Anzac Day 2015: Pre-Dawn Service Readings by Captain Tim Brown

Representing the Royal Australian Navy, Captain Tim Brown commenced reading at 4.30 am.

Captain Hugh Knyvett describes the efforts of Sergeant Alex Ross, 57th Battalion:

When we tried to pick him up, one by the shoulders and the other by the feet, it almost seemed that we would pull him apart.

The blood was gushing from his mouth, where he had bitten through lips and tongue, so that he might not jeopardise, by groaning, the chances of some other man who was less badly wounded than he.

He begged us to put him out of his misery, but we were determined we would give him his chance, though we did not expect him to live.

But the sergeant threw himself down on the ground and made of his body a human sledge.

Some others joined us and we put the wounded man on his back and dragged them thus across no-man’s-land, through the broken barbed wire and shell-torn ground, where every few inches there was a piece of jagged shell, and in and out of the shell holes.

So anxious were we to get to safety that we did not notice the condition of the man underneath until we got to our trenches; then it was hard to see which was the worse wounded of the two.

The sergeant had his hands, face and body torn to ribbons, and we had never guessed it, for never once did he ask us to “go slow” or “wait a bit”.

Such is the stuff that men are made of.

Captain Albert McLeod, infantry officer 16th Battalion, wrote to his wife:

Well darling on 12 o’clock tonight we go over the parapet and then our fate is sealed.

The place is like hell but the sooner we get it over the better ... I’ll try love, for your sake, to do well and come through.

Remember me to baby when she is born.

God be with you for all time.

McLeod died in an accident while on leave, 5th of December 1916.

Mother – I will do my best to return to you but if I do get a smack you’ll have nothing to be ashamed of and nobody will say that you gave birth to a son who was afraid to die.

Lieutenant Willie Augustus Mann, 25th Battalion

In his diary entry for 24 August 1916, official war correspondent Charles Bean reflected on the death of his cousin, Lieutenant Leo Butler:

When we saw his coffin laid in the ground ... with six more or less close friends standing by the grave and a French farm labourer leaning on his scythe and a French farm women dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief, I couldn’t help wondering if it was worth it; whether there is anything gained in this war that justifies such sacrifices.

When he came to write the official history of Australia in the First World War – The Story of ANZAC, Bean pondered what made the Australian digger so special:

What was the dominant motive that impelled them?

It lay in the mettle of the men themselves.

To be the sort of man who would give way when his mates were trusting to his firmness ... to live the rest of his life haunted by the knowledge that he had set his hand to a soldier’s task and had lacked the grit to carry it through—that was the prospect which these men could not face.

Life was very dear, but life was not worth living unless they could be true to their idea of Australian manhood.

Harry Whiting wrote to his friend Hilda in 1919 from Villers Bretennoux, France describing his work in the exhumation parties for which he had volunteered.

Dear Hilda

You will note by the above that we have left Belgium and come back to France.  The reasons for evacuating Belgium were because 10 of us volunteered for the graves detachment battalion which is composed of 1100 men, a few from each battalion. Stan Merv and myself volunteered for to assist in the raising of the bodies of our dead comrades and place them in the ground which we have surveyed for this purpose.

The one which we are filling now is called the Adelaide Cemetery.  We are raising the bodies of Tommies, Yanks, Canadians, New Zealand and Australians. 

We started on Monday last and I can assure you it is a very unpleasant undertaking.

Nearly all the men we have raised up to date have been killed 12 months and they are far from being decayed properly, so you can guess the constitution one needs.  I have felt sick dozens of times, but we carry on knowing that we are identifying Australian boys who have never been identified.  They nearly all have some means of identification on them and we make a careful research for some, as it is cruel for their people’s minds not to set at rest to know that their sons have been located. 

Many Mothers picture their sons blown to pieces and no record, so now we hope to be able to identify 90% of the missing. 

Hilda it is heart breaking to see the way the poor fellows are buried, perhaps I should not tell you, then again it’s to no harm, but we find dozens of them just in one big lump with all their coats equipment gas helmet and all on and a heap of earth placed over them. 

