Great Anzac Stories Read online

  PLEASE, PLEASE LET US TAKE TOBRUK

  So famous were the Rats after the siege that they became the subjects of impersonation. This ditty displays the same resilient sense of humour.

  In all the Aussie papers

  That have chanced to pass my way,

  It seems that every Digger

  Returning home must say,

  That he’s a gun-scarred warrior

  Who went through Greece and Crete

  Who saw the show in Syria,

  And braved the desert’s heat.

  They never missed a battle,

  They were always in the ruck.

  And there’s not a man among them

  Who wasn’t in Tobruk.

  Well, they can have the limelight,

  Though some have got it free.

  But if they’re the veterans of Tobruk

  THEN WHO THE HELL ARE WE?

  Parable of the kit inspection

  The Vietnam War generated its fair share of digger humour, including this exaggerated parody of a biblical parable.

  And it came to pass, that there cometh one which bore on his shoulder, three stars, who spaketh; saying; ‘Bring unto me the Sergeant Major.’

  And there cometh one who bore on his arm a golden crown. Then he of the three stars saith unto him of the golden crown; ‘Tomorrow at the ninth hour, parade before me one hundred men and all that is theirs.’

  And the one of the golden crown answered, saying, ‘Lord it is done.’

  And behold! On the morrow, at the ninth hour, there did parade before him of the three stars, one hundred men, with all that they did have, as had been promised him. Then cometh others which bore on their shoulders two stars and yet others who bore one star. These were called ‘Subbies’, which being translated from the Latin meaneth ‘Small Fry’ or ‘Little Potatoes’. Then he of the golden crown, standing before the one hundred men, cried out with a loud voice, and did cause them to become pillars of stone.

  And behold! There cometh one which was called ‘Quartermaster.’ This man held great power, for he belonged to that tribe which said; ‘These men must purchase from us.’ Thus did they wax fat in the land! And, passing amongst one hundred men, he did say unto this man and unto that man; ‘Where is this thing,’ and ‘Where is that thing.’

  And they all had save one which was called. ‘Spudus Murphy’, and he lacked. Then he, the one which was called Quartermaster, saith unto him; ‘Friend, where are thy drawers woollen long and thy boots ankle, pair of one?’ And Spudus Murphy answered saying; ‘Lord, on the third day of the week, I did thirst and had not the wherewithal to satisfy my thirst, for I had not received my reward. And I did take my drawers woollen long and my boots ankle pair of one, unto mine uncle of the tribe of “Love”, and did say unto him “How many pieces of silver for these things?” And he saith unto me, “Seven” And I saith unto him; “Give to me that I may thirst not.” And he did trade with me. Then I took the pieces of silver unto the abode of him that sold wine and did say unto him; “Give me to drink that I may thirst not.” And he gave me, and I knew no more until the fourth day of the week.’

  Then he of the three stars waxed exceeding wrath, and calling two men. He placed one to the East, and one to the West of Spudus Murphy and, turning sharply on his left heel and right toe, he was led away and cast unto the prison.

  And on the morrow, he was brought before one which bore on his shoulder a crown and a star, showing him to be above all men! This one was called CO, which, being translated, meaneth; ‘Putter up of the wind.’ And he saith unto Spudus Murphy; ‘What are these things that I hear concerning thee? Sayest thou aught?’

  Then Spudus Murphy related to him how that he had exchanged his drawers woollen long and his boots ankle pair of one, for silver for wine. Then he that was called CO, waxed exceeding wrath, and his anger was kindled against Spudus Murphy, and he saith unto him. ‘Why has thou broken the laws which I have made? Knowest not that thou has sinned? Now because thou has done this thing, thou shalt be punished. Twenty and eight days shall thou labour.’

  Then was Spudus Murphy led away to a place where he would hear the tick of the clock, but could not tell the passage of time. And the name of that place was ‘The House of Glass.’ And he was in that place twenty and eight days.

  So my friends, be not as the one, but rather as the ninety and nine. Where thou thirsteth and has not the wherewithal to satisfy thy thirst, wait until the day of reward; then shall the joy be increased a thousand fold.

