Section 4 of the Anzac Book

Anzac Types

WALLABY JOE

HIS real name matters little; suffice it that he was known among his comrades as "Wallaby Joe. "

He came to Gallipoli via Egypt with the Light Horse. Incidentally, he had ridden nearly a thousand miles over sun-scorched, drought-stricken plains to join them.

Age about 38. In appearance the typical bushman. Tall and lean, but strong as a piece of hickory. A horseman from head to toe, and a dead shot. He possessed the usual bushy beard of the lonely prospector of the extreme back blocks. Out of deference to a delicate hint from his squadron commander he shaved it off, but resolved to let it grow again when the exigencies active service should discount such finicky niceties.

His conversation was laconic in the extreme. When the occasion demanded it he could swear profusely, and in a most picturesque vein. When a bursting shell from a " 75 " on one occasion blew away a chunk of prime Berkshire which he was cooking for breakfast, his remarks were intensely original and illuminative.

He could also drink beer for indefinite periods, but seldom committed the vulgar error of becoming "tanked." Not even that locality "east of Suez," where, as the song tells us, " There ain't no Ten Commandments and a man can raise a thirst," could make his steps erratic.

He was very shy in the presence of the softer sex. On one occasion his un-wary footsteps caused him some embarrassment. Feeling thirsty he turned into one of those establishments, fairly common in Cairo, where the southern proprietors try to hide the villainous quality of their beer by bribing sundry young ladies of various nationalities and colours to give more high-class vaudeville turns. The aforementioned young ladies are aided and abetted by a coloured orchestra, one member of which manipulates the bagpipes.

A portly damsel had just concluded, amidst uproarious applause, the haunting strains of " Ta-ra-ra boom-de-ay." She sidled up to Joe with a large-sized grin on her olive features. "Gib it kiss," she murmured, trying to look ravishing. But Joe bad fled.

Henceforth during his stay in Egypt he took his beer in a little Russian bar, the proprietor of which could speak English, and had been through the Russo-Japanese War. When the Light Horse were ordered at last to the front, Joe took a sad farewell of his old bay mare. He was, as a rule, about as sentimental as a steamroller, but "leaving the old nag behind hurt some".

On the Peninsula and under fire his sterling qualities were not long in coming to the surface. Living all his life in an environment in which the pick and shovel plays an important part lie proved himself an adept at sapping and mining. At this game he was worth four ordinary men. No matter how circuitous the maze of trenches, he could find his way with ease. He could turn out all sorts of dishes from his daily rations of flour, bacon, jam, and of course the inevitable " bully " and biscuits. An endless amount of initiative showed itself in everything he did. His mates learned quite a lot of things just by watching him potter about the trenches and bivouacs. His training at the military camps of Australia and, later, in Egypt, combined with the knowledge he had been imbibing from Nature all his life, made him an ideal soldier.

He was used extensively by his officers as a scout. As the Turkish trenches were often not more than twenty yards from our own, needless to say the scouting was done at night, the Turks' favourite time to attack being just before dawn. Often during these nocturnal excursions a slight rustle in the thick scrub would cause his mate to grasp his rifle with fixed bayonet and peer into the darkness, with strained eyes and cars and quickened pulse.

"A hare," Joe would whisper, and probably advise him to take things easy while he himself watched. 
This went on for some time until one night his mate came in alone, pale-faced and wild-eyed. Interrogated by the officer on duty, he informed him that Joe had been shot.

We brought the body in. He had been shot through the heart - a typical affair of outposts.

Tucked away in one of the innumerable gullies, a little grave, one among hundreds, contains the body of one of Nature's grand men. On the wooden cross surmounting it is the following :

W. R. C., 8th A.L.H

Webmasters note. This is the first recorded mention of Trooper Redgum, a fictional character created to represent ALL Lighthorsemen. Of course the Unit (20th Lt Horse) did not exist in the AIF at that stage either. Redgum is a very common type of Australian eucalyptus tree.

THE DAG

YES; 'Enessy was a dag if ever there was one ! I remember the day 'e came into camp at Liverpool 'e was wearin' 'is best Sunday grin, and when some bloke wot was in the mob yelled out - Marmalade," 'e turns round and says to 'im: " Wot's your complaint, mate?" The bloke 'e repeats Marmalade." And 'Enessy says: Ah! ,rhat's wot I thought it was. You'd better see a doctor, and 'ave it operated on right away, me man!"

'E could eat like a 'orse. Blime! The way 'e used ter stoke tip on ther bread and jam was a treat for sore eyes. 'E always used ter ask to be put on the job of picket round the quartermaster's store, and they never tumbled to 'is game for a long while.