Today I dug two up that were buried together - one was a Tommie and one an Aussie. The Aussies head was blown clean off and sticking in his steel helmet in the middle of the Tommies back. We have found many cases of a similar kind.

We will be a hard hearted crowd when we get back, after the sights we see and the many thousands we will have raised by that time.  All bodies are placed separately in large bags and buried that way.  For my part I would be pleased to see them remain where they were first placed to rest. 

We have a few hard hearted fellows on the work and they annoy the way they talk over the remains of the Heroes.  How thankful I am that my brothers Henry and Walter are placed decently away in a cemetery and will not have to be raised again.  I have been out to see their graves, which are at La Motte Santeurie.  I have had two marble slabs engraved to place on their crosses and when I can get sufficient tools I am going to nail both of their graves in.  We shall never again see them and I want to leave France knowing that I have done all within my power for both of them.  I have photos taken of them but none yet printed.

I think you will think this is a gruesome letter Hilda but the job we are now on which I believe will last 6 to 8 months is equal to it.  We don’t mind, but I would love to get back home for Christmas, as dear old mater is expecting us home for winter.  We could have been home by August, had we not volunteered for this, but many reasons are already explained, so God strengthen those who are awaiting our return.  We will feel that we have completed our duty when this most important job is finished.

Well Hilda how is tennis going around Adelong? I suppose O.K. We begin tennis here tomorrow (Good Friday).  We have a Tennis Club, Rugby League, Soccer, Australian Rules and Cricket, so you see we are well in for sport, but we need it here to relieve the mind from the work.  There are 1100 of us so we have to have some pleasure especially when we are in such a quiet place.  Villers Bretonneux is blown to pieces.  Amiens is the nearest town that is standing and it is 1kilosos from camp, but we go by car when we get our leave.

I have seen a great part of the world since I left Australia.

From

Your sincere friend

Harry.

Flying Officer Colin Flockhart, Royal Australian Air Force Pilot in Bomber Command wrote to his parents in late 1944:

Never regret having given me your consent to enlist.

I have been very proud to wear my uniform and have always striven to bring credit to the service as a whole.

I believe in the cause for which we are fighting... I love you all very dearly.

Please don’t think I’m pessimistic but I do realise what the odds are and I have seen too many of my friends pass on without leaving any words of hope or encouragement behind.

Cheerio and keep smiling though your hearts are breaking.

Colin Flockhart was killed on the 7th of January 1945

In a letter to his wife and seven children in April 1941, Acting Corporal John Johnson, 2nd 23rd Battalion, described life during the siege of Tobruk:

Just endeavouring to write you a few lines under rotten conditions ...

There are dozens of things I’d like to tell you but of course this is out of the question.

The fleas are very bad here but we are issued with powder which I think they must eat and enjoy because they still crawl on you all night despite the use of the stuff.

Picture armed cars, tanks, trucks, motor bikes, men, guns, hospital tents, holes in the grounds, shells bursting, artillery firing, aeroplanes flying, aircraft guns in action.

Night time air raids, flares, signal bullets red green white, searchlights, anti-aircraft shell bursting all over the sky.

Flash and glare of guns firing. War.

One month after he wrote this, Johnson was shot during fighting in an area known as the Salient; he refused medical attention until others had been attended to first, and died later that day.

When HMS Repulse was sunk in 1941, Lieutenant Paul Hays was told by the Medical Officer of the rescuing ship that one of his 17year old Australian midshipmen was seriously wounded and wanted to see him. He later wrote to his wife about this young officer:

Among the other Midshipman this young man had appeared the least developed. Immature for his age and often in trouble he had seemed and looked a near child. He had been hit at his action station by a machine gun bullet from the last strafing run by a Japanese aircraft. 

I asked to be alone with him and took his hand. He gave me a brave smile, which knifed into my heart and conscience for the previous admonishment I had bestowed on him. He held onto my hand with a firm little grip as though trying to express his last tangible feeling in the young life he must have known was slipping from him.

