15. Letters and Diaries
WW1- Extracts from Soldiers Letters/Diaries
Saluting their Service - Grahame Old
Letters
Soldiers at war eagerly await letters from home, the news momentarily taking them home, away from the horrors of war. When time permits they write back, some painting a mundane picture of their lot in an attempt to shield their loved one from the actual carnage, others write of a more personal note. The following are two extracts from copies of letters home from Soldiers on service during WW1.
A Last Letter Home
On the Eve of the Landing on Gallipoli Peninsula soldiers penned last minute letters to their loved ones at home. The following is an extract from a letter written by an officer of the 6th Infantry Battalion AIF to his wife:
‘We are on the eve of landing on the Peninsula Dearie, this may be my last (letter) to you. But cheer up and if I fall tomorrow morning, well, I will be one of the many brave fellows who have died trying to do their duty for God and Country We are about to land in the face of the enemy I have your testament in my hand and as I gaze at our little daughter Boyne…….I think I have been a brute to you all for this life with all its danger, but I don’t know, I can’t explain, the only thing I can say is that if I didn’t come I wouldn’t be worthy of my name…….I must say goodbye to you my darling wife. I trust that the Almighty in His mercy will guard my life and bring us together when we will live a holy and happy life till He us two part in twain. Goodbye love and God bless you and my darling little Boyne. Your loving and true hubby, Jack.’
Major John William Hamilton died in action the next day 25 April 1915, near Lone Pine, Gallipoli Peninsula.
A Brigade Commander in Tears
Australia’s own famed 15th AIF Brigade Commander, Brigadier General Harold Edward (Pompey) Elliott was a prolific writer. His biography is told through his letters home to his wife, in which he describes the horrors of war, the failures of higher command and his love for his soldiers. Elliott had argued aggressively against the decision from British high command to attack firmly entrenched enemy at Fromelles, France in 1916, he insisted that the plan was flawed and would result in a ‘bloody holocaust’, however he was overruled, and the attack took place. The following is an extract from a letter written to his wife following that disastrous Battle of Fromelles:
‘The battle is over. My brave boys have done all that man could do. We are going to send out rescue parties tonight. It has been impossible during the day to get men out as the Germans have been shelling us badly, many must perish slowly and miserably for want of attention in that no man’s land. God help us all, it is cruel indeed. The casualties will be worse I fear than even the landing at Gallipoli. I must stop now, dear love, for I am very weary and there is still much to do to help my boys’.
Fromelles was, as Elliott had predicted, a disaster and remains the worst 24 hrs in Australian military history. The AIF 5th Division lost 5,533 casualties, 1804 were from Elliott’s 15th Brigade. Pompey Elliott was ‘distraught’ he had predicted the result, tried to prevent it and now had to deal with the aftermath. He greeted survivors with ‘tears streaming down his face’.
Diaries
There are many diaries kept by soldiers during war, some held in museums some still held and cherished by families. Soldiers recorded their daily activities, their anger, their sorrow, their longing for home. Many were well written accounts of the war from a soldier’s perspective, later turned into best-selling novels. The following extracts are taken from diaries kept by ordinary private soldiers during WW1.
Somme Mud a novel by E.F. Lynch
Private Edward Francis Lynch, from NSW, enlisted into the Army for WW1 at just eighteen years of age, he served with 45th Infantry Battalion and survived that terrible conflict. Lynch kept a diary of his service and after the war he turned his devastating experiences on the Western Front into the history novel ‘Somme Mud’. The novel is considered among the best written war experiences of an Australian Infantryman in France. The following are extracts from the novel:
1916; ‘It’s the end of the 1916 winter and the conditions are almost unbelievable. We live in a world of Somme mud. We sleep in it, work in it, fight in it, wade in it and many of us die in it. We see it, feel it, eat it and curse it, but we can’t escape it, not even by dying.’
27 April 1918; ‘We are marching in platoons to the front, we are to go in at Villers-Bretonneux. We know that our 13th and 15th Brigades took the village back from Fritz on the 25th, just two days ago. We’ve been told that Amiens can be seen from Villers-Bretonneux and therefore Fritz will be sure to have a go to retake it, so we expect fireworks. Near the village now We are halted near a crossroad. A large crucifix stands here bearing a life-size figure of Christ, all shot about by shrapnel. Within a radius of thirty yards we count eleven dead men of some British Regiment and four dead Aussies. These crossroads have been a death-trap. Men have bled and died here. Christians killed by Christians and over there poor bodies, the gigantic cross of Christ! A shrapnel-torn, bullet-marked symbol of the cross upon which Christ died for men. We look at the cross and those fifteen bodies lying so still around it and wonder, thinking queer, half-logical reasoning’s we can’t well express’.
Same evening; ‘Snow touches my arm and nods towards the ground. A young Australian boy lies dead at our feet. Still clasped in his two hands is a letter he has been reading as his life ebbed away. Opening and reading a letter with death approaching to dim his eyes forever. Poor little chap! His dying thoughts were centred on his letter and its beloved writer back in Australia’.
Gallipoli through the eyes of A ‘Collie Boy’
Thomas William McNamara 1593 Corporal 11th Infantry Battalion
Thomas enlisted in September 1914; his listed next of kin was his mother Mrs Ellen Elizabeth Clarke, Sheffield, England. He went ashore at Gallipoli with WA’s own 11th Battalion. Badly wounded at Gallipoli, Thomas McNamara went on to serve in France but was later deemed unfit for further service and sent home to Australia in 1917. He returned to Collie working as a hairdresser, he lived in Wittenoom St. Thomas McNamara was a talented writer who kept a diary during his WW1 service. The following extracts are from his diary published in the book, ‘Game To The Last’, the history of the 11th Australian Infantry Battalion at Gallipoli (James Hurst).
Gallipoli Report’s
Description of an Anzac Morning; ‘The soft warm sun of early morning dispersing the mists around Imbros…and casting a glistening sheen on the glass smooth waters of the Aegean Sea. The brightly coloured hospital ship…rides serenely at anchor…two destroyers are making a leisurely inspection. Farther out the sun’s rays pick out the transports, and the warships’.
Report on Gallipoli Action; ‘The first shell of the morning bursts with a crash and a whine of shrapnel, whilst the white acrid fumes float away on the morning breeze like a fleece of freshly scoured wool, and the smell of wild Thyme and dead men is borne on the air’.
Effects of enemy shelling on a fatigue party with orders to carry ammunition to the line; ‘ ‘Without pause, for what seemed an eternity but was really only the space of about five minutes, the shells- one, two, three, four; one, two, three, four- exploded with deadly accuracy. The air became thick with clouds of choking smoke to which was added the dust churned by the spattering bullets. Nose caps and shell-cases struck the ground with sickening thuds to rebound aimlessly into the air and then fall back to rest. The men at the head of the column got through safely and those at the gully-mouth sought cover under low cliffs. As to the remainder, most, alas, lay across or near the boxes they were bearing, some tossing or writhing in agony, others perfectly still in the grotesque, huddled attitudes common to those who are violently blasted to death’.
Remembered Forever at the Collie Cardiff RSL Sub Branch
‘Lest we Forget’