In Great Spirits

by Archie Barwick

  One of the ships that went out the other day had to return on account of the flu being so bad. An officer told me that 38 of our lads had died on her & not a single invalid had caught the disease. We are losing a lot of men through this cursed thing & until it dies down it’s a certainty we will be kept in England.

  7th November. Have been busy shaking & belting my blankets this morning & they are now hanging out on the wire with my pyjamas getting a good airing, which they so badly need.

  There was a great commotion about the town this afternoon. We were all just sitting down to tea when there was a most tremendous noise in the harbour. All the whistles & horns of the steamers & warships started blowing & every little thing that could raise a scream took it up & there was cock-a-doodle-doing galore. We all guessed at once what it was — the armistice signed & the end of the war.

  All the boys rushed out of the huts & started cheering & shouting & everyone was wildly excited, so much so that none of us could wait for our tea but put our tunics on & rushed for the town, where we found kiddies marching about beating tins, carrying flags, singing at the top of their voices. The town was simply crowded & one had his work cut out to work up Fore Street. Here again great crowds had collected & were singing at the top of their voices “Keep the Home Fires Burning”, “Rule Britannia”, “Smile, Smile, Smile” & etc. Flags were very much in evidence — every little kid & girl was sporting a Jack or Stars & Stripes — & the whole town was in its gayest mood & fit for anything.

  I went out to Plymouth & the same state of affairs was prevailing there, yet in spite of all this there was no official confirmation that the war was over — all they were going on was that the Navy had received a wireless to the effect that the armistice had been signed that afternoon at 3 o’clock, but the whole thing turned out to be groundless. If this is a sample of what’s going to happen when the war is over there will be some joy.

  9th November. Well I got inoculated after all this morning. I got the good oil from the Adjutant & he advised me to be done without delay for he said they would turn me down for a certainty if it was not in my pay book, & he also said that I would have a good chance of getting on the next draft for Aussie. I am dying to get home & out of this country. I have an idea that most of my furlough will be spent in New South Wales for apart from home there is nothing whatsoever to keep me in Tasmania. I have very little time for what people I do know there outside my own relations, but I suppose a chap will know what’s doing when the time comes.

  11th November. At last the great day has come & the whole air as I write now is filled with screaming & howling whistles & sirens. The time we first got the news here was 9.20 & it is now 11.45 & the noise is increasing if anything. All the church bells are ringing & clamouring & the little church hard by is floating a big old Union Jack & ringing her bells merrily on tins, the greatest day of England’s glory. We have come out on top as England nearly always has done after one of the most frightful wars that we have ever been engaged in & the end has been so dramatic & the win so complete that we can hardly grasp the full meaning of it.

  When we got news of this the lads were on parade & the message came up telling of the signing of the armistice & the end of the war. The C.O. read it & proclaimed the day a general holiday amidst an outburst of cheering & the lads promptly scattered & made off for the town. The camp is now practically deserted but I have to stop here till dinner time for I am Depot Orderly Sgt.

  12th November. Went down the town yesterday afternoon & found Plymouth & Devonport in the wildest state of excitement & joy. Flags, bunting, rosettes, banners fluttered from every house & building, & everyone was sporting red, white & blue, carrying flags, singing songs, marching up & down the streets. Our flag was well to the fore; the diggers were carrying it & singing patriotic songs & ditties at the top of their voices & crowds of girls were helping them.

  I saw one never-to-be-forgotten sight, it was in Fore Street. A little party of our lads had 2 fine Australian flags — where they got them from goodness only knows. At any rate they started to sing “Australia Will Be There” & the enthusiasm ran very high. The crowds collected rapidly & the whole street was blocked for hundreds of yards & the people took it up. While it was being sung the lads crossed our 2 flags. All of a sudden a naval officer forced his way through with a big old Union Jack & on reaching the Aussie circle he hopped in & held up his flag between ours. They sang the song over again amidst tremendous enthusiasm & storms of cheering for Australia. They finished up by singing “Auld Lang Syne” & in the end half the people were crying. The street by this time was blocked from end to end almost, for Fore Street is quite short & it was with difficulty that we were able to move. It was a great day for everyone.