 'E used ter  watch 'is chance, and every night would slip in and pinch a loaf of bread and a tin of jam, and as 'is job consisted of keeping the cook's fire a-going all night he always 'ad a cup of coffee 
when 'e wanted it. One night 'e nips into the store to git 'is usual bit of and 'e bangs right into the bIoke wot was just put in new at tho Q.M. that day.

"Wot are you doin' 'ere?"' asks the bloke. - Blime! I thought I 'ad a fair cop," says 'Enessy, quick as lightning. I 'card someone moving about in and thought it was a chap pinchin' stuff . "

" And who are you?" says the bloke. "Me! I'm the bloomin' picket," says 'Enessy.

" Oh! Alright, picket," replies the bloke. "I sleep in here, so you needn't worry about the store while I'm here." " Alright, mate!" says 'Enessy.

Can yer give us a bit of grub? Fair dinkum, I'm 'ungry!" So 'e gets 'is grub after all, but 'e couldn't come the double no more after that.

When 'e came over the water and first sees the Turkish trenches, 'e says : " Strike me pink! But where's them Turks they talk about?"

Says I : " They're right there behind them sandbags, old cock! And don't you forget it, neither ! "

"And don't they come out and show themselves?" 'e asks. " Wot for?" says I. "Why, for us blokes to shoot at, of course !" he says.

One mornin' early while we was standin' to arms 'e lights up a bumper, so I tells 'im not to let the officer cop 'im or there'd be trouble. Just then along comes the bloomin' officer, so 'Enessy sticks 'is lighted bumper down south into 'is overcoat pocket, and 'olds it there out of sight. The officer sniffs about a bit, then he asks 'Enessy "Are you smoker?" "No, sir!" says Enessy.

Well, I can smell smoke!" says the officer. Then 'e looks pretty hard at 'Enessy and says "What's your name? " "Henessy, sir." Well, Henessy, your pocket's on fire ! "

'Enessy looks, and hang me if that bloomin' cigarette 'adn't set fire to 'is coat pocket. But the officer only says: "Don't do it again!" and whips off.

It was when we came out of the firin'-line for a week's spell that 'Enessy met 'is Waterloo. 'E was detailed for guard down at the drinkin' water, and he was to take all his nap and camp down there. The first night, when 'e was doin' 'is shift 'e sees a dark shape movin' along and challenged it three 
times, but never gets no answer.

So he ups with 'is gun and lets fly. When the corporal rushes along to know what the blazes was the matter, 'E'nessy ups and tells 'im, so they goes forward together pretty careful, and soon they sees a black heap lyin' on the sand ahead of them. Gor blime! If 'Enessy 'adn't gone and shot one of them poor little Indian donkeys which had strayed along the beach. Well, 'e was chaffed pretty considerable by 'is cobbers,* and got fairly sick of hearin' about it.

Next night when 'c was doin' 'is shift again, 'c sees another black shape movin' along the beach, so thinkin' 'is cobbers were havin' a joke with 'im, 'e picks up a big stick and goes forward with it. 'E 'ad gone about twenty yards, when suddenly there was a flash and a report, and 'Enessy drops down with a bullet through 'is chest. Strike me pink I A real Abdul 'ad come up this time, and it wasn't no bloomin' donkey, neither. 'Enessy was it pretty bad, but 'e grabs 'is rifle and lets fly, and one more bloomin' Abdul 'ad gone to join 'is Prophet. Next day 'Enessy was taken away on a 'ospital ship, but that was near three months ago.

I 'ear that the blighters is back on the beach now, and you will be able to see him yourself when 'e comes back to the squadron. But strike me! 'E's a bloomin' dag !

BOBBIE OF THE NEW ARMY

Where the foe and the stranger will tread o'er their heads

When we're far away on the billow."

Bobbie had grown quite proud of his staying powers, which carried him through three months of real hardship and trying work night and day. But for Bobbie's smile in adversity and his way - for he has a way with, him - many of his brave boys would have given up. But Bobbie's bright example spurred them on and they " stuck it, " like their idol.

Bobbie's only a youngster, but he is made of the real " stuff that's bred in the army." When he found himself exalted to the command of a company his head didn't swell. The added responsibilities were not too heavy for Bobbie's shoulders, which really were not broad relatively when compared with his broad smile. Bobbie acted like a tonic to a man run-down.

But, at last, Nature (in collusion with the M.O.) asserted her imperious will, and Bobbie just had to go to hospital. So Bobbie bowed to the inevitable, and, still smiling, went away. Bobbie in hospital! What a picture! His bright smile, his rosy checks, and his immaculately parted hair, framed in snowy-white pillows. Bobbie-the irresistible!

