When Our Jack Went to War

by Sandy McKay

  How’s everything else going? Are you managing to feed the fowls okay? And how are those spuds down the side of the house? They’ll need to be shoaled up pretty soon, if I remember rightly. If they were planted in time you might get a nice wee feed for Christmas.

  Things are looking up here weather-wise. The rain has eased off this week and the days are getting warmer. The lads are making the most of the more settled weather.

  Billy Prestcott, Cyril Jackson, Arnold Wilson and I scored some leave in the weekend. We went to a hotel in Wellington for the night. It was great to see our capital city for the first time. A bit like Dunedin, I thought.

  On Saturday we had a stroll round parliament buildings before going for a look at the zoo. You’d love the animals there, Tom, especially the elephants. We took the tram. I was thinking that when this war is over, we could all visit the zoo together. You, me, Ma and Amy. Mrs J could come too if she wanted. And Uncle Ced. It’d be great.

  We could catch the ferry to Wellington and stay a few days. That’d be plenty long enough to have a look around and it’d be something fun to look forward to.

  There is an elephant that you can ride for a penny. I have a lot of respect for elephants. Did you know they are completely vegetarian? It’s hard to imagine something of that size living entirely on vegetables. And they must have to eat a lot to maintain their body weight. By Joves, they must.

  Three of us had a ride on one. And when we climbed back down the zoo-keeper spun us a yarn about elephants being good luck. He gave us a postcard each, too. I’ve put mine in my wallet for safe keeping.

  Love from

  Jack

  PS — I hope you like my elephant sketch.

  PPS — Does Ma have any plans for Christmas Day, yet?

  Dear Jack,

  I think Ma has been trying not to think too much about Christmas Day. But she does think the zoo is a great idea. So do I.

  Ma says we can book the tickets just as soon as you get back home. She was quite perked up after reading that and made a batch of girdle scones to celebrate. We ate them hot with Mrs J’s gooseberry jam. Better than bread and dripping sandwiches any day.

  I’d really love to see a live elephant. Frank’s dad rode on one last year. He’s got a photograph to prove it. I had a go at drawing one but it wasn’t my best effort.

  Yesterday Mrs Stains helped me look up elephants in the encyclopaedia. It turns out the Indian ones have smaller ears than the African ones. I managed to trace one in my sketchbook before I had to put the encyclopaedia back.

  Things are different at school this term. We have new routines — like saying the Lord’s Prayer at morning assembly, for example. And sometimes we have to say the 23rd Psalm as well. That’s the one about the shepherd not wanting to lie down in pastures. If you get the words wrong you have to stay in after school and practise.

  Luckily I know all the words off by heart on account of Sunday school.

  You are so lucky to have finally escaped Sunday school, Jack. I don’t think I’ll ever get away from it. Frank Morrison doesn’t have to go after he turns thirteen. Neither does Richard McGregor.

  Not me though. Ma says I should stay and help with the young ones. Blimey! Since our Dad’s accident she’s got even stricter than ever.

  It took a lot of persuading to let me go to the pictures last week. It was a Charlie Chaplin movie called Laughing Gas. Me and Frank snuck in the back stalls. Charlie Chaplin makes me laugh out loud. I don’t like his moustache much but his hat’s top notch.

  They had news reels at the pictures too. And music. I wonder what sort of music they have in Germany. Probably just a load of old war marches, eh. What do you think?

  Frank thought one of the soldiers on the news reel looked a bit like you, Jack. And after I agreed, he said, ‘What do you reckon your Jack’s doing this very minute?’ We were having a few guesses when a lady behind us whacked Frank square in the back with her handbag and told us both to keep our voices down and watch the film. I think people round here are losing their sense of humour. And Mrs J says nothing’s going to change till the war ends.

  Speaking of the war ending, have you heard about the new weapon they’ve got? It’s called a tank. It’s got wheels like a tractor and they think it’s going to help us win the war. They say the Germans won’t know what’s hit them.

  Any news about when you’re off to England yet?

  Lots of love,

  From Tom

  Trentham Camp

  Dear Tom,

  It’s hard to believe that Christmas has already come and gone.

  While many of the lads got leave to travel home there were still a good number who didn’t. Most of the chaps from the South Island stayed put and I think there were around 3,000 of us in total. The Wellington Mayoress and ladies from the committee were determined we wouldn’t suffer and the camp was decorated with ferns and palms and fresh green bushes.

  I’d have to say, the food we had was fit for a king. Roast lamb, green peas and potatoes, followed by boiled plum duff for pud. But the highlight of the day was when they brought out two barrels of beer. The men swooped like vultures and the first one was emptied quick smart. But there was a problem with the bung from the second barrel and it wasn’t long before one frustrated soldier attacked it with a screwdriver and hammer. You can imagine what happened next, Jack. The beer gushed out like a geyser soaking everyone in sight.

  I trust you all had a quiet day at home. Wish I’d been there.

  Much love,

  Jack

  Dear Jack,

  Ha, ha! What a laugh!

