by Graham Seal
There are numerous other folkloric accounts that claim to pinpoint the origins of the word. The only certainty is that Australian troops did not begin to call themselves ‘diggers’—or to be called so by others—until at least early 1917, two years after the Anzac landings at Gallipoli. From the moment the term first appeared it was, and continues to be, frequently debated in letters to the editors of newspapers and within the ranks of ex-service associations around the country.
Writing in 1944, Lieutenant Colonel C. Dennis Horne gave this version:
Just before the last war I was employed in the PWD Tasmanian Railway Construction Branch. In one of the day-labour gangs a typical old bowyanged navy (ex-N.Z. gum digger), Digger Cowley, always greeted you with ‘Good-day, digger.’ The timekeeper on these works, W H Sandy and I drifted to World War I.
After Gallipoli we went to France. On a typical grey sloppy Flanders morn, early 1917, Captain Sandy (now Lt-Col Sandy, DSO), and I were plodding through Poperhinge near the original Toc H building [a comforts facility in the Belgian town of Poperinghe]. I was surprised and impressed by ‘old Sandy’s’ greeting to each passing lad—‘Good-day, digger.’ Like magic the term became mass-produced. From every estaminet, urged by the vin rouge or vin blanc plonk, oozed the expression, ‘Good-day, dig’, or, more slangishly, ‘How’s she, dig.’
I often think of ‘old Sandy’, that cheerful unorthodox soldier with the persistent bubble in his Adam’s apple, and I feel that many, knowing him, will say: ‘Well, now you come to think of it, he is just the likeliest old b—— in the first AIF to have been the originator of “digger.” ’
A Major T. A. Connor responded to this version.
I must join issue with Lt-Col Horne on the origin and application of the word ‘digger’ in the first AIF. At least two years prior to 1917 this greeting was in general use, and I submit that its origin may be traced to the later days at Gallipoli.
Following the unsuccessful battles of early August 1915, the bulk of the Australian forces was engaged in constructing and improving trenches. The 7th Brigade (2 Division) was on Cheshire Ridge, The Apex and Durrant’s Post, and it was a general source of merriment to other units to inquire of our boys their ‘present occupation’, to which the reply was generally ‘Digging, digging, always b—— well digging.’ My own battalion (27 battalion) became well known as the ‘3 D’s’ (‘Dellman’s Dugout Diggers’) to which we added the then popular ‘dinkum’, and so caused the battalion to be known as ‘Dellman’s Dinkum Dugout Diggers.’
I suggest that the greeting ‘digger’ originated at this time and not, as suggested by Lt-Col Horne, in the early part of 1917.
The controversy continues today.
First to fall
The first Australian engagements—and casualties—of World War I took place not in 1915 at Gallipoli but during the year before in what was then known as German New Guinea. In September 1914 a combined Australian Naval and Military Expeditionary Force attacked German forces and wireless installations at and near Herbertshöhe (now Kokopo, East New Britain province in Papua New Guinea). These installations were considered dangerous because they formed the communications hub for Germany’s East Asian Cruising Squadron. A month or so after the engagement, First Class petty officer C. Hoffman wrote home to Rockhampton in Queensland about his experiences, giving an on-the-ground account of the fighting.
You know that we left Rocky and everything was a whisper. When Max Jeffries and myself reached Brisbane we were ordered to Sydney by the same train that brought us from Rocky, along with over fifty Queenslanders bound for Sydney. Still everything done in a whisper. When we got to Sydney there was no secret about it. All along the line the people were at the stations to give us a cheer, right up to 2 am. We were a queer looking crowd, only one third of the boys in uniform. On arriving in Sydney we were run to Edgecliff. Some were fitted out with uniform and boots, and webbing gear similar to the soldiers. I was not fitted with clothes until we were at sea in the Berrima. We had a fine passage right through. We anchored ten days in the Palm Islands, going on shore in the ship’s boats, skirmishing and rifle practice. There were about 500 naval reserves and over 1200 soldiers with two machine guns.
. . . When we arrived off here at 7 am on the 11th we had orders to go on shore for the great ceremonial as the Germans had surrendered, but we very soon found out that they had not.
The Governor said that he could not surrender and the navals were landed. The run to the wireless station, called Kabakaul, about six miles from the landing, was a dangerous piece of work. It was one open road with thick jungle on both sides, with a trench across the road which was mined in places. We lost the best naval officer of the expedition, Lieutenant Commander Elwell, a real ‘toff’, Captain Pockley of the Army Medical Corps, another ‘toff’, and four of our reserves, all AB’s, along with three other reserves wounded.
Landing parties from the destroyers also landed and did good work. We also had one naval officer, Lieutenant Bowen, wounded, but he has since rejoined. Our boys fought like tigers; no holding them back. The Germans themselves did not do much damage. They cocktailed [failed to fight]. The native armed police did most of the damage. They were posted in trees. We got a number of German officers and non coms, also thirty-six native police besides those that were sent to the boneyard. The two officers that were shot, also the AB’s, were shot with soft-nosed bullets, the lead standing out about a quarter of inch above the nickel. Some of the nickel bullets were filed like a cross over the point of the bullet, and others were sharp-pointed. There would be no chance of living if any of them went through you. The bullet-holes in Lieutenant Elwell and Captain Pockley on the one side were very small, but where they came out you could drop a billiard ball in.