  And now may the blessing of that great Saint, The Regimental Paymaster, be amongst you, now and always.

  The Air Force wife

  The trials and tribulations of the long-suffering air force wife were graphically described in this bittersweet account from the Vietnam War years.

  An Air Force wife is mainly a girl. But there are times, such as when her husband is away and she is mowing the lawn or fixing a flat tyre on a youngster’s bike, that she begins to suspect she is also a boy.

  She usually comes in three sizes: petite, plump or pregnant. During the early years of her marriage it is often hard to determine which size is her normal one.

  She has babies all over the world and measures time in terms of places as other women do in years. ‘It was at Amberley that we all had the mumps . . . in Butterworth Dan was promoted.’

  At least one of her babies was born or a posting was accomplished while she was alone. This causes her to suspect a secret pact between her husband and the Air Force providing for a man to be overseas or on temporary duty at such times as these.

  An Air Force wife is international. She may be a Wagga farm girl, a South Australian nurse, a Victorian typist or Queensland meter maid. When discussing service problems they all speak the same language.

  She can be a great actress. To heart broken children at parting time, she gives an Academy Award performance: ‘Melbourne is going to be such fun! I hear they have Australian Rules Football and briquettes and trams!’ But her heart is breaking with theirs. She wonders if this is worth the sacrifice.

  An ideal Air Force wife has the patience of an angel, the flexibility of putty, the wisdom of a scholar and the stamina of a horse. If she dislikes money, it helps. She is sentimental, carrying her memories with her in an old footlocker.

  One might say she is married to a bigamist, because she shares her husband with a demanding entity called ‘duty’. When duty calls, she becomes no. 2 wife. Until she accepts this fact her life can be miserable.

  She is above all a woman who married an airman who offered her the permanency of a gypsy, the miseries of loneliness, the frustration of conformity, and the security of love. Sitting on her packing boxes with squabbling children nearby, she is sometimes willing to chuck it all in until she hears that firm step and cheerful voice of the lug who gave her all this. Then she is happy to be . . . his Air Force wife.

  Legends of Anzac

  WAR IS A fertile field for the making of legends. In the case of Anzac, the potential for powerful stories is enhanced by the imprinting of Gallipoli, the western front, Tobruk, Kokoda and other events on the development of national identity. The character of legends is that they are told as true stories about events that could well have happened at a particular time and place. But usually they turn out to be, at the least, elaborate versions of more mundane events. The stories of these events, and sometimes of the characters taking part in them, are burnished through repetition in the succeeding years. But whether they contain a greater or lesser amount of historical truth, legends are powerful stories to which many people relate, emotionally as well as intellectually. They are told and retold, often gaining even greater appeal as they progress down the generations and their meanings become ever more valued. There are many legends of glory and gallantry, as well as mystery and mayhem, in the rich traditions of Anzac.

  The Eureka sword

  In 1854 the Irish-born Peter Lalor (pronounced ‘Lawler’) was elected leader of the disaffected miners
on the Ballarat goldfields. The ‘diggers’ were protesting primarily against the amount of tax levied on them by the Victorian government and the often-brutal manner in which the police administered and collected the money. They also demanded political representation. After a series of violent incidents and mishandling of the situation by the authorities, the miners armed themselves, erected the famous wooden stockade at Ballarat and raised the Southern Cross flag. This armed act of treason was violently suppressed by police and military forces on the morning of 3 December 1854. Lalor barely escaped, in the process severly injuring his arm, which was amputated as a consequence. Thirteen rebels were tried for treason. All were acquitted. The Eureka Stockade was already a much-mythologised event by the time World War I began, and the story of Lalor’s sword was well suited to the Gallipoli legend.

  There are a number of conflicting accounts of the origins and ultimate fate of the sword. The most persistent version is that Peter Lalor carried the sword and even used it during the bloody defence of the Eureka Stockade. Greatly treasured by the Lalor family, the weapon was eventually passed to Captain Peter Joseph Lalor, grandson of the leader of the Eureka rebels and a professional soldier who led a group of 12th Division men at Gallipoli on the first day of the landings.