  I made out towards Plymouth, & Union Street was simply blazing with flags of all the Allies & people were going silly. The Aussies were jumping on the horses’ backs, in the cars & on anything that came along. The whole place was a mass of excited people waving flags & singing. Little bands of kids were parading the streets with tins, kettles, old drums & anything they could lay their hands on; in most of these bands were Aussies. Processions kept on coming down, girls & boys dressed in any old clothes they could rake up & in all impossible costumes & decorated with green feathers, red, white & blue ribbon & all colours imaginable. Enthusiasm reached its height about 3 o’clock.

  As I fought my way up Union Street, young girls were dancing to the imminent danger of their lives & flags, flags everywhere, bound round their heads for caps, over their shoulders & round their waists. The very roofs were black with people & young snoozers were burning a yellowish powder that gave off just clouds of smoke & everyone shouting shouting. Great lorries, taxi cabs rush past in bewildering succession, all crammed to the utmost on footboards, roofs & seats with howling flag-waving half-demented lads & lasses singing all sorts of songs. The street is thick with excitement, horns blowing, bells clanging & ringing, the place is gorgeous with flags. Everyone is kissing in the streets & no one seems ashamed of it. Procession after procession goes by singing & beflagged, roaring its way towards the square & the Hoe. A piper comes past followed by dancing crowds of young chaps with their girls, & Boy Scouts are out in their glory. The restaurants are packed to the ceiling & hungry crowds wait outside. Aussies climb all over the horses & wave their flags like fury, shouting & yelling all the while.

  At last I reach the Hoe & this beautiful & historic place is crammed with people all laughing & shouting. All the steamers in the harbour were hung with bunting & blowing their whistles. I strolled round the Hoe for a while & then went down town again & made out for Devonport. By this time all cars were stopped from running for it was just about impossible for them to push through the crowds so I had to walk out. Here I met Starkey & his Yorkshire girl & shortly after Miss Nissen & we went out to the Theatre Royal to see “The Boy”. The place was crowded & just before the curtain rose the orchestra played & all sung the “Brabançonne”, “Marseillaise” & “God Save the King” amidst an almost indescribable scene of enthusiasm. When we had finished this a naval officer from one of the boxes got up & said, “Gentlemen, the war is won,” & then there was a renewal of cheering & etc. At last the play got going & during the course of it the actors were constantly getting champagne from the occupants of the boxes, & very nearly got drunk. It was a splendid thing & I thoroughly enjoyed it.

  All the warships have left the harbour for Heligoland to take over the remainder of the German fleet, & what’s more 4 German subs came in flying the white flag & with open hatches — they could not have been lurking too far from Plymouth Sound.

  This morning the Daily Mail printed a lot of the Generals’ photos who had helped to win the war & they omitted Birdwood’s so our hut wired to the Daily Mail wanting to know why this was. We also sent a telegram of congratulations to Birdie. I wonder if he will reply or not.

  Another lovely morning & plenty of sunshine. The nights are very cold now but we have had remarkably little rain.
Things have quietened down considerably in the town; the excitement is fast disappearing.

  18th November. Done a bit of shopping this evening, getting a few things ready for our trip. All the men on leave were wired for this morning so that looks promising.

  Already things are beginning to get a little better now the war is over or practically so. Food is far more plentiful & cheaper, streets are better lit, motor cars & taxis have more petrol & bigger districts, & tradesmen are getting a jolly sight more civil to their customers for soon people will be able to go & buy where they want to & not where they have been registered for their rations & etc.

