[Transcribed by Rex Minter and Betty Smith for the State Library of New South Wales]
My first shot with the rifle – can't stand the damned noise. Hit the target, don't know how I manage it. I know I shall never be able to shoot at a man. [page 6 - October, 1914]
Steam out of Albany, A greyish day - Nature is sad, she weeps for us as we steam away close up to the great bluffs of the coast of Western Australia. Far away astern of us there are a few grey specks getting ever smaller – the last sight of Australia - `tis most fitting that the dusk should be creeping on, for it was seven years ago that I saw these same specks of land at the dawn of a glorious day – that was my first of Australia, the land which has been so much to me, which gave me my great chance in life, which I now leave perhaps for ever. [page 16 - December 30, 1914]
In the distance one can just discern the Dardenelles opening up – the thunder of the guns is much clearer – the weather this morning is beautiful; what will it be to-night?
Studies, I have eaten well . I can now see fire from the guns. I wonder which of the men round me has been chosen by Death.
I do not feel the least fear, only a sincere hope that I may not fail at the critical moment.
5.30p.m. we are on the battlefield, well under the fire of the enemy – it is difficult to realise that every burst of flame, every spurt of water, means Death and worse. For days before we reached the final scene in the “Great Adventure” we could hear the ceaseless thunder of the bombardment, we have been told of the impossible task before us, of probable annihilation; yet we are eager to get to it we will not be found wanting.
The Assembly is sounded – I have never seen it answered with such alacrity – there is a loud cheer as we gather
pelting us like anything. The ships are keeping the tip of the ridges under a continual line of fire – am just told that we have landed 20,000 men. We are transferring into the boats – it is raining lead – Turks firing wide.
It was a relief to get ashore; we were packed so tightly in the boats and moreover so heavily laden with out kit that, had a shot hit the boat, we should have had no chance of saving ourselves – it was awful the feeling of utter helplessness. Meanwhile the Turks pelted us hot and fast. [page 37-38 - April 25, 1915]
A rather amusing experience happened to me – there is one particular open space so well set by snipers that few men have been able to get across it – a stream of dead marks its length, it is called “Dead Man's Patch” – I had to cross this space many times; it would have taken too long to go a more circuitous route for all messages were very urgent – upon this occasion, I crept into the bushes which fringed this bare patch and took my breath ready for my dash across – I lunged forward – the seat of my pants caught in the bushes, and I hung by them! I was in a terrible funk, for then the snipers got busy – I felt as if I had been hanging there ages, though I don't suppose it was very long – at last I tore myself off.When I got the other side of the Patch, my now unseemly garb sent the lads into roars of laugher – certainly it was more hygienic than comfortable, and it was some days before I had a chance to dock for repairs. [page 45 - April 28, 1915]
I cannot write – it is all too terrible, too sad – later, if I'm not killed, I shall write these experiences. [page 48 - April 30, 1915]
wash for a week – go down to the Water Hole, which is always covered by Turkish snipers - it was safer in the trenches than here – all around this spot are dead and wounded who have been hit when dodging round this corner; however, one must drink, even if the price be Death.Make dug-outs in our rest camps, but men are continually getting caught by the snipers. Many are commencing to suffer from dysentery, thought the spirit of the men is splendid, always ready for a joke.
Signaller Walker just hit in the mouth – we considered we were out of range in our dug-out but the snipers are everywhere. Sergeant of the machine gun is writing a very amusing diary, full of humour; I wish I had his spirit.In the dug-out just above me a poor chap is lying very ill but has asked me to say nothing to the medical officer as he does not want to get sent away in the middle of the fun, as he calls it. Of such stuff are soldiers made – I think if I were in his place I`d be glad of an excuse to get out of this Hell, though I don`t think I should ever have forgiven myself if I had not come.I hear that to-morrow we are to make a charge – the Turks are cutting our supplies off; the situation is severely critical. To read this in a newpaper makes an item of passing interest; to experience it is something quite different. [page 49 - May 1, 1915]
Dawn. Oh God, only 250 left of our battalion – there has been a ceaseless stream of wounded, many cases have died on the way down, until in most places the narrow pass is so cumbered with dead and badly wounded waiting for the stretchers that it is becoming impassable – along the edge, bodies are hanging in all sorts of grotesque and apparently impossible attitudes. Seeing those fine stalwart men going up the gully
to reinforce and shortly returning, frightfully maimed and covered with blood – I don't think I shall ever be able to forget this; it's horrible. [page 57-58 - May 3, 1915]
I am getting so weak that I have to sit down and rest every few yards – one gap which was exposed to snipers I was told to run across but hadn't the strength to do it; I had to take my time and my chance of being picked off. This doesn't worry me much, I think I am about done – thank God men of my temperament are few and far between – I am quite satisfied that I'll never make a soldier; a thousand pities to have been born an artist at a time like this – I do wish I could take War in the same spirit with which my comrades face its horrors. [page 60 - May 5, 1915]
Dawn. The roll is called – how heart-breaking it is – name after name is called; the reply a deep silence which can be felt, despite the noise of the incessant crackling of rifles and screaming of shrapnel – there are few of us left to answer to our names – just a thin line of weary, ashen-faced men; behind us a mass of silent forms, once our comrades – there they have been for some days, we have not had the time to bury them. [page 65 - May 11, 1915]
Here as elsewhere Death stalked – four of my comrades passed out within a few hours of each other – an inert mass covered with the Union Jack is borne away – thus, one by one, they passed into the Infinite, leaving behind a name that shall ever ring glorious.
As I look into the distant future when the sound of guns is but an echo of the past, in grand array shall I see the spirits of these my comrades marching past, who in the greatness of their souls have handed to future generations a fuller, deeper meaning of the word Patriotism. [page 77 - May 22, 1915]