  Lalor was a colourful and apparently impetuous character who had enlisted in the Royal Navy at an early age but subsequently deserted to join the French Foreign Legion. He had been involved in a South American revolution and eventually became a member of the Australian forces. Known in the AIF as ‘Little Jimmy’, Lalor carried his grandfather’s sword with him as he and his men scrambled up the hills from the beach towards the areas known as Baby 700 and the Nek. Lalor was supposed to remain at the Nek, but when he did not hear from another party that had advanced further, he became impatient and decided to push on. He stood up to survey the scene, began to rouse his men to advance and was immediately killed by a Turkish bullet. A comrade picked up the sword but lost it later in the fighting. Another Australian soldier retrieved the sword and returned with it to the beach, where he handed it to a naval officer. It has never been seen since.

  Considerable legendry has built up around these incidents and the whereabouts of the sword. The image that is most persistent, supported to some extent by a Turkish account of an Australian officer bearing a sword, is that Lalor died gallantly brandishing the sword as he called on his men to advance. This has certainly featured in media coverage of the story over the years. Where the sword ended up remains a mystery. There was a renewal of interest during and after World War II and at one point the official historian of the war, Charles Bean, published a claim that it might be in a Turkish museum.

  To add to the confusion, there is also a story that another soldier carried Lalor’s Eureka sword into an earlier battle far from Turkey. In the obituary of Captain Osborne O’Hara, an officer in the 2nd Royal Irish Fusiliers, published in the Truth newspaper in February 1915, is the tale of how the sword came into his family.

  Captain O’Hara fell fighting with the self same sword with which the celebrated Peter Lalor fought and defended the famous Eureka Stockade during the great Miner’s Rights’ Riots at Ballarat in the early fifties. This sword was a beautiful Damascene blade as light as a feather, as keen as a razor, whose swish was like a soldier’s song when swung by a strong arm. How Peter Lalor’s sword came into the possession of the O’Hara family and in the death grip of the young captain as he fell fighting at the front, is no mystery, but a story reading like a romance.

  Either before or soon after young Osborne O’Hara was born, his father, the Doctor, had a pressing professional call to operate for cancer on a poor woman, who, so it subsequently turned out, was unable to pay the fee. The operation was so far successful as to relieve her from pain and prolong the patient’s life. She was grateful but could not pay the fee, and consequently was not asked to do so. But in her gratitude she asked Dr O’Hara to accept an old sword, hanging on the wall, which he had been admiring. The woman told the doctor that the sword was the identical sword with which Peter Lalor had fought at the Eureka Stockade fifty years before. She explained how the sword had come into her possession, traced its ownership to Peter Lalor and absolutely established its identity as his own once beloved blade.

  Recent historical research has also thrown up further possible trails through which the Eureka sword—or swords—might have travelled from the Ballarat battlefield to the battlefields of World War I. The same research has also confirmed that, despite the robust life of the legend of Peter Lalor’s Eureka sword, there is no evidence that he actually carried it, or any other sword, at the Eureka Stockade. But even if ‘Little Jimmy’ Lalor’s sword was not wielded by his grandfather at that momentous event, the persistent belief that it was highlights the need for folklore to link two important events in Australian history.

  The lost submarine

  When war between Britain and Germany was declared in August 1914, Australian ships were tasked with attacking Germany’s East Asiatic Cruiser Squadron under the command of Vice-Admiral Count von Spee. The submarines AE1 and AE2, with their parent ship Upolo, joined an Australian flotilla near Rabaul, New Britain (then the main island of what was German New Guinea) as part of the hunt for the enemy ships and the capture of Rabaul and the Bita Paka radio station. On 14 September, AE1 and Parramatta were patrolling together near Cape Gazelle in case von Spee’s cruisers appeared. The ship and the submarine—called a ‘devil fish’ by the local indigenous people—were exchanging visual signals until shortly before AE1 was last seen, just before 3.30 pm. Parramatta returned to AE1’s last known position but did not sight the submarine. Assuming that AE1 was returning to harbour as planned, Parramatta made for Herbertshöhe, anchoring at 7 pm. An hour later AE1 had still not returned and Australian Fleet Commander Rear Admiral Patey ordered a search for the missing submarine. Encounter, Parramatta, Warego and Yarra spent the next two days combing the area. But AE1 was not found, nor was any wreckage. What had happened?

