| By the time we reached the Sweet Water Canal we were panting like dogs, our tongues swollen and hanging out, our lips cracked and bleeding. There were many poor fellows just crazed for need of a drink, under that awful sun that was like the open
furnace door of hell, with the sand filling every orifice in our faces and parching our throats till they were inflamed.
We were warned that the Sweet (or fresh) Water Canal was full of germs and that to drink it might possibly mean death, but most of us were too far gone in the agony of thirst to care whether the drink were our last, and we threw ourselves down at the water's edge and lapped it up like dogs.
Fortunately, there were few ill effects, and the medical staff 'was not overworked because of it. There might have been many casualties, though, if it had not been for the New Zealanders, who, hearing of our plight, came out with water-carts and ambulances and picked up those who had fallen by the way.
At Ferry Post there was a reorganisation of the Australian battalions and we lost many of our old pals-alas ! never to meet again this side of eternity.
This was the concentration camp whence brigades were despatched for a spell of trench-digging and guard duty at the outpost line. There was a good deal of rivalry between us and another brigade known as ' The Chocolate Soldiers.'
They received this nickname because they were the most completely equipped unit that ever left Australia. They were commanded by a
well known public man, and the womenfolk had seen that they lacked nothing in sweaters or
bed-socks.
They had a band for every battalion, while we had to tramp along without the aid of
music to enliven our lagging steps. Maybe we were a bit jealous, because they on several occasions went by train when we had to hoof it. When we went to relieve them in the trenches we met on a narrow concrete roadway where there was only room for one set of fours, The proper way to pass would have been for each to form
two deep, but our boys spontaneously called out, ' Give the gentlemen the road ! ' and we stepped aside into the sand.
It took us about half an hour to pass, and all the time there was a running fire of comment. To no one in particular our fellows would remark, 'Why, look ! Some of them even shave' !
"What a nice figure that captain has !". They let them have real, guns, too !
and as the transport passed piled high with officers' kits, there was a shout of ' There go their feather beds !
We had a sports meeting in the desert, and everybody in our brigade, from the brigadier down to the cook's off-sider, was delirious with joy when
we carried off the ' championship cup,' beating the 'Chocolates' by two or three points. We might not have been so elated had not the ' Chocs.' been such ' nuts' on themselves, for they had been offering ten to one on their chances.
The part of the trenches that we occupied was known as 'Hog's Back.' On out left was ' Duntroon' (named after the Australian West Point). In front of us was a peculiarly shaped hill called ' Whale Back.' We did not live in the trenches themselves, as they were continually falling in and had to be cleaned out again practically every day. Our supplies were brought within about three miles on a light tramway. Sometimes we went short, as this train had a habit of turning over when rounding a corner and empq7ing our much-needed tucker in the bottom of the gully.
From the rail-head, which was also the end of the pipe-line, food and water were loaded on to camels ; and as I had seen something of camel transport in Western Queensland, I was for a few weeks put in charge of the camel-loading. Camels are curious beasts and know to an ounce the weight they carried yesterday, and if you attempt to put on them one jam-tin more they will curse you long and loud, end up with some very sarcastic and personal remarks, and then submit to the injustice under protest. They are very revengeful and will harbour a grudge for days, waiting their chance to bite your arm off when they can catch you unawares.
A camel's load has to be equal weight on each side, and it was
some problem, making a ham and a side of beef balance a case of canned goods. These
camels were a mongrel breed, any way. and poor weight-carriers. We usually put an eight-hundred-pound load on a camel in Queensland-I have seen one carrying two pianos-but these beasts would not carry more than two hundred pounds. A camel has
never really been trained, and they protest against everything they are asked to do. They growl and swear when made to kneel, and
make as much fuss again when urged to get up.
Their skin never heals from a cut or sore, but they can have no feeling in it, for the Arabs simply stitch a piece of leather over the place. An old camel is all shreds and patches. They have to be provided with separate drinking-places from the horses, for they put germs in the water that give the horses some kind of disease. They are unsociable brutes and ought to be segregated, any way. No wonder every high-bred horse is terrified at the smell of a camel ; the first time you meet one it is like a blow in the face, and remains a weight on your mind until the camel is a long way to leeward.
They had a special objection to carrying fresh water, and nearly always bolted when
they discovered it was 'Adam's ale' that was swishing about on the outside of their hump. Perhaps it reminded them of their last week's drink. The
result for us was that when the transport arrived there would be no water, and Mr. Ishmael and his camel would have to beat a hasty retreat from the rage of the boys, for water was our chief need, and it seems to me that there never was a time in those trenches that I wasn't thirsty.
