggers were shot and killed by our chaps who had been cornered by a mob. The others took fright and ran off.
Walk a War in My Shoes Page 5