“Hop out and after ’em, lads!” The First ANZAC Day

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Preface to Story

(Special Event Article to Commemorate ANZAC Day 2010)

I remember attending a military ball at the RAAF Base Edinburgh, north of Adelaide in March 1990. I was one of a bunch of “Yanks” invited down from Woomera. Somehow, I found myself in a conversation with an Australian Flight Lieutenant. We were discussing ANZAC Day.

The conversation started off well. He was filling me in on the general facts about the event. He gave me the – who, what, when, where and how – rundown. Then the conversation hit a wall. Apparently, I was delving too deep with my line of questioning.

“You wouldn’t understand!” said the Flight Lieutenant in a stern but emotional tone. It’s as if he couldn’t go further or he’d get choked up about it. I was surprised. We moved on to a new topic.

As a student of military history, I wanted to know more. I wanted to know the details. The Flight Lieutenant didn’t want to go there. His reaction to my quest for more details only served to make me even more curious about the special place ANZAC Day holds in the hearts and minds of Australians.

What makes ANZAC Day different? What makes this holiday so special to the Australians? What makes it probably the most cherished national holiday on the Australian calendar?

Not easy questions to answer. But, after living in Australia for many years now, I’ve come to “understand” better the emotion – the reverence – Australians associate with ANZAC Day.

As such, I wanted to somehow capture that reverence in a story. But how?

Would I just write another dry historical account? How would that add value? Generally, the facts about Gallipoli are well known and already extensively documented. No, I wanted to come up with something that contains the facts and yet captures the strong emotional sentiment associated with ANZAC Day. I was having a difficult time coming up with an idea.

Then it hit me.

I started to wonder what it must have been like on that first ANZAC Day. What was it like to be on a landing boat heading for the beach at Gallipoli? What if I was on-board?  What if I was there?

And, so the idea was born. I’ve taken the facts and weaved them into a story; a fictional account of one trooper on his 30 to 40 minute boat ride into battle. (Ref:  http://www.anzacsite.gov.au/)

But, the landing was just the beginning. The last ANZAC didn’t get off Gallipoli until December 1915. This dry historical fact tells us something very difficult to imagine.  It tells us some of these troops spent up to 8 months in what may be described simply as “hell.” But, out of that hell came an unbreakable bond. Out of that hell came a special mateship; born in battle and baptized in blood. A mateship that formed the collective consciousness of a nation.

And now, the story begins.

“Hop out and after ’em, lads!” The First ANZAC Day

Date: 25 April 1915, Sunday
Time: Approximately 4 a.m.
Location: Approximately 6 km off the Gallipoli coastline.
Vehicle: A lifeboat.
Who: An Australian New Zealand Army Corp (ANZAC) soldier. Member of the10th Battalion, 3rd Australian Infantry Brigade, Australian Imperial Force (AIF).
What: We’re listening in on his thoughts as he makes the final boat journey for the landing at Gallipoli.

What a small boat. We’ll it seems small compared to the one we just got off; the Prince of Wales. Never seen anything so big and so powerful looking in my whole life. Especially something floating on water. I figure if the Turks take one look at the Prince of Wales they’ll turn high tail and run away. But, I suppose the Turks aren’t running away because the landing is still on.

This boat, I’m told, holds about 28 soldiers. But, looking around, I’d say there are more than 28 of us on-board especially if you include all the sailors. Right now we’re being towed by a small steamship. But, soon the tow ropes will be cut and the sailors will row us the rest of the way in.

We’re a small part of a huge landing force; heading for a place called Gallipoli. Never heard of it before. It’s a peninsula and we need to take it from the Turks. That way our war ships can sail up the straits onto Constantinople. The officers tell us we need to take Constantinople to win the war. Anyway, that’s what they keep telling us. But, my main focus right now is staying alive when this boat ride is over. They told us it should take about a half hour to get ashore.

The sailors on the Prince of Wales gave us warm farewell as we loaded onto the landing boat this morning. They lined the side of the battleship and waved their caps as us. They were also saying something in a low tone but I couldn’t make it out. It was obvious they were wishing us well. It almost seems like they feel sorry for us. We’re going ashore; heading straight for danger. They get to stay on the ship; a relatively safe place.