  19th November. Another draft for the boat was called out; they took from K to Z so I missed this lot again. I am just about sick of the whole damn business. Putting it off from week to week like they have been doing it’s enough to make anyone sick & I, like the rest of the lads, am just about as fed up with England as it is possible to be. We are all longing to be on our way home & until we get a move on towards that end nothing will ever satisfy us. We are getting more & more restless every day. Why on earth can’t they get a ship & bundle the whole lot on & off instead of this miserable dribbling policy that they are following out, putting a hundred or so men on a boat & then sitting down like Micawber, waiting for the rest to come along. You should see the look of disgust on each man’s face as our sailing is put off from week to week. The latest is that we might get away by the end of next week; that means pretty well a fortnight & this will seem a year to me at least. I have pretty well given up hope of ever getting away & feel more restless & discontented than ever I can remember before in my life & as each day goes by it only increases. Once I get aboard I will be satisfied & not till then. Now that we have Australia on our mind & the war over & done with nothing seems to please us, & one & all are longing for the Sunny South & our own girls.

  This afternoon we got an answer to the telegram we sent General Birdwood congratulating him on the part he has taken to bring the war to a successful conclusion. The reply ran — Devonport Anzacs Hut 26 Ernesettle Camp, St. Budeaux. Thanks for kind message. Bon voyage. Birdwood A.I.F. 5th Army. This reply was put into Orders & read out on parade. The telegram form was raffled among the members of our hut & McDougall won it. He was that pleased with his souvenir that he went about showing it to everyone & then finally sent it off to Scotland to his old people.

  28th November. Never felt so rotten for many a long day as I have done practically all last night. I had a fit of the blues, & nothing could please me; I just felt as if I wanted to be left alone. The lady who I was with tried her hardest to cheer me up. She took me to a dance thinking the music & life would do me good but she could not have picked a worse place for I can’t dance & this only made me feel worse. We did not stop there long so she took me home & there we spent the rest of the evening with the family. I soon came round then & by the time I left I was in the best of spirits. The last time I had a fit of these blues was nearly a year ago at Rossignol Wood just close to Ypres. The only thing I can put them down to is restlessness & dissatisfaction with the whole concern & I am sure until I get out of the military I shall often have them.

  29th November. Saw in the papers today where the first lot of 1914 men have arrived home & got a splendid reception & here we are stuck in England yet.

  3rd December. The boat roll was called again yesterday & after it was over we all went through a medical inspection. They cut no less than 70 Sgts off. Lord you should have heard the cursing & swearing.

  We left our camp this morning after numerous rolls had been called & we had been checked over & over again. Right at the last minute they cut a lot of men off including some Sgts in our hut. All of us had the wind up for we did not know right up to the last minute that we would not have been left behind also.

  We all moved off alphabetically & we had a band to play us down. How the people rushed out when they heard the drums beating & cheered us & wished us a good voyage & etc. We did not have to march a great distance for we went in by the Naval Barracks gate & what a reception we got from the sailors. Some of their officers rushed along the roadway & got all the tars to line up & they called for 3 cheers for the Australians as we marched through. The whole line broke into a perfect storm of cheers, & we cheered them back. An old chap then handed each man an envelope containing a message of congratulation from the King & Queen & we filed downstairs to our quarters. The Sgts are separated from the rest; we have a fairly good little joint. We soon got our hammocks & blankets & then had dinner for we got aboard about 10.30.

  I went down below & started to write up the day’s doings & by now I am beginning to feel pretty rotten so one can guess what kind of a time I am going to have. I am dreading the first few days for I am no sailor. Anyone can have my rations for the next 3 or 4 days or I will be greatly mistaken.

  4th December. We pulled out of the harbour exactly 12 o’clock & on our way down the Tamar passed lines upon lines of warships of all nationalities. Just off the Hoe we passed the U126, a German submarine, being towed into Devonport. She looked as rusty & as dirty as could be, as did a couple of squareheads who were standing on her deck. She was flying the White Ensign & all eyes were turned upon her & many were the curses chucked at her & her likes.

