by Alan Tucker
Father told us this evening that shots have been fired in Australia. He said German ships slipped out of Sydney Harbour just hours before the declaration of war but a ship in Port Melbourne was too slow. When it tried to leave, the Point Nepean guns fired a warning shot ahead of its bow and the captain immediately surrendered. The ship returned to port where the crew was detained.
Hans is devastated. He’s locked himself in his room and is refusing to eat or talk.
Friday, 7 August
I’ve thought more seriously about enlisting with Richard and William. I know it’s dangerous, but so is a future working in the mines. The army pays five shillings a day. I earn only one shilling a day as a pickey-boy. The army will give me another shilling a day to travel overseas, and there’s always the chance of being promoted if I can prove myself. It’s much better than the prospect of spending the rest of my life underground.
I’ll speak to Mother tonight. If I can get her on side, she’ll convince Father to sign my papers. If you’re under twenty-one your parents need to sign a permission form before you can enlist. Richard told me I still need to be over eighteen, even with the form.
I spoke to Mother and she’s not convinced I should join up.
‘I’m happy for you to travel overseas, Victor, to try to better your lot in life, but being a soldier is a far cry from being a missionary.’
‘I know, Mother, but it’s too good an opportunity to turn down. And when the war’s over I could visit grandfather in Cornwall.’
I handed her my week’s pay from the mine.
‘And I could pay you five times this amount of money if I was in the army.’
She took my earnings. Money for most mining families is tight but especially ours. Father’s incapacity to do heavy work limits what he can earn. Our cottage is one of the poorest in Moonta. Mother and Hans make it look as attractive as possible but some parts of it desperately need repairs.
Mother asked me to check on Hans. She told me he’s unlocked his door but ate almost nothing when he made a brief appearance in the kitchen.
‘You talk to him, Victor. He’s always felt comfortable with you.’
I knocked on his door but got no reply.
‘Hans,’ I said softly. ‘It’s me, Victor.’
No reply. I knocked again.
‘Please may I come in, Hans?’
Mother was watching from the kitchen door. She indicated I should push open the door, so I did.
‘It’s only me, Hans. I want to talk to you.’
When I entered he was seated on his bed with his head bowed. He neither looked up nor spoke.
‘I brought you some soup.’
I put the bowl on his bedside table then sat next to him.
‘How was he?’ Mother asked.
‘He’s worried the government will put him in jail.’
‘They would never do that. He’s lived here fifty years. Did you tell him everything will be all right?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did he eat the soup?’
‘No, but he promised he would, and he said he’ll join us at the table tomorrow night.’
Mother was very happy and hugged me tight. ‘Poor old Hans, worrying unnecessarily about things that will never happen.’
Sunday, 9 August
The minister spoke in support of the war in his sermon. He said German artillery has shelled Belgian cathedrals. He mentioned that British forces have disembarked in France but need help to defeat the Huns.
Hans joined us at the dinner table last night. He looks very anxious and withdrawn. He only spoke when spoken to and his responses were always one word. He ate very little and excused himself from the table without having a cup of tea. I heard his door shut and lock.
While Father was reading I spoke to Mother again about enlisting. She sounded more sympathetic to my request. What the minister told us in church this evening has shocked her.
The Germans in Germany must be very different from Hans. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.
Friday, 14 August
Father confirmed that things are getting worse by the day.
‘Today’s newspaper reports tens of thousands of refugees are fleeing into France ahead of the German army. Nuns have been paraded through the streets and humiliated.’
For Mother that was the final straw.
‘The Germans need to be stopped,’ she said firmly. ‘Decent people cannot sit back and allow such despicable acts to continue.’
‘Does that mean I can enlist?’ I asked hopefully.
‘I’ll speak to your father.’
Later
I can’t sleep tonight. I’m so excited. I’ll find out tomorrow if my parents will give me permission to join up.
Saturday, 15 August
The newspaper reports that South Australia will form its own battalion: the 10th Battalion. Recruiting officers are touring suburbs and country towns encouraging men to sign up.
William and Richard weren’t at work this morning. They went to the town hall to enlist. I was so jealous. Mother and Father have gone on my behalf to speak to an officer and to collect a Permission to Enlist form. They have promised to fill it in and sign it tonight.
I saw William and Richard after work. They were devastated. They’ve been rejected because of their age.
‘We would have been all right but the local copper saw us and reported we were lying about our age.’
‘I was planning to enlist tomorrow,’ I told them.
‘Don’t do it here,’ Richard suggested. ‘Go up to Port Pirie or down to Adelaide where no-one knows you.’
When I got home I told Mother and Father what happened to Richard and William and they said they’ll pay my fare for the train trip to Adelaide.
‘On one condition,’ Mother said. ‘That you explain to Hans what you’re doing.’
‘I can’t tell him I’m going to fight Germans.’
‘You have to, Victor. You can’t lie to the old chap.’
‘But he’s unhappy enough already.’
