CHAPTER THREE

The Voyage of the Wiltshire

la nef des fous

In late 1918, in the last months of the First World War, when it was clear the German army was losing the struggle and would soon leave France, a French art collector, Camille Benoit, gave a number of valuable paintings from his private collection to the Musee du Louvre in Paris. To protect its treasures, the Louvre had been closed during the war, but it re-opened in February 1919. Soon to be put on public display for the first time, one of the gifts of Monsieur Benoit was the central panel of a triptych tableau made in the last decade of the 15th century by a Flemish painter, Jheronimus van Aken. He is today usually known by the alternative form of his name, Hieronymus Bosch, and is famous for his remarkable religious and moral allegories, some with themes that parodied the drunkenness, licentiousness, and venereal disease of his time. His painting in the Louvre is usually called La Nef des fous, the ship of fools, and is a caricature of the prodigality of mankind. It depicts a curious little sailboat filled with men and women thoroughly obsessed with sinful pleasures, but unaware of where the vessel is taking them.

The Ship of Fools, or the Satire of the Debauched Revelers, an oil-on-wood painting made by Hieronymus Bosch. (RMN; Martine Beck-Coppola; Musee du Louvre)

It is unlikely that many of the men of the AIF who, during 1915, were sent back to Australia in disgrace with venereal disease would have known of Bosch or La Nef des fous, but they might have hotly resented being characterised as fools. Each tended to think of himself as a victim, carrying a damned infection received through pure bad luck — no fault of his. But what better word than fools could be used to describe those who had ignored the loud warnings of the AIF’s leaders and doctors, and had become infected anyway? Most of the AIF men who passed through Egypt in 1915 were not so foolish and did give a wide berth to the brothels. Those who became infected and got sent home were the odd men out who, by their unusual behaviour, brought upon themselves the deepest of trouble.

But it does seem that, privately, some of the prodigals returning to Australia on the Wiltshire in September 1915 did know they had wasted their chance, and felt like fools. We know this because we are aware of how profoundly some would later regret their moment of folly in Egypt; and we also know the efforts some later made to conceal what they had done from those who loved them and cared about them. But at this stage, like the voyagers in La Nef des fous, the men on the Wiltshire were still barely aware of the consequences in their future lives from bad choices made in Egypt.

Men with venereal disease began to be sent back to Australia from February 1915. As noted above, the minister for defence had made a threat that this would happen, and General Bridges had quickly arranged for some of the ‘wasters’ of the AIF, including venereal-disease cases, to be sent home. In February 1915, the first group of unwanted men, including 132 VD patients, departed on the A55 Kyarra from Port Suez. On 15 March, the New Zealand ship Moloia sailed with another mixed group of disciplinary and medical cases; to be followed, on 20 March, by 300 on the A38 Ulysses. The standard procedure followed for transporting venereal cases on troopships returning to Australia was to continue their isolation from other troops while they were being moved from an isolation barracks in Egypt to another in Australia. The orders covering this stated that ‘A corner of a hammock deck is set aside and bulk-headed off for venereal disease. Separate lavatories and messing are provided, and apparatus and drugs for treatment’. In this way, on board the ships, infected men were treated like pariahs.

When the Kyarra arrived at Port Melbourne in March 1915, the Melbourne Argus reported that, although a large crowd of curious citizens had gathered at the pier, the ship remained anchored offshore and the troops remained aboard. The report described men on the ship as

not casualties of battle. They are the cases which inevitably occur in camp. Men will get kicked by horses, will, if there are pyramids to climb, fall off them, and will find innumerable ways to damage themselves. And many of these cases are the results of the mens’ own folly.

The following day, The Argus published a statement by the Department of Defence ‘regarding the soldiers who have returned from Egypt by the Kyarra’. Headed ‘A Cruel Slander’, this statement played down the VD issue:

The Minister for Defence wishes to correct an impression which appears to have gained ground among the public that a large proportion of the men of the Australian Imperial Force returned invalided by the Kyarra are suffering from venereal disease. The Minister is in receipt of a report from the acting director of the Commonwealth Army Medical Services in which that officer states that the rumour is a cruel slander upon the troops. For the number of men sent from Australia the percentage of venereal cases is small. Adequate steps are being taken to deal with the small number of venereal cases which do exist among the returned men.