  We picked up our anchor at 6.30 & I went on deck to get a last look at good old England, for I don’t suppose that I shall ever set eyes on her again & I have only happy memories to think of her with & especially Plymouth. We soon cleared the breakwater & lighthouse, & by now the old ship is rocking like fun & I am beginning to feel squeamish so I will cut this short & go & put my hammock up & get ready to turn in.

  6th December. I am having great difficulty writing these lines for the ship is nearly turning over every few minutes. We have lost half our crockery already. You should have seen it sliding up & down, & off the table these last couple of days — would make the eyes of china manufacturers shine. I can see us having a pretty bill to pay at the end.

  7th December. Have been nearly dead the whole day long; nothing but a shipwreck would have any interest for me. Poor Horan & I lay down on the deck & we stopped there for the day & only were roused by a squall, which forced us to go below. It is like a little Hell down there. How the place stinks; it makes me sick when I even think of the place.

  There’s one thing I’m certain of, & that is that this is my last big ocean trip if I know anything about it. I’m pulling out for good, & digging in, in Aussie. No more of this agony for me. I’ve never felt so bad in all my life before & I did not care a hang whether we floated or sank.

  9th December. Slept on deck last night for I did not want to miss seeing Gibraltar at any price. It was simply a glorious night, the stars shone the whole time, & when I woke this morning the coast of Africa was quite close & looming far away in the distance was the famous “Rock”. We were some distance off so I had breakfast & then brought my camera up. Just before we got into the harbour an enormous whale passed us, blowing like fun on the starboard side, & hundreds of porpoises came rolling & diving out to meet us. They played all about the ship till we ran into the harbour. We did not stop more than an hour. We then pulled out & are now getting for our lives down the Mediterranean under her famous blue sky & a glorious sun. All are on deck sunning themselves.

  I took 3 snaps of old Gib. in different positions. I have always wanted to see this world-famous fort of ours & now I am satisfied for we could not have had a more perfect day & a more glorious view. I shall never forget how she stands like a sentinel, watching the opening to 2 oceans & also keeping an eye on Africa. Of all the massive bold steep rocks as ever I have seen she is easily first & no wonder she is classed as the most impregnable fortress in the whole world & valued by England as she is.

  10th December. We are having a bonzer time on our old boat — nothing to do all day long & practically no duties. It has been another lovely day & the old tub is making quite good progress.

  They are putting a stop as far as they can
to all gambling on board & quite right too, for wherever you look there are schools of two up, crown & anchor, dice roulette & etc. This sort of thing is alright in a way but there are too many sharks who are living on the game, for in our returning 1914 men we have numbers of wasters who have scarce fired a shot in this war & this sort of thing, if allowed to flourish, is a regular harvest to such as they, so down with them by all means.

  13th December. It is a glorious night & Bill Egan & I have just finished a good long yarn which we had hanging over the railings of the ship. I am going on top tonight & chance whether it rains or not.

  Do you know I can’t realise that I am actually on my way home yet; it seems to be just like a dream. I often lay awake of a night & pinch myself to find out if I am really alive & not dreaming & yet it’s true. How do I feel? Well so far I can’t explain my feelings. I am taking it as a matter of course, the same as I have taken everything the last 4 years, & yet underlying all there is an emotion of almost complete happiness & the thought that we are going home, victorious beyond even our wildest imaginings, only heightens that enjoyment, for one can now look the whole world in the face, satisfied in his own heart that he has done all that was expected of him & perhaps a little more, & he has justified being brought into this world. I feel that if I was to die tomorrow I have not lived in vain but have done my little bit to clear this world of the greatest monster of all times.

  I expect we will fully appreciate our position when we begin to get closer to dear old Aussie & our dreams are about to be realised. I am sure that is what has kept most of us alive all through this awful war, the very thought that we would one day return to our native land & get among our own people again. I know it has kept me going many & many a time when life has not seemed worth living & everything hopeless, & yet after all fighting is a most necessary evil in this old world. I reckon nations go backwards without wars — look at Spain for instance. What a decadent nation she is; she wants a good hard struggle with a nation her own match to develop her manhood & resources & brains & etc.