‘It has to be done, Son,’ Father told me.
Sunday, 16 August
After church this morning I knocked on Hans’ door. He invited me in. I cried as I explained what I planned to do then sat silently beside him on his bed.
‘War is no gut, Victor, but for your safety every day I will pray.’
Monday, 17 August
I informed Mr Cornthwaite that today’s my last day at work because I’m joining up. He warned me I may be rejected because of my age. I told him I’d take that chance but didn’t tell him I’m going to Adelaide to enlist.
Tuesday, 18 August
I’m in Adelaide and I’m nervous. I kept a brave face at the Moonta railway station when I said goodbye to Mother and Father but underneath I was shaking. I’ve always wanted to travel but I’d never done it until today. I can only imagine how Father must have felt when he stood on the deck of his ship looking down on the London docks, knowing he’d probably never see Cornwall again.
My hotel room is smelly, small and noisy. I’ve read the train timetable several times and memorised all the station names between Adelaide and Morphettville. The recruiting office is at the nearby racecourse.
Wednesday, 19 August
I arrived early but there was already a long line of recruits outside the racecourse gates. Some of the men looked very tough and big compared to me so I knew I’d have to be very confident if I wanted to fool the recruiting officer about my age.
I was directed to the medical tent where I joined another queue. A cold winter wind blew across the open parade ground. Men huddled with their backs to it, their collars turned up, their hands in pockets.
‘I can’t wait to get on the boat and steam across to a warm European summer,’ a tall gangly man said.
‘I can’t wait to get my first pay packet,’ another replied. ‘Easiest money I’ll ever earn.’
‘You do realise there’s a war on at the other end of the voyage?’ a third man as
ked. ‘Talking of which,’ he said looking at me, ‘you look too young to enlist.’
‘I’m nineteen.’
‘You might bluff the recruiting officer, lad, but you can’t fool us fellows,’ he replied.
‘If you’re nineteen, I’m a monkey’s uncle,’ the first man responded.
‘We’ll see how ape-like you are,’ the second man jested, ‘as soon as you strip off for your medical. If you’re hairy all over then you are as you claim.’
We all laughed and introduced ourselves. My new cobbers are Robbo, Fish and Needle.
‘What’s your name, son?’ Needle asked.
‘Victor March,’ I replied proudly. ‘My father called me that so my name sounded like victory march.’
‘That’s a bit too clever for me,’ Needle replied. ‘Let’s keep it simple. From now on you’re Quickie as in Quick March.’
The others laughed heartily. I was happy with the nickname too.
‘What are you no-good loafers laughing at?’ a tough looking man in uniform shouted. ‘There’s no time for mirth. Line up and get in here,’ he roared from the tent’s entrance. ‘Quick march,’ he ordered.
My new friends laughed loudly again as we entered and lined up before the medical team.
‘Get your clothes off,’ the uniformed man bellowed, ‘and hurry up about it.’
We stripped naked and stood awkwardly waiting to be checked out by the doctor. I wasn’t worried about passing the medical because I’ve always been healthy and fit.
The medical officer examined the two lads in front of me and failed them for having flat feet and bad teeth. He was concerned that I didn’t meet the minimum height of 5 feet 6 inches so he measured me twice. The second time I breathed deeply and stood as tall as I could stretch. I felt great relief when he signed my form and passed me fit for service.
Sunday, 30 August
Dear Mother and Father,
As you probably guessed when I did not return home, I have been accepted into the army. I’m in the 10th Battalion. We have not been issued with our uniforms yet but have been fitted out in blue dungarees which look quite smart.
The food is good but not as good as yours, of course, Mother. We sleep in tents. l share with three other men called Needle, Fish and Robbo. I hope you won’t be cross but they refuse to call me Victor. They have nicknamed me ‘Quickie’ as in Quick March.
Needle’s family gave me a bed on the first night I enlisted because there were not enough tents at the racecourse for the large number of recruits. Mrs Sharpe was very kind and made me very comfortable.
We didn’t have to do much army work last week because the officers were busy signing up new recruits. Our commander inspected us on Friday, however, and announced that our battalion has now reached full strength of 1,000 men. He then handed us over to the drill sergeants to knock us into shape.
They are hard taskmasters who shout orders and punish men who cannot perform to the standard they expect. They really got stuck into a few blokes who were cheeky.
The bugler sounds Lights Out at 9 pm. At that time all candles must be extinguished and talking cease—or else! I’m happy with that rule because I’m exhausted after a long day of physical exercise.
In our tent we each have two blankets, a waterproof sheet, cutlery and a pannikin. On our first night together I followed the example of the other men—I hollowed a hip-hole in the ground, spread out the waterproof sheet and laid my blankets over it. Then I rolled up my boots in a spare shirt to make a rough pillow.
I’m lucky that the fellows with whom I share a tent are a supportive lot. They all have a great sense of humour. At night we have many laughs which helps to relieve the fatigue of the day.