The following month saw the landings at Gallipoli, and Senator Pearce’s consequent approval to clear the hospitals in Egypt of venereal cases. When repatriation began shortly after, the first ship to transport a group of infected men also carried soldiers being invalided home with other infectious diseases. Thus, in early May 1915, the A40 Ceramic sailed from Suez carrying over 400 men to Melbourne, including 261 VD cases collected hurriedly from hospitals in Cairo.

We know that many of the men with venereal disease sent to Australia intended to cut and run, to ‘do a bolter’ at the first opportunity after their ship reached an Australian port. These fellows had no intention of going through the humiliation of arriving as marked men. They would jump ship, if necessary by swimming ashore, and ‘take to the tall timber’. There would be many of these escapes after ships carrying ‘venereals’ reached Australia.

In July 1915, the Kyarra arrived at Fremantle after her second voyage from Egypt, this time with a mixed group of 330 men wounded at Gallipoli and over 100 VD cases selected at Abbassia by Colonel Brady Nash. The local authorities had arranged ‘welcoming entertainments’ for the returning heroes; but, to the disappointment of the welcoming party, no one on board was permitted ashore. However, a number of the men with venereal disease did manage to get ashore by sliding down mooring ropes, and they soon disappeared into the town. One of the escapees, Charles Rudolph, who had become infected with VD in May, was arrested a few days later after he was discovered on a street haranguing startled bystanders. Under the headline ‘Deserter’s Language — Hope Germans Will Win’, his fate was reported in a newspaper:

A returned South Australian soldier named Charles Rudolph, who deserted from the Kyarra, appeared at the Fremantle Police Court yesterday charged with disorderly conduct and with having used obscene language. Sergeant Pilmer said that on Saturday week Rudolph was standing on the corner of High and Market streets holding forth to a crowd. He was not drunk, but was using most obscene and seditious language. The language complained of was ‘They treat us like dogs. I hope the Germans win right through, and that all the Australians at the Dardanelles will be shot’. Rudolph, who had no defence to offer to the charge, was imprisoned for three months.12

Complaints were made in the Australian parliament about the ‘maltreatment’ of men on the Kyarra after she docked at Port Melbourne. It was found that, at the very end of the voyage, more of the venereal cases had escaped.

… no attempt was made to distinguish between soldiers returned for disciplinary reasons and those who had been rendered unfit for further service by reason of wounds received in action. The Minister for Defence promised to enquire into these [complaints]. It is understood that one phase of Kyarra’s arrival which will come within the scope of the official enquiry is the debarkation and entraining of the venereal disease cases. Provision had been made for the conveyance of these men by special train to Langwarrin. It is stated, however, that 40 of these men managed to break away, and, mixing with the medical and wounded cases … left Melbourne. 13

Permitting venereally infected men to mix with the wounded and ill when ships arrived at Australian ports had other unintended consequences. At the ports of arrival, misunderstandings arose among relatives and wellwishers there to greet invalid soldiers. Sometimes, the venereal cases also received enthusiastic ‘welcomes home’ by mistake; other times, non-venereal cases were regarded with suspicion because they had been on a ship that had carried venereal patients.

Another unintended consequence arose at this time when returned Gallipoli invalids and men with venereal disease were discharged from the army because of medical unfitness. Because of publicity surrounding the return of infected men, suspicions were aroused that any man who was discharged unfit might have VD. A public announcement by the Department of Defence explained how this was to be rectified:

In view of the fact that an impression exists amongst the public that men who are discharged from the Australian Imperial Force, and whose cause of discharge is stated on the discharge certificate as ‘being medically unfit for further service’ or ‘medical unfitness’ are men who have been rendered unfit through the contraction of venereal disease. It has been decided that in future the cause of the discharge of men who are medically unfit through a cause not due to misconduct is to be stated on the discharge certificate as follows: ‘Being medically unfit not due to misconduct’.14

For the men returning on ships, it was decided to handle the venereal cases separately so their arrivals could be managed without controversy. Initially, this still involved loading, in Egypt, venereal and non-venereal cases on board a returning ship, but managing them quite differently on arrival in Australia. A troopship that carried men to be separated in this way was the A70 Ballarat, which left Alexandria in June 1915 carrying a group of 500 amputees, and men deafened and blinded at Gallipoli. After passage through the canal, on 5 July, the Ballarat stopped at Suez to take on 131 venereal cases, the second group selected by Brady Nash at Abbassia. For the voyage, they were regarded as disciplinary cases; so, after boarding, they were isolated from the Gallipoli invalids behind a bulkhead in the front of the ship. During the trip to Western Australia, however, they made their presence known by riotous behaviour.