  Our Christmas day wasn’t near as funny as that. It wasn’t too bad though. Mrs J came over and helped Ma with the food. We had roast lamb as well — donated by Uncle Ced. And suet pudding for afters. Ma can’t make plum duff but the suet pudding was okay.

  For presents, Mrs J made Amy a doll. And I got a game called Ludo. We played it after lunch but there was no one good to play with.

  It wasn’t much fun having Christmas without you or our Dad.

  Love from

  Tom

  Dear Tom,

  Good news. It looks like we might be on the move at last.

  Some of the chaps in hut 29 have been told they will sail out on the 10th. And a few mates in hut 21 have been drawn to go with them. I guess it’s only a matter of time now before the rest of us get called.

  Let’s hope so.

  Best regards,

  Jack

  January, 1917

  Dear Jack,

  Your good news was Ma’s bad news. Ma has been in tears all week. I think she had her heart set on this war being over before you got on the troop-ship. Good old Mrs J came galloping to the rescue with four jars of jam to cheer us all up. She says her gooseberry bush is growing fruit faster than you can say ‘Jack Robinson’. I think it was a good excuse to visit and she’s probably just trying to keep an eye on Ma. She must be going through a lot of sugar though. And sugar’s in short supply right now.

  Everyone’s doing what they can for the war effort. A few ladies from Ma’s church group came round to ours on Tuesday. They were having a meeting about making things for the soldiers and by two o’clock our whole sitting room was full of ladies armed with knitting needles. They must have jabbered away for at least two hours.

  Uncle Ced reckons they’re noisier than a gaggle of geese. He says it’s not a man’s world any more. That’s ’cause nearly all the men have gone away to war. Everyone except Uncle Ced, that is. And Mr Gilbertson, of course.

  Hope all is good with you.

  Lots of love,

  From Tom

  Dear Tom,

  Goodness gracious, mate. What’s our world coming to, eh? Knitting needles, hats … seems like the whole world’s turned upside down.

  Give my regards to Mr Gilbertson and tell him to save me a pound of his best saveloys for when I get home.

  Best regards,

  Jack

  Dear Jack,


  We’re back at school now. And I’m writing this letter in class because writing letters is easier than doing sums. I know how much you enjoy getting letters from home.

  The Valley has had its share of bad news lately. Marian Murdoch’s brother is home for good now and has to go everywhere in a wheelchair. Marian doesn’t mention it much these days. When he came to church last week everyone stared. I felt so sorry for him. You wouldn’t recognise him Jack, because his hair has turned completely white.

  Mrs Stains’ brother had to come home from the war as well. He’s only got half an arm on his right side but at least he doesn’t have to go everywhere in a wheelchair.

  In church on Sunday the vicar made us say a special prayer for all our brave soldiers. He even said your name, Jack. Private Jack Donald William McAllister. It gave me goosebumps to hear your name called out like that, with you being so far away and everything.

  It’s been a long time and soon I’ll start forgetting what you look like. I hope your hair doesn’t go white like Marian’s brother, but Mrs J said if it does she’s got the perfect remedy. It’s got something to do with lavender flowers.

  Yesterday Mrs Stains gave us a rousing speech about how well the New Zealand soldiers are doing and how they have a perfect fighting record. She said the kiwis and the Aussies are the best soldiers out. Go the ANZACs! I told her you were off on the troop-ship any minute now and she said she’d say a prayer for your safe return.

  Love from Tom

  Dear Tom,

  My hair is still a fine shade of mousey brown, as far as I can tell, but I’ll keep lavender flowers in mind should the situation change. It’s good to know I’m in your thoughts and it’s reassuring to be well prayed for because it looks like things are finally moving.

  I think we’ll be needing all the help we can get. We’ve been issued with our sea kits now — a hold-all, a mess dish and a new uniform, which includes a waist belt, hat and a new pair of boots. Three thousand soldiers were inspected by officers before getting marched off to our huts. It must have been quite a sight. Army life is getting serious. There’s not so much larking about and the training schedule has stepped up a notch. Last Saturday’s route march took all day. The wind was blowing like blazes and I was fair tuckered out by the finish.

  They say our troop-ship is scheduled to leave in ten days’ time. I don’t know full details but it looks like there will be a few hundred on board. Fingers crossed I don’t get seasick because it’s going to be a long hard six weeks if I do.

  Best regards,

  Jack

  Dear Jack,

  I guess by now you will be on board the troop-ship.

  Ma said to tell you she’s sorry we couldn’t come and see you off. It was too far to go in the finish, and would have cost too much money. I think it’s probably just as well we didn’t go because Ma would have only ended up crying her eyes out.

  Poor Ma. She bursts into tears a lot these days and tries to blame her crying on the onions. Trouble is, we don’t have too many onions left. Uncle Ced brought some round. They were from his garden but they have to hang in the shed till they dry out properly. Another six months, he reckons. Hopefully they’ll be ready for when you get home, Jack.

  Anyway, enough about us. What about you? Fancy being on a ship, eh. What’s it like? Have you seen any whales yet? Or sharks?