After the wireless was taken we had to look for the Governor, forty Germans, and 200 armed native police in another part of the island. The Encounter shelled in the direction where the force was supposed to be, about six miles in a straight line, and that put the fear of God and old England into their hearts. They had retreated to another place. We had been in the bush all day, and just about dusk located them up a bit of a mountain. Two shots from our field gun into the ridge and out came a white flag with word that the Governor and his troops would surrender. On the Thursday the Governor came in and surrendered on condition that they got full honours of war.
On the Monday it was a grand sight to see the Germans coming in with their black police. Their drilling was something lovely, just like a piece of machinery. Three days after the battle I was made a first-class petty officer for services, and two days later was appointed master of native police. I took charge of the police when they surrendered and disarmed them. They were armed with 1912 and 1913 Mauser rifles and jagged bayonets. They are a fine body of boys, I have got them into shape with the English words of command. They have no time for the Germans on account of the Germans ill-treating them. When the Germans started getting away from us the niggers started to talk amongst themselves, and the only way for the Germans to save their own skins was by surrendering themselves and the black police as well. They fed them up like fitting [fighting] cocks and got the ball cartridges away from them, and gave them dummy ones instead.
The Germans had another wireless station about thirty-two miles from here, and the road to it was a beauty. It was simply a pass in places and if they had put up a fight in this direction there would have been very few of us left to tell the tale. There were places where it would have been almost impossible to get at them, but thanks to the native police the Germans threw in the towel.
Another twenty-six blacks and whites arrived from New Guinea as reinforcements and walked across the island. We intercepted these, and they surrendered. All the ships lay up in Rabaul, the capital, which is on Simpson Haven, about fourteen miles from here. The soldiers are in garrison there with the exception of about two companies, which are in New Guinea, and twenty-eight naval reserves and four companies of naval reserves are stationed
here at Herbertshohe. I take my armed police into the bush and am away two and three days at a time. I am not a bit afraid. They swear by me and say, ‘Hoffman, he good feller master. You no make him cross.’ The other natives on the island take some watching; but they all say they are ‘English—German no good.’ In all the southern papers, we get here there is nothing in them about the forces bound for England; not a word about our boys being boiled up under the Equator, and never a murmur from the papers. The soldiers that have accompanied us here have never fired a shot yet, and are not likely to.
Things are quiet here. It is simply garrison work. I get plenty to do. I have to look after the native police and natives, and I have a lively time hunting up the German planters for ill-treating natives on their plantations. I have got Max Jeffries in the office here with me now, so don’t wonder at Max forgetting his English when he returns. He is getting quite a big chap, and is filling out fast and has helped to keep up the name of the Bulldog Breed and Sons of the Sea.
How are all the boys in Rocky? We should have had fifty at least from Rocky. Some of the lads from Victoria are not eighteen years of age. I would like to tell you a lot more, but enough said for the present. I see by the southern papers that Lieutenant Commander Elwell and Captain Pockley were killed at Rabaul in Simpson Haven, and that they were bayoneted with jagged bayonets. That is incorrect. The fight took place between Kabakaul and Bitapaka, where the wireless station was situated, as none know better than the Australian Naval Reserves. Kabakaul is between Cape Gazelle and Point Liaison.
Now I think I have said enough for once. With kind regards to you and yours from Max and myself. Hoping you are all well. Give our chin-chin to all Rocky, and tell them we came out to win and win we did. With the best of good-wishes for dear old Rocky.
Australia’s first submarine, AE1, was part of this operation but was lost at sea with all hands—and has not yet been found. These events, occurring immediately to Australia’s north, took place before the formation of the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps, which is perhaps one reason they have not received the same attention as Gallipoli. But the attitude and approach to the fighting give a hint of what would develop into the Anzac tradition.
The forgotten island
The story of Anzac is founded on events that took place on Gallipoli from dawn 25 April 1915 to dawn 20 December 1915. Forgotten in this chronology is the Greek island of Lemnos, around 130 kilometres from the fighting on the Turkish mainland. While the island is fairly well known for its role as a hospital base for Gallipoli casualties, Lemnos was the point at which the various Allied forces assembled prior to the 25 April landings. It was also the place to which many soldiers were taken after the evacuation of Gallipoli and was effectively the main support base for the entire campaign. Even twenty years later, A. H. Edmonds of the 1st AIF vividly recalled the scene of the combined landing force assembled in Mudros harbour, on Lemnos.
Those members of the A.I.F. who saw Lemnos can never forget the wonderful concentration of shipping which sprawled over the spacious harbour of Mudros. Everything that could float seemed to be there, from the world’s largest battleships and liners down to the tiny torpedo boats and trawlers. Flags of all the Allied nations fluttered in the breeze. Freakish-looking craft not seen before by Australian eyes helped to swell this floating world . . .