The ship made its Australian landfall at Albany, but no men were permitted to go ashore, apart from the Western Australian invalids on board. This was a difficult restriction for the wounded and infected men alike, and, in the middle of the night, while the Ballarat lay at anchor, about 40 invalids and VD men commandeered lifeboats and rowed away. Some got only to a coal barge moored nearby, while others made it to shore and disappeared into the town. Within a day, all had been rounded up, detained, and then sent to Melbourne on a following ship, the Indarra. Later, some of the escapees said they left the ship to ‘find a good feed’ in Albany, because meals served during the voyage from Egypt were appalling. Meanwhile, the venereal patients who remained on the Ballarat continued to be nuisances. After the ship left Albany, they smashed fittings in their section of the ship, and started fires to keep themselves warm.

When the Ballarat arrived with her crippled heroes at Port Melbourne, a newspaper described the welcome given, under bold headlines: ‘BACK FROM THE FRONT’, ‘WOUNDED MEN AT MELBOURNE’, ‘AN ENTHUSIASTIC WELCOME’.

The majority of the men who returned to-day by the Ballarat had sufficiently recovered from their wounds to enjoy to the full their hearty reception. They shouted back greetings to men, waved their hands to girls, and shook hands all round when a temporary stoppage occurred on the long line of motor cars. The enthusiasm was intense, the people it would appear, being anxious to make up for the scanty welcome given to soldiers who came home on an earlier hospital ship. A triumphal arch was erected over the entrance gates to the Port Melbourne town pier, and immediately inside the gate a band played lively airs as the soldiers came through.15

But what was the welcome given to the venereal cases that had also arrived with the ship? The same article tells us:

There was no danger today of the wrong men being cheered. Disciplinary and venereal cases, numbering about 130, were transferred to a launch while the Ballarat was lying in the bay and taken direct to Langwarrin.

In fact, special arrangements had been made to ensure the venereal cases could not land at Port Melbourne. Before the Ballarat arrived there, she briefly stopped further south in Port Phillip Bay, near the Mornington jetty, and the ‘venereals’ were offloaded onto launches for a short trip to shore. From Mornington station, they were taken by train directly to the isolation barracks, escorted by armed militia guards.

Because of the escapes and arrival embarrassments, it was decided in July 1915 that wounded Gallipoli men would be provided with troopships for their exclusive use, and, when empty returning ships were available, venereal cases would be transported separately on them. The A17 Port Lincoln was the first ship from Egypt to take only venereal cases to Australia, and carried the large group of 414 infected men sent by Brady Nash. There is an interesting side story attached to this voyage.

General Bridges was shot at Gallipoli in May 1915. The bullet went through the femoral artery in his thigh, and he later died on the ship evacuating him to Egypt. After the arrival of his body at Alexandria, he was buried in a cemetery used for Australian dead. The Australian government arranged for him to receive a posthumous knighthood, and then, in June, announced that his remains would be repatriated for a ceremonial re-burial at the Duntroon Military College in Canberra, where Bridges had been the first commandant. His body was exhumed at the Alexandria cemetery and placed in a lead-lined coffin, and this was loaded onto the Port Lincoln, which happened to be in Alexandria, empty and on the verge of departing — first to Port Suez and then to Melbourne.

The Port Lincoln left from Alexandria with only the general’s coffin on board. At this point, an AIF embarkation officer, a Major McLeod, was suddenly told that the Port Lincoln intended at Port Suez to take on the venereal cases from Abbassia. It had been our old friend James Barrett in Cairo who had taken it upon himself to inform McLeod that a disaster was about to happen. It would be an outrage for Lady Bridges, and a public scandal, if the remains of Australia’s first general arrived at Melbourne escorted by 400 venereally diseased men! However, neither McLeod nor Barrett evidently knew that senior Australian officers in Cairo were aware of the impending situation, and had already made a plan to offload the general’s coffin at Port Suez and transfer it to another ship before the ‘venereals’ appeared. In his ignorance of this, McLeod took it upon himself to also arrange to offload the coffin at Suez. In addition, he sent a cabled report to Senator Pearce in Australia, eagerly advising what he had done to stop a serious embarrassment from occurring.

