The Spirit Lives On

Chapter 1

Great Grandfather fought in the Great War,

It was the bloodiest war he ever saw.

My Great Grandfather fought in the First World War; the one they called the ‘Great War’ and the ‘War to end all Wars’. He signed up with his mates, all just out of high school. None of them thought it would last long.

They were promised adventure, a chance to defend their country and a holiday to far off places. It was never as he could have ever imagined. He fought during World War 1, never giving up, and made it home alive, unlike some of his best mates. His story of courage and endurance is a story I am proud to know and share.

Looking up at the boat was daunting. I had never been on a boat before, let alone a huge army ship headed off for war. I could say I was excited about this adventure, but that would be a lie. I was too scared to even talk and I wasn’t the only one. Ma could barely say good-bye and only mumbled, ‘I Love You’, too overwhelmed with her worry and sorrow.

They boarded us onto the boat, bigger than most of the buildings around Melbourne town. There were men celebrating and throwing streamers off the boat, yet there was a mellow silence from the crowd waving goodbye.

We stopped at Albany, Western Australia, to join the other boats taking troops overseas. It was my first time to Western Australia, and compare how hot it was to Melbourne. From there we left to train in Egypt.

We were crammed into tiny spaces for weeks on end. The smell was unbearable and the endless hours nearly drove me insane. The boat stank of body odour, urine and sweat. There was often the odd smell of vomit too; whether it was due to the sea and waves or to the horrible cooking, I’ll never know.

The thing that kept me alive and sane was the promise of defending our country at the end of the trip. Yes, there were guys scared shitless, and I was one of them; we all wanted a bit of the action, a chance to be a hero. Some of the guys were betting on who would kill first. I was in on it, but I had no idea, because I’d never even held a gun. I was only 18.

In Egypt, we trained for a few weeks in the desolate landscape of sand. The sand was everywhere; it was there for breakfast, it was there in bed and it was in my underclothes. When we were finally boarded back onto the ships, I could say I was actually happy to be seasick.

After all that preparation, cleaning our guns, packing our supplies and getting our uniforms ready for battle, it was time.

It was early in the morning, of the 25th of April, when we landed. There was a low mist suspended just above the water, setting an eerie mood. There was total silence. All that could be heard was the waves swishing against the side of the boat. With our supplies on our backs and our guns in our hands, we waited for the order. ‘ATTACK!’

We jumped into the water, chilling us to the bone.

‘Strewth! This water is bloody freezing!’ Came from someone near me.

We swam, half drowning and weighed down by our packs, to the shore. Then came the bullets. Now we not only had to battle the waves of the water, but also the waves of gunfire.

Frank got hit in the shoulder. I turned when I heard him cry out. Most of the men just ran, leaving behind their fallen comrades, only caring about their own survival. Then there were others that showed bravery in the face of danger. I wasn’t either. Frank and I had known each other since we were young lads; I couldn’t just leave him. I hitched him onto my shoulder, and we crawled to the cliff face.

‘Keep it going Frank, there’s only 50 more feet to go.’ He tried to keep up for those last seconds; a man can only endure so much.

The moment he was laying in my arms was the moment my childhood ended. It was the day I became a man.

It was over. The decision to pull us out of this hellhole was finally made on the 7th of December. Now in January of 1916, only having taken 8 months of what I thought was useless fighting and a meaningless loss of thousands of lives; we were finally out of here.

We were loaded into the ship at night, making it look as if we were unloading supplies. There were distractions set up to make everything look normal to the Turks. A few of the men were even playing cricket I heard, although I was gone long before that. After a few days we were all out, and there had not been a single casualty.

Some of us were then transferred to the Western Front, as if one battle had not been enough. How can you compare what was worse? The hot sun and high cliffs of Gallipoli or the cold and damp countryside of war torn France?

Straight off the boats from Gallipoli, we were sent along the many trench lines to the front line. Trench warfare was unlike any warfare that had been seen before. I was just in time for the Battle of the Somme, which started on the 1st of July 1916. I was one of the lucky ones to make it out alive, unlike the 20,000 men who were slaughtered on the first day. The men knew they would surely be killed if they charged into No-Man’s Land, but they obeyed their officers’ orders and died like the men before them, because of the strong bond they shared with their comrades.

When the Yanks came over, the Triple Entente and allies were finally able to push back the Germans from the Western Front. And on the 11th of November at 11am in 1918, when the Armistice was signed, the First World War was finally over.

We were welcomed home to a heroes return, although many of the men I knew could never return to normal life after what they saw.

My Great Grandfather was only 18 when he went to fight in the ‘Great War’. He made it back alive, living for every moment. He had six children, wanting to create life, instead of destroying it.

Chapter 2

Grandpa Billy was born in 1921, the youngest boy of his father. He signed up for World War Two at the age of 18.

After hearing from his father about the Spirit of the Anzacs, Billy was obsessed.

After our training for the Australian Imperial Force, or the AIF, my division was sent to Changi, in Singapore. I wasn’t too happy about it, you know, being stationed so far away from what I thought was the real war.

Soon after we arrived, I got sick with dengue fever. It was hell, the hot and then the cold and then hot again. My muscles ached and I couldn’t move, I thought I was going to die. And then, I started getting better. It turns out that with the right medication and rest, the fever will eventually pass.

I was recovering in one of the army hospitals when something changed. The whole town suddenly got more serious and the streets were now crammed with people.

The hospital staff wouldn’t tell us what was going on, but we had an idea. Singapore had been close to Japanese invasion for a while now.

They moved the men who were deemed healthy or good enough to stand. My fever was now over, but my pain was only just about to begin. We learned quite soon anyway, that Singapore had surrendered to the Japanese.

The Japs treated us like animals and herded us like cattle. We were forced to walk in the heat and sun, only occasionally getting water or food.

We were too tired to move, let alone set the sleepers for their railway. Up early in the morning, hardly any food and surrounded by sickness was our new routine. We had medieval tools and basic supplies; how 415 kilometres of railway was ever completed, I’ll never know.

We all knew that we would never make it out alive, but we never said it out aloud. Men who you’d slept beside for weeks, told your deepest secrets and cried with, you would never see again. And the images of them lying dead in front of you, with gangrene and ulcers was forever etched in your mind.

We laid 12,000 sleepers, and for each of those that we lay, one life was lost.

One image that kept running through my mind was of Dad. If he could make it through a war and countless battles, then so could I. And all those stories he’d told me, about his mates and values, they really kept me going.

When they came for us, I nearly died with happiness. The war was over. I had survived against all they could throw at me.

Grandpa Billy never spoke of the War, or about him being a POW working on the Thai-Burma Railway. I think it was too painful to remember. But he wrote everything he ever thought about in his diaries when he got back from the War. The Japanese wouldn’t allow any diaries or notes to be kept by the prisoners. Only after my dad finished University did Grandpa Billy show Dad the diaries, and when he died a few years back, he gave them to Dad. This is his story.

Without the courage, resourcefulness and comradeship that the Anzacs forged, our Great Country would not be what it is today.

This is my family’s story, and I am the eldest daughter of my father. My brother is still young, in primary school. Maybe one day he too will carry on the tradition. But for now, the Spirit of the Anzacs lives on in each of us.