  I hope you have a good voyage and don’t forget to write when you get the chance.

  Lots of love,

  From Tom

  PS — I’ve been practising my sketches. This is one Amy did of her and me waving.

  And this is one of an elephant. If your zoo-keeper is right about elephants being good luck then you’ll probably need as many as you can get.

  On board a troop-ship

  Dear Tom,

  That was a great sketch, mate. The ears were a fine shape and you got the shading just right. I liked young Amy’s drawing too.

  A lot has happened since I last wrote and, yes, we are on the high seas at last.

  There was a huge crowd in Wellington to see us off and it was a rousing sight with music, flags and brass bands to boot. The ship is enormous and climbing aboard with everyone cheering made me feel like the King himself.

  I will write again soon.

  Love,

  Jack

  Dear Tom,

  So many miles away now and land is but a distant memory. I think it might take some getting used to, this new life at sea. I’m feeling a bit crook in the guts already, and I must say, not having my feet on dry land is the oddest feeling in the world. Hopefully things will settle down with time.

  You’ll be pleased to know that writing letters isn’t going to be a problem. The authorities say we can continue sending mail home and it will be collected from ports along the way. You might even get some new stamps for your collection. Arnold says there are some special war editions out.

  And I’m pleased to report the old gang is still hanging together. Billy and I have ended up as close neighbours. Colin Croft and Arnold Wilson aren’t too far away, either.

  I reckon it’s just as well I didn’t join the navy, Tom, because I’m definitely not cut out to be a sailor. I spend a good deal of my time barfing over the side and the next few weeks might turn out to be even tougher than Trentham.

  They haven’t eased up on the discipline, either. We have four compulsory drills per day and all duties have to be performed like clockwork. The domestic duties can be challenging as well.

  We wash our clothes in salt water, with no soap, and the quartermaster inspects the cleaning every day. He’s a pedantic little man called Irwin who used to manage a haberdashery shop in South Dunedin. He’s got a sharp little grey moustache and a sharp little personality to match.

  Getting a good night’s sleep isn’t the easiest for run-of-the-mill soldiers like us. It’s only the officers who have the luxury of a cabin. The rest of us are crammed together in the hold where there’s not much room for tossing and turning. A quiet night’s rest is usually out of the question with the ship’s propeller banging away like blazes all night long!

  On the bright side, the tucker isn’t too bad. Last night we had soup, smoked fish and apples. Must go for now.

  Love to all,

  Your brother, Jack

  PS — We haven’t seen a whale yet but yesterday a school of dolphins followed our ship for a good couple of hours.

  Dear Jack,

  Dolphins, eh. Jeepers!

  I wish I could have lessons in a ship with dolphins following along behind. School isn’t too much fun just now, Jack. Don’t tell Ma, but I got ‘six of the best’ from the headmaster last week. It’s a long story, and even though it wasn’t my fault, I ended up copping most of the blame. Still stings like billy-o.

  I’ve got seventeen stamps in my collection now. Richard McGregor swapped me one of his favourites. It’s got a picture of a bird on it and it came all the way from England! I’m looking forward to getting more from overseas soon. It seems like ages since I got your last letter … and even longer since I saw you.

  You’ll be pleased to hear that our Jacky’s growing bigger every day. He can chew proper beef bones now and Mr Gilbertson saves him lamb shanks too, ’cause he’s got exotic tastes and doesn’t like savs. He also likes to finish off the morning porridge, which suits Amy because she’s always looking for excuses not to finish hers.

  Uncle Ced reckons Jacky’s got plenty of brains for a dog and he’s pretty cunning too.

  We’ve almost stopped him peeing inside. There’ve only been a few accidents so far but they were mostly our Amy’s fault because she snuck him into her bed. Amy is such a soft touch and doesn’t like the thought of dogs sleeping outside. Too bad if he’s got fleas though, eh.

  Speaking of fleas — Ma said to tell you to keep up your hygiene standards and don’t forget to say your prayers. But Mrs J said what good are prayers when all anyone wants to do is kill each other. Ma got her pursed lips going when she said that. ‘W
e need prayers more than ever these days, Nola,’ she said. ‘And I’m damned if I’m going to let this war turn me into a heathen.’

  Love from

  Tom

  Dear Tom,

  Tell Ma there’s no need to fret. War is not going to make heathens of anyone on this troop-ship. Not if Father O’Brien has anything to do with it. He’s the chaplain on board and he takes a church service every day. The service takes place in the mess room, which is definitely not the most sacred place on God’s earth, especially when it’s full of men smoking cigarettes and playing poker.

  Still … I reckon he does a pretty good job under the circumstances.

  It’s going to take a long while to get to England. There’s a lot of ocean out there and until you make the voyage yourself you don’t realise how far away our little country is.

  I started thinking about our Dad’s family the other day. It’s only when you get on a ship like this that you appreciate how hard it must have been for the settlers who came out to New Zealand. It’s a world away from bonny Scotland, that’s for sure.

  Best regards,