December 1915 – January 1916
“In writing this I’m away out in mid ocean with nothing but water as far as the eye can reach. So far it has been a bonzer trip, except for the first couple of days when my little Mary started turning somersaults (it was no joke) but I can eat like a horse now”.
AS THE TRAIN travels slowly through Melbourne I look down from the carriage window onto the tree lined streets and terrace houses that gradually blend into factories and then storage houses of Port Melbourne. It’s a gentle transition from one snippet of life to another and my mind wanders a little, absorbing and enjoying the changing landscape. I reflect briefly on my current circumstances. I’m as excited as the other thousand men on the train are to be heading off to the adventure of a lifetime, but I hesitate to think that some of them might not make the return trip. The daily papers are full of reports of Germany’s army spreading further out across Europe and our losses in Gallipoli fighting the Turks have been horrendous.
When will I make the return journey past these buildings on my way home to Beech Forest? Will the war be over in the two or three months it will take to get us to our destination? Is it possible that the ship will be turned around before we step foot on land again? Christmas 1915 was spent in a tent, could I dare to wish being back home within twelve months to celebrate Christmas 1916 in Cloverdale?
These are not sad thoughts, quite the opposite. There is a warm feeling running through my veins, I’m ready for the challenge. Fit, trained, eager to go. I’ve never been on a boat before, the thrill of that thought alone puts a smile on my face. How big is it, where will we sleep, will the tucker be any good, what sort of drills can we expect on board? After all the training and drill work of the last five months it’s a welcome relief to know that we are finally on the move. No more false starts or rumours, this train is going direct to the port.
As the train swings onto the wharf I get a glimpse of a very large ship, there are already hundreds of troops on board waving to the thousands of family and friends gathered on the dock below. I’m not expecting any of my mob to be here to see me off, unlikely that the letter telling them I was leaving would have reached them yet. Not a problem, there are a lot of chaps in the same situation. We will just have to pick out someone else’s family and give them a wave anyway.
Thousands of paper streamers run from the ship deck to the crowd below, the general idea is that a soldier on deck can be connected to a love one below by holding their end of a common streamer. Great idea but I doubt many are directly connected. Maybe if you were the first soldier on board to throw one over you might be in luck.
There is not much time spent lingering on the wharf, the train pulls away and we are directed up the gangway and onto the top deck of the ship. It takes a bit of effort to lug our packs and rifles on board and when we get to the top there is a fair bit of pushing and shoving going on. It’s quite crowded as all the men wish to be on deck for the departure. There is equipment and personnel belongings stacked everywhere with no control or orders as to where we should find a bunk or store our gear. For the time being it’s a free for all and it’s hard to hear yourself think with all the yelling going backwards and forwards to the civilian gathering below.
Eventually I find a gap against the handrail and run my eyes up and down the mass of faces below. I know quite a few chaps from Beech Forest who have come aboard so I search for any face that might be recognisable, someone that might pass a message onto my parents that I was sighted would be a nice gesture. It’s not to be, there are simply too many people, they are too far away and as dusk falls it becomes impossible to distinguish features.
One of the crew tells me it is the biggest crowd he has ever seen on Port Melbourne pier.
The rowdy behaviour on deck starts to mellow. I see the guide ropes being released and the big steel hull inches away from the wharf. There is a final “hooray” from the deck and the stern of the Demosthenes is pointed out into Port Phillip Bay. The rumour train is in full swing immediately and it seems that this may not be the last view of our homeland as we will be stopping in Albany, Western Australia for stores within the week.
The HMAT 64 Demosthenes is an eleven-thousand-ton, coal driven monster. She is one of 28 vessels leased by the Commonwealth of Australia and converted for specific use as a troop ship. Her only previous voyage in this current configuration was earlier this year, in July (1915) when she transported troops from Melbourne to London. In her previously life she had been a passenger ship operating out of London. HMAT stands for “His Majesty’s Australian Transport” and 64 is the troopship number. On this trip she has already picked up troops in Sydney before floating around to Melbourne to pick my mob up.
The conversion from passenger ship to troop carrier is mainly that now there are bunk beds everywhere, doors to rooms have been removed, (except for the officers) and bunks line every corridor, nook and cranny. We found a ship-hand walking around waving a bunk list and match our names to a deck level and bunk number. I found mine without much trouble and dump my gear on top. The next adventure was to locate the mess hall and get some grub in.
A hand-written notice hung up at the end of our corridor reads “On! On! (to what?) Glory or Death?” I ponder what miserable sod had the time and patience to put together those words of wisdom?
The next morning, I wake to find that we have cleared the heads. The ship travels south westerly, swings around Cape Otway, where I give a token wave to mum & dad in the general direction of Beech Forest, and then heads westwards.
It’s about this point where I realise I am an unproven sailor. My head feels light, my stomach even lighter and I need to lay down. I can feel my brain floating inside my skull. After a while the pressure becomes too great and I know I’m going to be sick. I make it to the open air sick bay where I line up against the rail with two hundred other chaps all feeding the fish at regular intervals. Another couple of hundred men are lying flat out on their backs on the deck, eyes shut, trying their hardest to stop the earth moving.