  Lieutenant Stoker, commander of AE2, the lost submarine’s sister boat, was asked for his expert opinion. His speculations were contained in a report he made from Suva, Fiji, a month later. The possibility of enemy attack was dismissed, as was a mechanical breakdown that may have led to her being swept away. Stoker considered that the most likely causes of her disappearance were that AE1 had either suffered a catastrophic mechanical failure while submerged or been wrecked on one of the many treacherous reefs in the area.

  In his diary, A. B. Wheat, a sailor aboard AE2, recorded that ‘The cause of her disappearance is still a mystery’ and also speculated along the same lines as Stoker’s official report. Wheat, and probably his fellow crewmen, thought that AE1 might have been sunk by an old tug armed with a five-barrelled Nordenfelt gun. When the burnt-out and beached wreckage of this German vessel was discovered it was thought that she might have surprised AE1, which had no deck gun. The possibility of a mine was discounted after diligent sweeping of the area. Wheat included the suggestion that AE1 may have overtrimmed [unbalanced buoyancy] after having one of her motors disabled—‘that is had not buoyancy enough with her one remaining motor to give complete control and finally she had become unmanageable and sank’. Given the troubled trimming procedures of AE1 in England and AE2’s later stability problems in the Dardanelles, this is perhaps the most likely explanation for the loss of Australia’s first submarine. The failure of the search to reveal anything of AE1’s fate hit the officers and men of AE2 especially hard. Wheat wrote that it ‘cast a great gloom over us as we all had friends who had gone and we were the only two submarines in Southern Waters’. The dedication that prefaces his diary reads, in part:

  To the memory of our sister ship AE1, and her crew, Lost September 14th, 1914 in St. Georges Channel, between German New Guinea and New Ireland.

  We took the first patrol on the 13th, they took the second next day. We came back, they didn’t. The path of our duty became the high-way of mystery for they ne
ver came back. They lie coffined in the deep, keeping their silent watch at Australia’s North Passage, heroes all.

  Similar speculations appeared in the Australian press. Revealing the impact that the loss of AE1 produced, the Sydney Morning Herald of 21 September 1914 contained a lengthy account, together with the official statement on the incident. The prime minister’s sympathies were extended and there were sections on the crew and officers. Newspapers carried photographs of AE1 titled ‘The Lost Australian Submarine’ and reprinted the expressions of sympathy and condolence from near and far, including those from New Zealand and from the commanders in chief of the East Indies and China. Also included was the official statement from the Navy Board, noting that ‘. . . although our men did not fall by the hand of the enemy, they fell on active service, and in defence of their Empire, and their names will be enshrined with those of heroes’. There were messages of sympathy from the king and queen and from Winston Churchill in his role of first lord of the admiralty. The Royal Australian Navy produced a black-edged memorial booklet and special payments and arrangements were made for the wives and families of the officers and crew. A number of poems were composed in commemoration of the tragedy.

  These expressions of grief and remembrance echoed the public shock at the loss of AE1, along with the concern in official circles. But the fate of the submarine and her crew would soon be forgotten by most as the war unfolded, bringing news of even greater tragedies. The lost submarine soon faded from the pages of the newspapers, and AE1’s sister submarine sailed to the Mediterranean. AE2 became the first to ‘force the Dardanelles’, penetrating the Narrows section of the Dardanelles and entering the Sea of Marmara. In the mounting body count of World War I, the relatively minor disaster of AE1 in a colonial sideshow to the main theatres of war was soon forgotten by the public and by the government. It was not until the 1970s that John Foster of the Royal Australian Navy initiated an investigation into the fate of AE1. The search continues today.