I have never before, or since, seen death, or the awareness of death, in that moment of truth, so transform youth to man. Suddenly he was adult, brave and silently perceptive of the tragedy in which we were both enmeshed. He died that evening.

Lieutenant Colin Simper wrote to his wife, Irene in 1945: 

I don’t think you understand my position here honey, admittedly I see a lot of dead and a lot of killing but it’s only the man who has it day and night for months on end that is liable to be affected by it; no I think you may rest assured it won’t affect me any unless it’s to make me love you more, and look forward to peace and our life together.

Colin Simper died of wounds at Tarakan, on the 9th of June 1945

Flying Officer Frederick Keck, No. 4.5.5 Squadron, RAAF, wrote home to his mother in March 1942:

Please don’t worry about what we are doing or what may happen to us.

Being your son’s means that whatever we do is to your credit and that if anything should happen to us you could still hold your head high.

We realise that this war must be far more trying for you than for us.

After all, we take things as they come and the inclination is to become blasé about everything concerned with the war other than carrying out our part of it with all the skill and success possible ...

Have been in several spectacular shows lately although I cannot mention them by name...

As you know, I am in Bomber Command and I have been treated to some remarkable sights.

The combination of red, yellow and green flak bursts, searchlights and tracer and huge fires at night is something apart from this world and has to be seen to be believed.

Within weeks of writing this letter, both Frederick and his brother, Kingwell, were both killed in their respective bombers.

Prisoner of War Stan Arneil, 2nd 30th Battalion, Australian Imperial Force, describes the return to Changi, from toiling on the Burma–Thai Railway:

It was a moonlight night and Changi with the tropical waters round the island was so beautiful.  I can still hear the squeal of the brakes as the trucks lined up.

The people from Changi knew we were coming, and they came over to see us, to look for old friends, and see how we were.

We got out of the trucks, a couple were dead and we laid them on the ground, and we lined up on the road.  We were not ashamed because we were soldiers, and we wanted to look like soldiers.

The people from Changi stood back and uttered not a word. It was really quite strange.

We lined up on the road as best we could and stood up as straight as we could.

Those who couldn’t stand up straight were on sticks.  And those who couldn’t stop shaking with malaria were held by their friends.

We thought this was what we should do as soldiers to say that we were not beaten.

The sergeant major dressed us off and we stood in a straight line as he went over and reported to Major Johnston.

Johnston went over to “Black” Jack Galleghan and he said, “Your 2/30th all present and correct sir.”

And Galleghan said, “Where are the rest?”

The major said, “They’re all here, sir”.

And we were.

Black Jack Galleghan, the iron man, broke down and cried.  It was an incredible scene. 

We wanted to show them we were soldiers.

Prisoner of War Petty Officer Ray Parkin, of HMAS Perth, describes his time on the Railway in January 1943:

In the night the trees are lighted by the rich ochre glow from the many fires ...

At the edge of the clearing, two clumps of bamboo, rising nearly one hundred feet, converge symmetrically in a great curve ...

Beneath this great arch, as the fires illuminate it, a few bamboos, broken, have fallen in from the sides.

This gives a strong suggestion of the pattern of a stain-glass window, whose motif is inscrutable.

The altar is simply the diffused light hung low on the curtain of smoke.  It is majestic and the black depth of it all is full of religious mystery. The blackness, the depth, the height, and the remote stars above is the Presence of ... whatever it is man longs for.

You can go to sleep with this feeling cuddled in your blanket ... or you needn’t.

And this is the area in which 320 cases of malaria have recently occurred; where only twelve per cent of the English prisoners are fit for work; where jungle sores fester and won’t heal; where dysentery is a scourge; where food is scarcely on the subsistence level; where work is hard.

But it is no good hating these things.  It is no good hating at all.

That could kill you.

The sight of beauty, patience coming from it, and thoughts of loving friends at home – these, I am sure, matter more.

Ray Parkin’s drawings and diary were hidden in a false bottom of “Weary” Dunlop’s operating table.

Note about copyright

The content within these readings is protected by copyright. If you wish to use or quote from these extracts, please contact the Memorial’s Research Centre via info@awm.gov.au or 02 6243 4315.