Accordingly, at Suez, after a number of misunderstandings, the coffin was ceremoniously transferred by launch from the Port Lincoln to the P&O steamer Arabia, which was loading wounded Gallipoli men for repatriation. Reacting to McLeod’s report, Senator Pearce cabled to Cairo demanding an explanation for the purported bungle, and wanting to know who was responsible. A reply was sent to the senator, by a weary, irritated officer, which explained that there had been no mistake made, that McLeod had acted hastily, and that his last-minute intervention had caused the only embarrassments in the affair.16

The Arabia departed from Suez just before the Port Lincoln, and arrived at Port Melbourne on 1 September. The general’s coffin was moved ashore with great reverence and taken to the city, where a state funeral service was held the following day at St Paul’s Cathedral. After the service, the coffin was placed on a horse-drawn gun carriage draped with a Union flag, then escorted in a solemn procession through hushed crowds to Spencer Street station. From here, it was taken by train, accompanied by the official mourning party, to Canberra for burial at Duntroon.

The funeral procession for Major General William Bridges, moving along Flinders Street. (SLV)

Also arriving at Port Melbourne on 1 September, late in the evening, the Port Lincoln docked with her 414 infected men. Their arrival was discreetly reported by The Argus on the next day, without mentioning the diseases with which they were afflicted, or the name of the ship:

Another big contingent of Australian soldiers, numbering 414 in all, arrived in Hobson’s Bay at about 9 o’clock last night by a transport from Suez. It is stated that all the men on the vessel are described as medically unfit, none of them being wounded. The whole batch will be landed at Port Melbourne, it having been arranged that the transport shall berth beside the Railway Pier early this morning.

In late August 1915, four big troopships began departing from Suez to return to Australia, carrying large numbers of Gallipoli invalids, but with no venereal cases. In the fashionable style of the time, each of the four had been named by its owners after a famous ancient Greek. Thus the A32 Themistocles, the A14 Euripides, the A38 Ulysses, and the A11 Ascanius all steamed down the Red Sea to Aden, then to Colombo and across the Indian Ocean to Fremantle. When they began arriving, their progress was telegraphed to eastern Australia and enthusiastically reported in newspapers. Under the headline ‘RETURNING HEROES’, the Adelaide Advertiser reported that ‘the ships have been practically racing each other across the Bight’, and provided extensive details about the public receptions and ceremonies being arranged for the heroes.

However, there was a fifth big troopship that had sailed from Suez at the same time as the Themistocles, Euripides, Ulysses, and Ascanius, which overtook them, and was the first of the five to reach Port Melbourne. Although also carrying many invalided soldiers, the ship’s details, faster progress, and purpose were not reported in the Australian press.

This was our nef des fous, HMAT A18 Wiltshire, named, more prosaically, after a county in England (where, coincidentally, the 1st Australian Dermatological Hospital would later be based). She had departed from Port Suez on 31 August with 295 troops on board: 20 medical staff and escorts, and the ‘300’ — actually 275 — infected men sent by Colonel Brady Nash from Abbassia to Langwarrin. The transport’s quiet arrival at Port Melbourne on 24 September 1915 was blandly reported in The Argus the following morning: ‘A transport arrived at Port Melbourne yesterday with 275 soldiers on board. The men will be removed to the camp at Langwarrin to-day.’

The Wiltshire was a modern, beautifully proportioned large steel steamer, one of the newest and fastest of the fleet of British passenger and cargo vessels that, before the war, had plied the vast distances of the route from the United Kingdom to Australia and New Zealand. She had been built in 1912 in Scotland, and in 1914 became the property of the Commonwealth and Dominion Line of London. At the outbreak of war, she had been lying at anchor in Brisbane, and was immediately leased for use as a troopship for Australia.