Bobbie, we were loath to lose you; Bobbie, we miss you; but~ Bobbie, won't there be a weeping and a wailing when the nurses have to let you go?

Still, "it's an ill wind that blows nobody good. " Bobbie's chocolate sweetened the bitterness of parting; Bobbie's tinned fruit sustains us in his absence; Bobbie's cigarettes soothe our sorrow.

"TENTMATE", 11th London Regt.

Indian Mule Corps

I often marvel on a rough day, when the loaded carts, nearly up to their axles in mud or sand, are beached on that wild seashore, on the watery edge of which they are kept during the day; and wonder still more when, after standing there for a few hours, the mules draw them out when the convoy leaves at night. For the mules do not like the sea, and when the weather is rough it is very difficult to get the little beasts anywhere near it.

One thing, however, really does hang up work for a time, and that is " Beachy Bill " in action. Even then some of the "Johnnies," who are less fearsome than the rest, go on with their work, and have from time to time been hit.

Therefore, all praise to the Indian Mule Corps.

B. R.

HILL 60

• AS some far swimmer, turning, views once more 
  • England's white cliffs, and strongly cleaves t'ward shore, 
  • But, tide-encumbered, faints; so far and dear 
  • Thy crystal arms and pillared throat appear, 
• Love, to thy soldier who makes earth his bed 
  • In this grey catacomb of unnamed dead. 
  • Thy voice, o'er tossing seas of eves and dawns, 
  • Comes like dim music heard on magic lawns; 
• And, when in prayer thou kneelest, this grim brow 
  • Feels the cool benison of hands which thou 
  • Wouldst often grant. Now know I 'twas not vain 
  • Our love, whose memory softens present pain.

C. J. N.

JENNY

But whether her immunity for six months was due to the kindness of the Turks or their bad shooting, or her own good judgment, who can say ?

Jenny's origin is enveloped in some obscurity; but it is said that with her parents, Murphy of Red Cross fame and Jenny Senior, she toddled into our lines when quite a mite; and, once having crossed over the border into civilisation, the three emphatically refused return whilst the objectionable Hun element obtained in their native  country.*

Jenny the younger was no mere mystic mascot for the humouring of an especially created superstition. Her congenial company and high spirits, her affectionate ways and equable temperament, were the factors which gained for her the obvious rank of "Camp Pet." Her friendly regular visits will be missed, and the picture of her patrician bead and dark-brown shaggy winter's coat. Her refined voice was music compared with the common " hee-haw " which characterises her kind, or the peremptory foghorn of the Sergeant Major.

But now she is no more. Our sorrow is immeasurable. The mother never left the babe whilst it suffered excruciating agony through a deadly shrapnel pellet. Skilful, indefatigable attention, innumerable applications of the " invincible iodine," proved futile. Jenny Senior is grief-stricken, and now lies upon the neat little grave in which her infant was placed by the big Australian playmates who now mourn their irreparable loss.

F. C. DUNSTAN, L.-C., B Depot, 6th A.A.S.C.

MARCHING SONG

• Boots, belt, rifle, and pack-
  • All you'll need till you come back;
  • All you'll doff when you lie down to sleep;
  • All they'll take off when they bury you deep.
  • Boots, belt, rifle, and pack.
• Boots that went light down the Suffolk lane 
  • Will shuffle and drag ere they tread it again. 
  • Nails that rang gay on the cobbled street 
  • Will have pierced through the sock into somebody's feet. 
  • Boots, belt, rifle, and pack.
• Belt-for water-bottle and sword: 
  • One to save life; the other - oh, Lord! 
  • 'Fore you've finished with them, you bet, 
  • One will be dry and the other wet.
  • Boots, belt, rifle, and pack.
• Rifle-the soldier's only friend 
  • True, if you treat her well, to the end: 
  • Feed her with five, and the tune she'll play 
  • Will reach the heart of a Turkish Bey.
  • Boots, belt, rifle, and pack.
• Pack-that holds what a man most wants: 
  • A shirt, an overcoat, socks and pants, 
  • A Bible, a photo of heart's desire; 
  • But you'll throw it away when you charge - or retire.
  • Boots, belt, rifle, and pack.
• Leather and canvas, steel and wood, 
  • They'll stand by you if you're good; 
  • Keep them oiled and keep them dry, 
  • They'll see you home safely - by and by.
  • Boots, belt, rifle, and pack.

C. J. N.

FURPHY

That sort of puzzled him. He said he was a tall man - no, be thought he was only middle height or perhaps a bit on the small side. His hair was dark - no, now that he thought a bit, he fancied it was fair. In fact, the more he tried to describe him the less could be remember him. " He's my Moses, " I said, and hurried off in in the direction he had gone.