This was the start of what was to be a close and ongoing relationship between the British, Australian, New Zealand, French, Newfoundland (Canada) and Indian forces and the islanders of Lemnos. The island, especially around Mudros, rapidly became an extensive military complex of hospitals, rest camps and associated administrative facilities essential for the medical and recreational support of the troops. Cemeteries were also laid out. Lemnos had originally been planned as the main base for the campaign, although this was moved to Alexandria in Egypt, over 1000 kilometres away, due to a perceived lack of facilities. However, as the campaign progressed, Lemnos became increasingly important for its proximity to the fighting, as the official war correspondent Charles (C. E. W.) Bean noted: ‘. . . this splendid harbour sixty miles from the Peninsula, though nominally never more than an “intermediate” base, inevitably became an important centre . . .’
Just before the various waves of the landing forces sailed from Lemnos to the shores of Gallipoli, Lance Corporal Archibald Barwick, 1st Battalion AIF, noted in his diary:
The day before the fleet sailed we were all drawn up and General Birdwood spoke to us to be careful with our water, food and ammunition and told us that the eyes of the whole world would be on us, to see how we fought. They must have been cock sure of breaking right through, for they told us that there would be no haggling in the villages we were to pass through as all the prices would be fixed. We were paid on the 22nd with notes which had Turkish writing on them.
Barwick also described the scene aboard his ship as the troops prepared to land the following morning.
The fleet . . . picked up their anchors and slowly steamed out of the harbour and what a mass of ships there was as we slowly steamed out of Lemnos. We could hear the warships belting away at the forts as we went along. We got a certain distance out and anchored for the night. We were then given each man 300 rounds of ammunition and his rations for 3 days. That night everyone was as happy as they could possibly be. We had our mandolins, guitars, banjos etc going for all they were worth. Nobody thought of what was going to happen on the morrow. And so we went to bed about 10 o’clock with everything ready for an instant move.
With his comrades, Barwick returned to Lemnos for a well-earned rest in September.
We were landed about 11 o’clock that morning and some of the chaps were that weak that a motor ambulance fetched them round to the camp. As we passed the hospital the Drs and nurses came out and had a look at us and I heard one nurse say ‘poor fellows they look more fit for the hospital than anything else’ and she was right. Half of them knocked up before they got round to the camp. On the way over we had to cross a long arm of the sea, a sort of backwater. It was a short cut so you can bet we went across it though it was up to our thighs in places.
Arrived at Sarpry [Sarpi] camp thoroughly knocked up, and were detailed off to the tents. How glad we were to throw our packs and rifles off and to get outside and buy some grapes and figs. The grapes were very plentiful and cheap you can buy enough for three as you could eat . . . Everyone gorged themselves with fruit for you know we were fruit hungry and it was a sort of craving we had on us. Needless to say we paid pretty dearly for it the next day didn’t our stomachs ache and roll. Eggs also were plentiful and we used to get any amount of them and cook them for our tea.
All that afternoon the boys kept straggling home one by one for some of them had to have a dozen spells before they could get round. Needless to say we slept soundly that night, for we were away from the sound of the guns for the first time for many months, and we missed them but in the right way. The next morning we had a good breakfast and had the day to ourselves. The first thing we done as you might guess was to have a good clean up wash and shave. There was no roll call that day. Some of us washed our clothes over at the well. There was a bonzer spring there and we made full use of it. A day after this we were all issued with new clothes and felt like new men. The lousy clothes were all burnt and we were clean once more.
As well as the luxury of being clean and louse-free, the troops were able to enjoy entertainment on Lemnos.
The New Zealand Band gave several fine concerts at which the nurses on Lemnos Island attended. What a relief and pleasure it was to see the girls of our land after six months of roughing it at Anzac. They made the place look quite bright with their pretty uniforms. They were bricks to stick at Mudros like they did for I can tell you they had some rough times there. They even had to live on bully beef and biscuits at times and time after time their tents would be blown down in a raging rain storm and they would turn to help and put them up again in the pouring rain. Their first thought was for the sick and wo
unded men and they looked after them splendidly. One cannot praise our nurses too highly. They were bonzer girls.
On the 21st the 1st Division gave a concert. All the items were rendered by members who came with the first contingent. It was a great success, there were thousands there and the Dean of Sydney presided. There were a lot of naval men present. Just before the concert opened about 20 nurses came in and didn’t they get a reception. It must have been several minutes before the uproar died down. At this concert the Maoris gave their war cry. They took a lot of coaxing to get them on the platform but once there they were right. Their war cry is a most unearthly row and no wonder it frightened the Turks the first time they heard it on ‘Sari Bair’ during the great battle there. The concert ended up by singing ‘Boys of the 1st Brigade’ and thus a most enjoyable evening ended.
But the grim reality of what the Gallipoli campaign truly meant only sank in at roll call.
In the afternoon we had the first proper Battalion roll call since we left Egypt and it was sad to see the few of the old original men that were left. Only a handful it seemed . . . a lot of them were in hospitals crippled, some were back in Australia and between 200 and 300 were lying in their graves at Anzac. The majority of them were splendid fellows too.