Those lucky enough to have been blessed with good sea legs are looking down from a higher deck, laughing their heads off at the line up and encouraging the chaps below with cries of, “Get it all up”, “There goes more fish tucker” and other unsympathetic words. It takes me a good couple of days for the spinning to stop and I can start to move around the ship a bit better. I notice that some of the poor lads are still prone on the deck four and five days later looking very dejected and miserable.
After the sea sickness passes and my appetite returns I start to take an interest in one of my favourite pastimes, eating. The tucker on board is good and plentiful. For breakfast we can have stew, bread, butter, and jam. For dinner, soup, meat and two kinds of vegetables. Tea is bread, butter, jam and plum pudding. Supper is biscuits and cheese.
There is a canteen on board where you can purchase almost anything you would want. It is extremely popular and is common to wait half an hour or more to be served with a hundred men lined up behind.
On passing the Victorian/South Australian boarder and again at the South Australian/West Australian point everyone is invited on deck where we all cheer, and the ships band play a few numbers that includes “Auld Lang Syne”. It’s quite a joyous occasion.
Each day there are notices pinned up around the ship with general information including our approximate position. As we approach Albany, the hopes of the men are that we will swing in there and have a day or two on solid ground, but the daily newsletter is not suggesting that. A good hint about our journey can be read into the fact that no mention is made of the mail being cleared any time soon. Sure enough, the closest we get to Albany is with very good eye sight to witness other boats at anchor in the harbour and the range of hills behind them. The Demosthenes does not slow down, she sails straight past.
The weather was fine through the Great Australian Bight but for two days around the Cape Leeuwin area the swell picked up and we ploughed directly into a storm. The ship rolled and lurched, it would pitch so hard you would think it impossible to right herself and then roll back the opposite way, all the time with your heart in your mouth.
It was extremely unpleasant. I tried to stay about amidships where it seems to be most stable and enabled me to hold down my food. The captain ordered all the portholes to be closed which made the air below deck very thick with the stench of many men rediscovering sea sickness.
After rounding Leeuwin, it becomes obvious to most of us that the angle of the boat to the setting sun has altered. My sense of direction which was developed around Beech Forest with considerable assistance from my father’s teachings, tells me that we are travelling in a north-westerly direction which would indicate land fall in India. We were thinking that London would be our destination based on this ship’s previous trip. Rumour has it that the Suez Canal is closed due to the fighting with the Turks so if we were going to London I would have expected us to aim due West and eventually sail past the Cape of Good Hope. Could India or Egypt be our disembarkation point? There is no solid information fed down to us.
Not long after the shores of Australia had left our eyesight, lifeboat/raft and Fire & Collision drills are introduced daily. When the exercise formulates into a habit, we can have everyman at his post in ten minutes.
Fourteen days on the “briny” and we cross the Equator. All on board play to the occasion, it is a joyous time and a lot of fun is had. Dress up and some tomfoolery going on, the atmosphere is good, and everyone is enjoying the trip. No bodies are left on the open deck sick bay anymore. Everyone is on their feet. Next morning Church Service is held on deck and conducted by the Captain of the Demosthenes. Over 900 men attend.
Since last sighting land, the only thing we have seen was another ship going in the opposite direction and water as far as the eye can reach. Every day we see schools of flying fish that I find fascinating. They leap out of the water and fly for considerable distances across the top of the water.
The sea has been lovely and calm since we cleared the storm and the temperature is quite warm. All I wear is my old tennis shoes, a short pair of pants, a shirt, and a white hat. There is no fashion show going on out here.
I quite enjoy going to the bow and admiring the marvellous sight of the waves breaking down the side of the vessel. I can watch for hours, it is mesmerising.
After crossing the Equator, we are instructed to post our letters by the next morning so that they can be censor checked and mailed on. This is positive sign that we will be pulling in somewhere and sure enough before the rumour train gets moving, a notice is pinned up to say we will be taking on supplies in Colombo, Ceylon. There is plenty of writing material on board including a postcard that is handed out with a photo of the Demosthenes. Everyone is heads down and bum up writing home before the dead line closes. I get a few of my own away, balancing a writing pad on my knee while sitting on an old steam pipe. Excuse the scribble.
The Demosthenes is too big to dock so we anchor a short distance off shore on the 14th January. The troops are permitted a day pass on the 15th to stretch our legs and have a look around the port town. We are ferried ashore using small boats. It’s refreshing to get off the Demosthenes and walk a few miles on stable ground although it takes a bit of getting used to after rolling around on the ocean for two and a half weeks. My legs think they have one too many shots of rum in them.
I’m unimpressed with the township, it is dirty and very poor. The trains and trams are in terrible condition, they all rattle and groan as if they are on their last legs. I’m amazed some of them even move they are so old and decrepit.