I hope you are both well and that Hans is happier than he was.
Your loving son, Victor
Saturday, 5 September
We’ve been issued with our uniforms and rifles. We look like real soldiers at last, dressed in khaki shirts, jackets and trousers topped off with a slouch hat. Our boots and brass buttons must be polished at all times or we are given unpleasant fatigues like cleaning the ablutions block. The officers are always keen to give men that particular fatigue. They’re strict about personal and camp hygiene. There are now thousands of men camped here and the last thing the officers want is an epidemic.
Mail was distributed this morning after parade. I received a letter from home.
Dear Victor,
We miss you dearly but are relieved to hear you have already made new friends.
The recent spring weather helped me get Hans outside to work in the garden. It had rapidly grown out of control without his help.
We received a nasty shock on Wednesday when a police officer came to speak to him. The officer spoke harshly to the poor old chap and has threatened him with incarceration if he does not report to the police station twice a week.
I explained to the officer that Hans finds it hard to get around because of his age and arthritis but he wasn’t interested.
‘He is an enemy alien, Mrs March, and is likely to be a spy or a saboteur. I’m sure the Huns would love nothing more than to stop mining operations in Moonta and hinder Australia’s war effort.’
I was very angry, as was Father when I told him. Hans sobbed despite my attempts to comfort him.
The arrival of your letter brightened up a distressing day. Please continue to write.
Your loving Mother and Father
Wednesday, 9 September
We’ve been given three days Leave and a free train pass. I arrived home last night.
Mother and Father met me at the station and have made such a fuss over me. I feel very spoiled, especially when I compare my treatment at home with that in the army.
Hans has aged so much in the three weeks since I left. His hair’s greyer, his face appears more lined and he’s lost weight.
‘That’s because he’s hardly eating,’ Mother explained. ‘He feels sick in the stomach all the time. It’s the worry about what’s to happen to him. The police treat him as if he’s a threat to national security. Some German residents may be dangerous, but not dear old Hans.’
I sat and talked to him as often as possible but didn’t get much response apart from, ‘You are a gut boy, Victor. We are enemies but friends.’
I told him he’s not my enemy.
Richard and William were excited to see me. They wanted to know what army life was like. I told them it was hard work but because I was doing my bit for the Empire, I didn’t mind the strenuous lifestyle.
‘With money in your pocket and wearing that uniform, you must attract a lot of attention from the young ladies,’ William commented.
‘I wouldn’t know,’ I replied. ‘We’re confined to camp most of the time and train for long hours every day. When I have free time I try to catch up on my rest.’
I asked them about their latest plans for enlistment. They explained they’re still keen but they’re nervous about travelling to Adelaide alone.
‘We’ve never been to the big city,’ Richard explained.
‘Moonta’s all we know,’ William added. ‘We’re waiting for a couple of the older lads to quit their jobs then we’ll travel down as a group.’
I felt very proud of myself for having the confidence to travel alone.
Friday, 11 September
At the station before I left, Mother took me aside and had a serious talk. She pleaded with me to look after myself and my friends and to stay true to the principles she and Father had brought me up by.
When the conductor ordered me aboard she burst into tears and clung tightly to me. We didn’t say it but we both knew we might never see each other again.
‘You will write,’ she told me. She stopped sobbing and eye-balled me fiercely. ‘Victor, you will write.’
I was too teary to respond but she could tell from my eyes that I would. I had already promised Father that I would not say anything in my letters likely to increase her worries.
‘Save
the truth for your diary,’ he told me. ‘Besides, if you write too honestly in your letters, the military censors will cut it.’
Sunday, 13 September
The Sunday church services in Morphettville are held in the open air. Today’s sermon focused on families. The chaplain told us that some of us may have seen our families for the last time.
‘I urge every one of you, if you did not speak from your heart when you departed from your friends and family, to write to every individual who means something to you, and tell them of your affection.’
After the service I stayed behind to talk to the Chaplain who told me to call him Frank. He’s quite old. I asked him why he decided to rough-it in the army when he could stay comfortably at home in his local community.
He laughed and explained that he serves God, not himself.
‘Several men from my congregation enlisted so I thought it best to accompany them.’
He told me I can talk to him any time and discuss anything that’s bothering me. I did wonder if he found it hard to serve in the army in wartime when his vocation was to be a man of peace. Maybe I’ll ask him about that when I get to know him better.
Later
Ninety per cent of my battalion are single lads so the sight of a party of nurses visiting the camp from the Royal Adelaide Hospital caused great excitement. Off-duty men wolf-whistled and called out to the girls while those doing drills were totally distracted and made a mess of manoeuvres they would usually perform without a hitch.
The nurses passed us on their way to the mess tent where the cooks had prepared a special luncheon for them. I’d never paid much attention to girls but I’d enrolled alongside nineteen year-olds so I wasn’t surprised that my mates were interested in them.