I had some fun scouting in the desert, but on several occasions was very nearly lost when there were no stars, and hills had been altered in shape by the wind since I last passed them. We were expecting an attack by the Turks, and some camel patrols we sent out reported signs of camps but no sight of the enemy. As a consequence of these rumours our sentries were very nervous, and we scouts ran considerable risk returning to our lines before daylight. I was very nearly shot on several occasions, and once was within an ace of firing on one of my best pals. I saw a figure in the dark and, sneaking up to it, called out : ' Put up your hands ! ' He did so, but then foolishly dropped them again. If he had not called out, ' Who the hell are you ? ' at the same moment, he would have been a dead man.
A squadron of our Light Horse discovered a Turkish well-boring party in the desert. They were under command of an Austrian engineer, but soon surrendered when they saw that they were surrounded. This made us sure that the Turkish army could not be far away, but our aeroplanes reported no signs of it. A few weeks later an attack was made by about twenty thousand Turks on the regiment holding the line to the north of us, and we had a bit of a skirmish with their flank guard. They surprised us completely ; the fight was fought mostly in pyjamas on our part, but we had little difficulty in driving them off. This raid was some achievement, and I take off my hat to the man who planned it. They came across those many miles of desert
without being seen, bringing with them even six-inch guns. They bluffed our aeroplanes by only travelling at night and hiding under
sand coloured canvas in the daytime. Their heavy transport was moved by laying a track in front of it, taking it up behind as it passed on and putting it down in front again.
We captured a lone Turk soldier nursing his blistered feet in the desert and be was delighted to join us. We also brought in at the same time a
Bedouin who evidently thought we were some species of game, for although he fired on us he had no love for his Turkish companion and could not be persuaded to keep him company. The only request I heard this Turk make was for one of our uniforms. He kept pointing out the filth of his own clothes, so I had some water given to him to wash them, but this did not satisfy him at all. It was not the cleanliness of our uniforms he admired, but the cut and material. Perhaps this was policy, for generally the Turkish prisoners would remark
'Englisher very good-German damn bad !'
After this we returned to Ferry Post again, and it was almost like going home, for we had daily swims in the canal and plenty of liquid refreshment, the wet canteen doing a roaring trade. We were also able to buy luxuries, such as biscuits and canned puddings ; and even relieve the monotony of marmalade jam with 'bullocky's joy.' This last is merely molasses or ' golden syrup' called ' bullocky's joy,' sometimes 'cocky's delight,' because it is the chief covering for slices
of bread with the bullock-driver or cocky farmer in Australia.
When a steamer was passing through the canal during our bathing-parades we had to get in up to the neck,. as we were warmly clad with merely a tin identity disk hung round our necks on a piece of dirty string. Some of the passengers would throw into the water tins of tobacco and cigarettes ; and there were some sprints for these made in record time, I tell you. Sometimes we would receive messages from home, and it was surprising how often the man whose name was called out would chance to be present. There were occasions, however, when some one would call out from the ships:
do you know Private Brown of the Yorkshires ? and we would have to explain that we were Australians. I suppose we could not expect them to recognise us dressed as we were, though our language should have given them a hint. On our part we would inquire if the war was still on, and tell them to give our regards to King George.
One morning the camp was all agog and the air thick with ' furphies.' We were ordered to get ready for embarkation, and speculation was rife as to our destination. Some said we were going to Mesopotamia. Others had it from a reliable source that we were bound for Salonika. Some one said that some one told them, that they had heard, that a sentry outside the general's tent had overheard the general talking in his sleep and we were to make another attack on the Dardanelles / There were few who guessed we were going to
France, such being too good to be true, and only the bold ones dared to whisper ' that it might be so,' but they were immediately told to ' Shut up ! Don't be an ass !
Hasn't our luck been out ever since we left Australia' I really think we were afraid to voice our hopes aloud lest Fate should overhear us, and if the word ' France' was mentioned by accident we all immediately touched wood, a handy pal's head serving the purpose.
When we took train for Alexandria our hearts beat almost to suffocation, and it was only when the troopship cleared the harbour, and eager eyes watching the compass saw her course was set N.W., that we gave a cheer, feeling that at last we might have a chance to show our mettle with the Canadians and Tommies, where the biggest fight was raging.
Before we left the wharf our kits were inspected and cut down to absolutely the minimum weight. Transport space was limited, but it broke many of our hearts to part with the sweater ' Phyllis made. We could only keep two pairs of socks some boys had at least fifty. In one boy's pack there was a red pair, and he was thereafter always known as 'Coldfeet.' No one wept at leaving Egypt, and France held all the fruit of our dreams. |