Ceylon became a British military outpost around the same time as Australia was settled but the development of Colombo has not been anywhere near as progressive when I compare it to Melbourne town. It’s more a shanty town, shabby and uninviting. The locals are warm and friendly enough, but their life appears to be a struggle.
The ship hands are kept busy for two full days loading stores and a lot of coal goes on board, all delivered by the smaller boats rowing out to the Demosthenes and being taken aboard by hand or a service crane for the heavier items. A few of the troops jump in to help, enjoying the exercise as much as anything.
For a few days before docking in Colombo the food on board had become quite poor and there had been many complaints. Obviously, we had been running low on some essential supplies. Sight of food products including fresh fruit & vegetables being loaded on board give us reason to think the quality may improve again once we sail.
We wave goodbye to Colombo on the 16th and I’m thinking that on the return journey it wouldn’t matter to me if we didn’t come this way. Maybe stopping off at Fremantle or Albany would suit me better.
The Demosthenes aims due west. Not much doubt about where we are heading now, no rumours or schooling in geography required. Egypt for sure. Any change to that plan would depend on the Suez Canal being open I assume. Next day the name of the ship, logos and ship number are painted out. We are now in Eastern waters and the danger of crossing the path of a submarine has increased.
I develop a rotten tooth ache and put up with it for a couple of days until I find a Private who claims to be a qualified dentist. When he had his knees in my chest I did wonder if he should have been a bit more specific and added “horse dentist”. However, he does an excellent job in drawing it and I’m right as rain in no time.
We don’t get a lot of drill on board but there are a lot of games and sports organized to keep everyone occupied as much as possible. Prizes are given for different activities but so far, I haven’t won anything. Walking around the deck and callisthenic groups work out all over the ship. We are still very aware that we are heading to war, but the atmosphere has relaxed a bit during the voyage because of the travelling time and the secrecy surrounding our destination. As much as everyone else I make the most of this downtime, assuming that when it comes time to face the enemy it will be unlikely that I will be sipping tea with my white sun hat on.
Boredom and bravado run hand in hand when you have been trapped in a steel tub for three weeks with fifteen hundred men. One day, in the mess room, a soldier is passing around a photo of a lady that he had pulled out of his pocket. The assumption was that the lady was the love of his life back home. I found out later the true story was that the photo was of his sister.
Another chap sitting a couple of rows away, comments that the person in the photo has, “A head like a Drover’s dog.”
Not everyone agrees with this unflattering description and a brawl erupts. A few chairs get thrown, tables upended and a bit of argy-bargy. Add in some cross-border rivalry (Sydney versus Melbourne) that had nothing to do with the photo, and the blue went on for ten minutes or so. I stood back and watched. I haven’t seen the photo, so I cannot offer an opinion on the good lady’s appearance.
Next day the owner of the photo and the main antagonist are invited to sort out their differences in the boxing ring. Both declined, and the matter is settled with a handshake.
As we approach the North-East corner of Africa, land can be seen off the starboard side. Notices from the Captain have become more frequent and we are advised that it is in fact an island called Socotra. I have never heard of this place, I don’t remember it ever being mentioned at school or even having seen it on a map before.
The next land we sight is off the port side and is the town of Gwardafui which belongs to Somaliland. Not long after our interest is roused when three boats approached us at a furious pace. As they came closer we were advised that they are in fact British Cruisers who will escort us through the Red Sea. A bit of banter ensues about how precious we must be to deserve this attention.
We pass several other troop ships as we progress westwards through the Red Sea and a few Arab “Dhows” float by, they are about ten miles out to sea. The men on board are fierce looking warriors that carry knives in their belts. I wouldn’t trust any of them.
The African and Arabian coastline is nothing to be compared with my knowledge of the Australian. It rises sharply in places to around seven hundred feet and I can see it is inhabited by Arabs & Blacks. In other sections, the mountainous sand hills roll back into a vast desert with not one ounce of vegetation to be seen. The sea water is of a greenish colour, considerably different from the pure blue we followed around the Australian coast.
The Captain is obviously a deeply religious man and he keeps all on board enthralled with his knowledge and briefings. He gave notice of passing a point where the Mohammedans make their pilgrimage to Mecca, Medina and Jeddah. However, if you are not of their faith you are not permitted to go there. He also points out the direction of Mt Sinai where you know Moses offered up his child and where The Lord divided the waters for the Israelites to escape from Pharaoh. So, we take notice that we are now in the vicinity of “Holy parts”.
A hospital ship bound for Australia passes us. We watch intently, waving to some of our men on board and wishing them well. What is thought but not spoken about is if our own return journey will be on the same style of ship. Our ship band plays patriotic airs as we pass. Coincidently, it is Anniversary Day (Australia Day) which adds to the sombre mood.
Aboard the Demosthenes, we are split up into numerous groups and finally, officially, briefed on our destination. Port Suez, Egypt. The atmosphere on board changes in an instance. We are back focused as soldiers about to be engaged in war. The silly games are over, the smile is off, the apprehension is on.
We dock at Port Suez on Sunday 30th January 1916, thirty-two days after leaving Melbourne.