Home from the hell of the front

War changed young Tasmanian men’s lives forever, writes Reg A. Watson

IT WAS 99 years ago that our Tasmanian Anzacs came home. Home to Tasmania, away from the hell of war. Home to recover and home to start their life again. It was hard to do.

What name should we give our particular Tasmanian Anzac? Billy is a good name, but his name varied, as did his background and personality. And why did he go in the first place? No doubt there were various reasons. Patriotism? Duty and obligation? Social pressure? A chance of adventure? Perhaps escaping from some problem that existed for him?

Whatever reason, he left the security of his home and went to war. We tend to think most of our Anzac chaps were from the rural areas of Tasmania, but even in 1914, as it is now, most lived in the cities — Hobart, Launceston, Burnie and Devonport. Their occupations were tram, bus and train drivers, bank clerks, sales assistants, factory workers, tradesmen, and on a broader scale, farm labourers, fishermen, forest workers and deck hands. Officers were mainly professional people, clergymen, accountants, vets, chemists, doctors and lawyers.

Billy was young, not much more than a boy. He stood five feet and eight inches tall. He had just began shaving and his complexion was still fresh, but that would change. Perhaps he was one of the 11 who enlisted from Melton Mowbray in the Midlands. Or one of the 60 who enlisted from Gormanston or one of the 11 to enlist from Old Beach.

We can visualise Billy on that fateful morning when he was to leave, packing his bag. Maybe his dad was well off enough to own a car and take him to the train station. Before leaving he said goodbye to his family by hugging mum who had tears in her eyes, a manly handshake from dad, a kiss from his sisters and a handshake from his brothers, who were in awe of him.

Mum wondered what the war had to do with “us”, while dad was proud of his son, now in uniform. Dad said he was brave which they also said at the community hall when the locals put on a supper to wish him godspeed and best wishes. There he said goodbye to his “girl”. Would they even see each other again?

Yes, dad said he was “brave” but deep down he felt a foreboding, a feeling of not wanting to really go. But he had signed, he was in uniform, had made his commitments and was to leave. Training would be first at Claremont before being shipped to war. Funny, though, he did not feel brave, but he believed he was going to do what was expected of him.

Off he sailed on the Indian Ocean. The transport ship was overcrowded and the trip was long. They spent their time exercising, smoking, playing cards, gambling, boxing and in shooting practice. The meals were reasonable, but theft was rife. The officers had cabins and ate their meals separately. There were numerous cases of insubordination, of sickness and fighting, and one bloke jumped overboard, never to be seen again.

Finally Billy was taken off the ship for further training. Then to the battle zone where the real tests were to be experienced. Perhaps our Billy first went to Gallipoli where he took ill with dysentery and after recovering was wounded in the shoulder by shrapnel. He was taken to one of the hospital ships where he met remarkable Tasmanian Matron Elizabeth (Liz) Orr, who after the war had a breakdown because of her service to our men.

If Billy survived Gallipoli he would be sent to the Western Front and if he thought he had seen the worst horror of war, he would see much more in France and Belgium. There perhaps he saw General John Gellibrand, Tasmania’s most decorated soldier; a brave, humane man who clashed with General Monash over the unnecessary casualties.

The eucalyptus and the alluring paddocks of Tasmania were replaced for Billy by mud holes so deep you could drown in them and a landscape which was, because of incessant bombardments, similar to the moon landscape. Men’s wounds and suffering would

torment him in monstrous dreams for the rest of his life.

He was to write home expressing his thoughts, but never letting them know the true story.

After all, they would worry and he would not want that.

Yet somehow he survived it all. Sick several times, wounded twice. On occasions when on leave he visited Paris the Old Blighty (England). He had relatives in London so when there he looked them up and they gave him a mighty reception. As an Australian he was a hero.

On November 11, 1918, it was all over and to Tasmania Billy would return. He did return to his home, but he felt a stranger to his parents and the boy they sent away came back as a man. They were painfully aware he had suffered and seen much.

He was one of the lucky ones. Nearly 3000 Tasmanians died in the war and nearly 9000 were wounded. All returned emotionally and psychologically affected.

Billy had recovered from his wounds, but many of his comrades came back without legs or arms, or both. Some came back with parts of their faces missing. Many coughed uncontrollably because of the gas attacks. Some were so bad mentally they were sent to the asylum at New Norfolk to spend the rest of their days there.

Yes, Billy was lucky. He eventually married his girl and had a family, only to see his son join once again for another war.

The eucalyptus and the alluring paddocks of Tasmania were replaced by mud holes so deep you could drown in them