I’m uncomfortably cold. My greatcoat stowed away in my pack. The officers gave the order; coats will be packed away. And, we’ve got our sleeves rolled up to our elbows. Again, orders from above. Every once in a while I catch a little sea mist and it’s really giving me the shivers.

I’m not sure how I feel. My emotions are all over the place. A bit excited, a bit scared, a bit anxious. How am I supposed to feel? When I look around me at the unfolding scene, it seems like just another training mission. So, far nobody’s shooting at us. I’ve never had anybody shoot at me before. Not looking forward to it.

I stare across the boat at my best mate Frank. He looks like he’s deep in thought. I want to call out to him but it just doesn’t seem the right thing to do. Nobody’s talking; I’d break the silence. I don’t want to bother Frank when I really have nothing to say. I just want to ask him if he’s alright; see if he’s worried. But, what good would that do? Probably only irritate him. Then he’d tell me to “be quiet.”

Frank is like a big brother to me. About 2 years older but we get along famously. He’s taken me under his wing so to speak. He looks after me and has gotten me out of trouble on more than a few occasions. One time, while on guard duty, I gave the old sergeant some backtalk and Frank stepped in to smooth things over for me. If Frank wasn’t there to bail me out, I’d probably still be back in Enoggera washing dishes in the mess tent!

I’m trying to work out in my mind a way to call over to him. What can I say that won’t sound awkward? I can’t come up with anything right now. I just glance at him from time to time to make sure he’s still there. It doesn’t make sense because, where’s he going to go? But, it’s reassuring to know he’s nearby. Every once in a while, I notice him looking at me; his look speaks to me. It says, “I got your back, mate.”

I’m looking at the other soldiers on the boat. Most have focused blank stares. I almost want to wave my weapon in front of their eyes to break the stare. A few have cheeky grins and a brave look about them. I wonder what they’re thinking. Are they nervous? Are they worried? But, most of all, I want to know if they’re scared? Somehow I feel if they’re not scared, I won’t be either. Do they know everything’s going to be ok? I want to steal some confidence from someone. Someone tell me it’s going to be ok. Someone tell me I’m going to make it.

But, I get no assurances, cause nobody’s talking. Except for the din of boat engines and an occasional officer yelling something that’s too far off to make out, it’s dead quiet on this boat. Then I ask myself a stupid question, “I wonder if the men in the other boats are talking?”

Even the water is calm. This isn’t how I pictured a war landing. I imagined rough seas, capsized boats and loud destructive noises. But, here we are, floating steadily, quietly and calmly forward.

Another thing that’s bothering me is I can’t see out very far past our boat because it’s pitch black. I have the utmost confidence in the sailors’ abilities to get us to the correct location. But, I’m not sure how they’re navigating because the night is so dark. If I didn’t know better, I’d think we we’re floating in a small billabong back home in Queensland.

All this quiet is getting me thinking.

Thinking about home. About hanging out the clothes with Mum. Not sure why this popped into my mind but it’s a comforting thought. Every now and then I help Mum hang the clothes and that’s when we have some of our best conversations. She tells me about the old days, when life was simpler. She fills me in on the family gossip. She gives me life wisdom. For some reason Mum seems to be in her best story telling form when hanging the clothes. Why is that?

Hang on, another – more pressing thought – jumps into my mind.

What I’m gonna do when this boat stops and I gotta get out? Am I gonna leap out bravely? Then an awful vision goes through my mind … I’m ducking down in the boat and refusing to get out. I shake my head back and forth quickly to erase that image immediately and then make a solemn promise to myself; I’m going out no matter what! I’d rather die than embarrass myself in front of my mates. I’m relieved because the issue is solved never to reappear again.

My thoughts switch gears again.

What about the Turks? What are they gonna do when I get out of this boat? Another stupid question. They’re gonna be shooting of course. But, I hope what the old sergeant told us is right, “Don’t worry lads, they can’t shoot for nothing!”

Now, my mind flashes back to the last meal we had on the ship. The smell of the cooked bacon made my mouth water. And it tasted even better. And, even the hard biscuit was delicious when I washed it down with the piping hot tea they served us.