The troopship A18 Wiltshire, moored at Port Melbourne in 1915. (Allan C. Green; SLV)

Her first wartime service occurred in October 1914, when, code-numbered A18 for Australian duties, the Wiltshire became part of the convoy carrying the first AIF contingent to Egypt. She returned to Australia, and in April 1915 left for Egypt with reinforcements, arriving in June. Her return voyage to Port Melbourne was to carry exclusively the fourth shipload of venereally infected men sent by Brady Nash. After unloading the patients, the Wiltshire returned to Egypt in November 1915, taking more reinforcements. In 1916, she became the property of the Cunard Steamship Company, but continued to be used as an Australian troopship until 1919.

For her voyage from Port Suez to Australia in August and September 1915, the ship was under the command of Captain William Prentice, a longstanding employee of the Commonwealth and Dominion Line. He became captain of the Wiltshire in January 1914, and remained in command after she became an Australian troopship. In early 1916, during the Wiltshire’s third wartime voyage to Egypt, he died aboard of heart failure, near Western Australia, and was buried at sea.

When used to carry AIF contingents to Egypt, the Wiltshire had been crammed with soldiers, horses, carriages, carts, and military stores. Every available space had been used, and the ship had teemed with activity during its voyages to ports along the Suez Canal. However, for the August–September 1915 trip back to Australia, the cavernous ship was almost empty. Apart from the crew, there were only 20 working passengers on board: two medical officers, six medical orderlies, and 12 AIF soldiers acting as guards. The guards were particularly vigilant when the ship entered Australian waters, and, because of this, there were no ‘bolters’ from the Wiltshire: the 275 who had embarked at Suez were delivered without incident at Port Melbourne.

The senior medical officer on board was Captain Herbert Alsop, who was in civilian life a medical practitioner in Bowral, south of Sydney. He had been a reservist in the AAMC, became a ship’s doctor for the AIF, and his first voyage to Egypt, in June 1915, was with the Wiltshire. Following successful delivery of his 275 patients to Port Melbourne, he re-embarked there on the Wiltshire in November 1915, and shortly after was involved in attempts to save the life of Captain Prentice at sea off Western Australia.

In late September 1915, as the ship approached Port Melbourne, Captain Alsop wrote his Report on health of Troops on board the above Steamer, during voyage from Suez to Melbourne, and, from this, we learn he was caring for 229 cases of gonorrhoea, one case of gonorrhoea and paratyphoid, one case of gonorrhoea and measles, and 44 cases of syphilis. With the voyage about to end, Captain Alsop was able to report that ‘of the gonorrhoea cases, 70 are now free from any indication of disease. The Paratyphoid and Measles have both recovered from those conditions’, but the syphilis cases had not been cured.

The members of the guard escort were all invalids being sent home, including the NCOs in charge, Sergeant Albert Tiegs and Sergeant Thomas Keane, although later they would go back to the war. Corporal Ernest Edgar was being returned to Australia because of persistent intestinal complaints, and he would be discharged as medically unfit in December 1915. Private William Dilley had been shot at Gallipoli and would also be discharged as medically unfit after arrival in Melbourne.

Other members of the Wiltshire’s guard might have also been VD patients. In January 1915, Corporal Terence O’Neill had been admitted to the isolation hospital at Mena with signs of VD. The doctors had been uncertain of the diagnosis; but, when he was released from hospital, his papers were marked ‘disability–VD’, anyway. O’Neill was sent to Australia on the Wiltshire, and, after his arrival in Melbourne, would eventually be discharged from the army ‘medically unfit not due to misconduct’. Private Albert Pritchard had been evacuated with influenza from Gallipoli, and, in Egypt, had been discovered to also have an infection that might have been related to VD. He was to be discharged very soon after the Wiltshire arrived. Private Jack Haddon had been evacuated from Gallipoli because of cardiac strain; afterwards, it had been decided he also had traces of chancre. He had been sent as an escort on the Wiltshire, and was to be discharged in May 1916 because of medical unfitness.

As we shall soon see, the distinction between who were the guards and who were the patients became progressively blurred as the voyage continued to Australia. However, in the army record of each member of the guard party on the Wiltshire, it was clearly marked that each was ‘on duty’ as an escort for the voyage. By contrast, in the record of each man on board sent from Abbassia, it was marked that he was being returned to Australia ‘VD’ or ‘venereal’ — in most cases, with the name of his disease described. For some, there was also a note saying they were ‘for discharge’ from the army.