Passing through the sap to Shrapnel Gully, I met another friend. " Heard the latest?" he inquired. I said " No." " Four Italian staff officers seen on the beach to-day, " he said breathlessly. " Two hundred thousand Italian troops being sent here." " Who told you?" I asked. " Fellow just going into White's Valley. " "What was he like?" I inquired excitedly. " An ordinary fellow-not tall, and not short. "

" His hair?" " Well, it wasn't dark-yes, it was-no, I don't know." " How did he walk?" " I never noticed," he said; " in fact, he didn't seem to walk at all. I left him standing, and got down the sap and over into White's Valley in a record time, and bumped into another acquaintance. " Heard the news?" he said. Why, three hundred thousand Italians have landed at Helles, and Achi Baba is to be taken to-night."

I asked who his informant was, and he began to flounder into contradictions. I rushed off, knowing that I was well on the track of Furphy. In Victoria Gully I heard that Romania had declared war, and 400,000 troops were marching through Bulgaria to Constantinople.

"Who told you? What was be like?" I gasped at the teller. "Just a bloke, " was the answer. 'E 'ad two legs, two arms, and a head, two eyes-" Then he added in a puzzled fashion: " But, dammit, did 'e ? "

I didn't wait any longer, but was off again. At Shell Green I heard that a man-just a feller, rather-had told them that the Russians had surrounded and captured Hindenburg's army, and that 500,000 Russians were to make a landing in Turkey. The Russian officers were here already. The man who had seen them had just passed five minutes before. I wasn't fax from Furphy now.

At Chatham's Post they were buzzin," with excitement over the news that 600,000 French were going to be landed between Gaba Tepe and Helles.

I asked if they thought it was true, and they assured me that they had heard it from a man who looked as if he knew. No two descriptions of him, however, agreed. I was getting closer to Furphy.

I hurried along the trenches as fast as I could, but got no information till near Lone Pine, where I heard that a big mob of Turks was expected to surrender that night. It was said they could not face the prospect of the coming landing of the whole Italian army. Besides, they were short of food and water, they were being badly treated by their officers, and their guns had hardly any ammunition left. A 75 just then knocked a portion of parapet over me. I remarked that anyone could see the information was right about Abdul being short of ammunition, but where did the information come from?

" A fellow that just went by," they said; " looked like a staff officer." Getting near Steele's Post, I saw in front of me a man with an indescribable gait. He seemed to float along instead of walk. It was Furphy!

I hurried, but seemed to make no gain on him. I began to run. Near Courtney's Post I was twenty yards from him, and called to a man to stop him. My quarry brushed past. I put on a spurt. I was within about five yards of him when, all of a sudden, he sank into the earth. As his head disappeared he smiled an oily grimace at me.

And I noticed that there were small horns behind his ears.

Q. E. D.

FROM MY TRENCH

• A clear, cold night, and in the southern air 
  • Those far-off thunderings so often there; 
  • A Turkish moon is shining fitfully
  • My thoughts are 'neath another moon where we 
• Paced slowly through the tree sterns-you and I. 
  • And, looking back at yon farewell, I sigh 
  • And wonder whether then I cared as much 
  • As now I do when far beyond your touch.

Cpl. Comus, 2nd Batt., A.I.F.

• We've drunk the boys who rushed the hills,
  • The men who stormed the beach,
  • The sappers and the A.S.C.,
  • We've had a toast for each;
• And the guns and stretcher-bearers
  • But, before the bowl is cool,
  • There's one chap I'd like to mention,
  • He's a fellow called ABDUL.
• We haven't seen him much of late
  • Unless it be his hat,
  • Bobbing down behind a loophole
  • And we mostly blaze at that;
• But we hear him wheezing there at nights,
  • Patrolling through the dark,
  • With his signals-hoots and chirrups
  • Like an early morning lark.
• We've heard the twigs a-crackling,
  • As we crouched upon our knees,
  • And his big, black shape went smashing,
  • Like a rhino, through the trees.
• We've seen him flung in, rank on rank,
  • Across the morning sky;
  • And we've had some pretty shooting,
  • And-he knows the way to die.
• Yes, we've seen him dying there in front
  • Our own boys died there, too-
  • With his poor dark eyes a-rolling,
  • Staring at the hopeless blue;
• With his poor maimed arms a-stretching
  • To the God we both can name
  • And it fairly tore our hearts out
  • But it's in the beastly game.
• So though your name be black as ink
  • For murder and rapine,
  • Carried out in happy concert
  • With your Christians from the Rhine,
• We will judge you, Mr. Abdul,
  • By the test by which we can -
  • That with all your breath, in life, in death,
  • You've played the gentleman.

C. E. W. B.