They got us up this morning at 1 am. I know because before we went to sleep they told us that’s when they’d be getting us up. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have known or cared what time it was. But, it was a good wakeup. Why? Cause they served us that hot breakfast. I can still smell the bacon and taste the delicious tea.

A hot meal does something to a soldier. You give a soldier a hot meal and he’ll do anything for you. The officers told us to enjoy it because it may be a while before we get another one. I suppose I enjoyed it more because they said that. I just know I wasn’t thinking about anything else as I chewed on that bacon this morning. Whoever came up with the idea of a hot meal should be promoted immediately!

“Are we ever going to get there?” I ask myself. I look around the boat to see if I can find somebody else asking themselves the same question. No luck. Same blank stares. They may be asking but I’ll never know. I just don’t have the courage to break the silence. I want to scream out, “How much longer!” But, I don’t. I want my fellow ANZACs to see me as a brave soldier. Not, a complainer, not someone who gives the ANZACs a bad name.

I like being an ANZAC. It’s something I’m proud of . We’re a good bunch of lads. We seem to have the right balance. Not too serious and yet not too “larrikin”. Maybe I’m just used to our way and therefore the British and the other soldiers appear too different; too unfamiliar. I can relate to my Australian and New Zealand brothers, but the British come off very standoff-ish. The British troops with their fancy upper-class accents seem to rule the day. When they speak, you have a tendency to listen and take notice. It’s as if Zeus is talking to you from Mount Olympus. How can you refuse a direct order from Zeus?

But, then I hear the old familiar Australian accent and I feel proud. I feel at home. I feel a sense of duty that comes with protecting your own town, your own home, your own family. How much more would I be willing to sacrifice if I were defending my own home and family? How much braver would I be. That’s how I feel about going into battle as an ANZAC.

And that leads me to another thought. What are the Turks like? I wonder if they feel the same about their towns, homes and families. Will they be defending like I would if someone was landing on Australian soil? I start to contemplate this frightening realization when the silence is broken.

The crack of gunfire fills the air. A most terrifying sound. It’s the sound of fear, death and destruction. My wait is over. The time is now. Our battle has begun.

“I can’t get the other able seaman up sir. He’s too frightened.” The brave tall standing sailor tells his commanding midshipman. Just then the sailor is struck in the back by a bullet. He collapses on the deck; dead. An army officer starts to issue commands, but the midshipman interrupts, “I beg your pardon sir, but I’m in charge of this tow!”

The officer is silent.

Then I hear a low muttering, “Good on yer, kid!” The troops sound their approval of the brave midshipman.

We were told by the old-timers that the Turkish guns would sound like birds flying overhead. So, when one of the troops interupts the scared nervous tension by calmly but loudly saying, “Just like little birds, ain’t they?” Everyone on the boat erupts in uncontrolled laughter. What a crazy scene. Right in the middle of getting pounded by Turkish firepower; and everyone in our tiny boat – even the sailors – are laughing. It seems so odd; destruction and death right alongside humor and laughter.

I can hear the officers barking orders now. It’s time to get out of the boat. Soldiers are making their way over the side. I’ll keep my promise; when it’s my turn, I’m going out too. I watch my best mate Frank make his way over the side. He gives me a confident look; a look that tells me everything’s alright. We’re gonna make it. The big adventure has finally begun.

Then I hear the command. It’s my turn to go over. It’s not a usual army sounding command. But, just the same, it grabs my attention and I react quickly to it. It sounds like it’s coming from one of the sailors. But, I hear it and I’m going. A distant voice saying in a clear and almost joyful manner, a command that propels me out of the boat, a command that sends me leaping over the side; “Hop out and after ’em, lads!”

As I jump into the water I feel a sharp pain in my shoulder. Then another to my chest. Then another. I think I’m hit! I try to yell but no sound is coming out. I’m holding on tightly to my weapon. I won’t let it go. The sergeant says you never give up your weapon. I can’t feel my legs! I can’t see! I can’t breathe …

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Comments

  1. You bring up several very helpful points. Well worth a read. I have passed your link through to friends

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