The infected men on the Wiltshire were a varied lot, but had much in common apart from VD. Most were very young, between 18 and 22, although one fellow was only 17 — he had used his older brother’s identity when he enlisted, aged 16. Only a few were over 30, with the oldest being 44. They were all private soldiers, for the few who had been NCOs in Egypt had been reduced to the ranks before being sent to Abbassia. All men on board were also penniless, because each man’s army pay had been stopped. The forced removal of the sense of independence that came with having money was an especially grievous ‘injustice’, and they did not know when they would have that sense again. Most had enlisted in New South Wales and Victoria, but there were others from Queensland, South Australia, Western Australia, and Tasmania. They came from the bush and from cities, from respectable middle-class homes and from working-class backgrounds. Many were immigrants from England, Scotland, or Ireland, or their parents were immigrants from those places. They were in all branches of the AIF, mostly from the infantry battalions and Light Horse regiments, with some from the artillery and base-support units.

The infected men on the Wiltshire fell into two general categories. The first category comprised about one-third of them, the men who had taken part in the Gallipoli landings. Most had been evacuated to Egypt with battle wounds or sickness to hospitals in Cairo and Alexandria. While convalescing and on leave, they had caught VD in July and August 1915. The rest in this category had become infected just before embarkation to the Dardanelles, and had carried their diseases to Gallipoli. Their secret had been revealed there, usually after they were wounded or fell ill. One of the Gallipoli men had been infected with VD and cured before the landings, where he was shot; he had then been re-infected after his evacuation to Egypt. Notwithstanding their special status as battle veterans, the fates of all the Gallipoli men on the Wiltshire had been sealed by the defence minister’s April 1915 decision to banish all venereal cases from Egypt, and by their selection at Abbassia to be sent to Langwarrin.

The other, much larger, category of men on board the Wiltshire comprised those who had not been at Gallipoli. They were mostly reinforcements who had arrived in Egypt to join their battalions and regiments in the months immediately after the first landings. Most had only recently volunteered at recruiting stations in Australia during the surge of national pride that followed the sensational news from the Dardanelles. In May and June, these fellows had left Australian ports, cheered off to the war in scenes of great excitement and with expectations of heroic deeds. A few weeks later, in July and August 1915, they had arrived at the AIF camps near Cairo. From these they were meant to have gone to Gallipoli, but instead had caught VD shortly after arrival. Judging from the number who must have become infected within days of disembarkation at Suez Canal ports, many had made a visit to the Wasa’a something very high on their list of priorities on arrival. Now, before firing a shot in battle, they were being sent straight back to Australia in disgrace.

Also on the Wiltshire were a number of fellows who had just arrived in Egypt but with a VD infection from Australia, and who had been immediately sent back. A handful of other men who had not been at Gallipoli had arrived in Egypt before the landings in April, but their military duties as drivers and clerks had exclusively been as ‘base wallahs’ in the camps around Cairo.

Only about one in ten of the men on board the Wiltshire had been married at the date of enlistment, although that proportion might have risen by the time of their departure from Australia. Also, only a relatively small number had allotted part of their pay to a family member during their service abroad. Most had not arranged allotments at all; in Egypt, they had their entire ‘six bob a day’ army pay available for personal spending. Thus, only some of the men were affected by the army regulation to stop family allotments. It was these who had a puzzled relative in Australia knowing something was amiss when a regular payment to them was cut off with no explanation by the army.

On board the Wiltshire, as she ploughed through the ocean to Port Melbourne, Captain Alsop’s small medical team continued the gruesome treatments for gonorrhoea, syphilis, and chancroid that Colonel Brady Nash and Captain Plant had begun at Abbassia. Many of the patients, eager to be rid of disease, appear to have earnestly co-operated in these unpleasant episodes. They did not want to return still carrying an infection and be ‘discharged–medically unfit–VD’. These proud fellows had no intention of being dumped in Australia and having to make awkward explanations to those at home. They were fully committed to return to the war as soon as possible, using whatever means necessary, without anyone knowing about their premature return on the Wiltshire.

It appears, however, that some of the patients resisted the VD treatments, and resented the army for causing their troubles. They were sullen and unco-operative, and did not care what the army did to them on arrival in Melbourne, even if they were discharged. Indeed, it seems likely that some hoped this might happen. As soon as an opportunity presented, many of these rebels intended to ‘discharge themselves’ anyway, by ‘doing a bunk’. These characters did not care at all to return to the war, or explain anything to anybody.

We can safely assume then that, during this voyage, the private thoughts of each man and the conversations among the men revolved around one main question: how would each handle his predicament after he arrived in Melbourne? Rightly or wrongly, most believed that they were being sent home for sexual misconduct and that their career in the army, which was definitely uncertain, might end unpleasantly. The men who had agreed to allot part of their pay to a family member had a particularly heavy burden: they could expect questioning about why the flow of funds had suddenly ceased. Men who had stopped writing home after being sent to Abbassia must have known that the lack of news from them would be causing concern. Unbeknown to the men, the army was already receiving anxious letters of enquiry from parents and wives about this silence, and some letter writers had already been informed by the army that their man was returning to Australia for undisclosed medical reasons.

From what we know of the behaviour of the men of the Wiltshire in the months and years ahead, each had already decided that his foolishness in Egypt would be kept as a secret forever. Each had devised a story for concealing the truth about his inexplicable return. The Gallipoli men on board already had that story: all had been wounded or became ill during the battle, and Australians knew that invalided Gallipoli heroes were being sent home. The Gallipoli men on the Wiltshire were, if not quite in fact, also wounded heroes. They would say they were ‘invalided to hospital in Melbourne’ because of the wound, injury, or illness they had genuinely received at Gallipoli, and some had the scars to offer as proof.

Those who had not fought at Gallipoli had a difficult predicament. They had no easily invented story for being sent home so soon after those cheering farewells a few months before. For some, to avoid having to explain anything at all, plans for drastic action were forming in their imaginations. If their difficulties became too hard to handle, they would escape into the civilian population of Australia, travel as far away as they could manage with no money, and start their lives anew. They would do this, cured or not.

There was, of course, for all the men on board, a very attractive and plausible falsehood that could be used. Each could see he was being escorted by guards, each of whom was an invalid. As the journey progressed, the original party of 12 guards was supplemented by men who had embarked at Suez with infections, then subsequently been made healthy by Captain Alsop. Fit for duty once more, each of these lucky fellows realised he was now an ‘escort’ for the others. At least, that is how some of the cured men later described their, perhaps imagined, changed roles. Here was the story a worried man required, for each could say, if it came to it, that in Egypt he had been ‘unexpectedly assigned to be a member of the guard on a ship that had carried invalids back to Australia’. Who would be any the wiser?

There was another much bigger face-saving falsehood that could be used — a real corker, one guaranteed to shut up over-curious enquirers. Borrowing the intention of genuine Gallipoli men on board, a man who had not been at Gallipoli could pretend that he had been there. ‘Unfortunately, I was returned to Australia as an invalid because of what happened to me at Gallipoli.’ Later in this account, we shall see how this bold lie played out, and how families believed it, and its long-term consequences.

What did all these troubled men expect to find on their arrival at Port Melbourne? Would they be publicly treated as fools and suffer more humiliations when they reached home? Mercifully, the army arranged a discreet arrival for the ship. On the wet, windy evening of Friday 24 September 1915, there were no curious onlookers as the Wiltshire slowly pulled alongside Railway Pier. Instead, on Saturday morning, the men on board were met only by a number of officials from the Commonwealth Quarantine Service, whose job it was to ensure that none could contaminate any innocent citizen after leaving the ship.

To guarantee that no one got away, an armed militia escort from Langwarrin supervised the movement of the men, with their heavy kitbags, from ship to wharf, and then onto a special railway train that was waiting with its hissing steam locomotive on the pier. The 275 were then escorted for the last stage of the trip, chuffing through the Melbourne suburban railway network, far off to the south, where their long journey from Egypt finally ended at the railway siding right next to the isolation camp. All had to go to Langwarrin, including the 70 men who, according to Captain Alsop, ‘showed no signs of infection’.

Every man would now be medically examined at Langwarrin, and thus it would be the medical officers there who would decide which men would be released fit for duty, or be recommended for immediate discharge from the AIF because of medical unfitness, or remain in confinement for continuing treatment. For the men of the nef de fous, what might unfold for them at this place would determine their immediate futures. Would there be a happy ending, a release from the humiliation each had suffered since their infection had been discovered, far away and some time ago in Egypt?