Walk a War in My Shoes

by Murray Ernest Hall

  The remaining milk was used for the heifer calves and for mum’s kitchen. Some of it was also used to feed the weaner pigs when we had them. Occasionally mum would sell butter in town if she was flush with milk/cream and there were always a few chooks running around that produced a healthy supply of eggs.

  We didn’t own a bull for the cows, but our neighbour had one. We called the neighbour, Mr Neighbour because that was their family’s real surname. Dad would walk the cows next door, wait for the bull to service them then walk them home when the job was done. No money was ever exchanged, the bush worked very well with a barter system. Maybe a heifer calf from the cows next year or lend a hand sowing a crop or the loan of equipment would act as payment. The Neighbour’s had a son, Jim, a couple of years older than me. We would often explore the bush on horseback together and would become close mates.

  Common food for the community was bunnies, bread, and milk. Cloverdale was self-sufficient in all of them plus we grew our own spuds and swedes. Mother made her own bread and it was occasionally the duty of Frank and I (Wal was a bit young), after we had returned from school, to take the guns out and shoot a rabbit or two for dinner. It was on one such occasion in January of 1909, Frank was 12 and I was 13 years old, when bad luck rolled back through the front gate.

  Frank and I moved away from the house to hunt up some tucker. Father had taught us the first golden rule was to never fire back towards the house or livestock, so we always had the farm to our backs, we were careful with guns. Frank spotted a fox, (which would kill our chooks), and to get a better shot climbed up onto a fallen log, the shot gun latched onto a notch in the log and fired accidently, shattering Frank’s right hand.

  My screaming alerted mother and father who bolted down through the paddock to find us. Jessie our horse had to be caught and harnessed to the jinker, she is a flighty thing and hard to catch at the best of times, but I suspect she sensed the tension and fear in the air and obeyed on father’s first instructions. I was terrified, scared, frightened for my brother’s life. The blood, the missing hand, I didn’t know what to do. I was a spectator shaking with shock. I did my best to help Dad lock in Jessie, but I felt useless. Everyone was screaming except Wal who sat on the veranda steps crying.

  Dad told me to stay put and look after Wal and the farm while he and mother took off down the drive way and turned left onto the track to Beech Forest at full flight.

  Father on the reins and mother in the back with Frank. Mum kept Frank alive by holding him face down in the jinker with the remains of his right hand pointing towards the sky with her rolled up apron wrapped around the stump to hold the blood in. Dad drove flat out into Beech Forest, his son’s life depended on it. Hurtling over the bumps in the log road, the jinker was sometimes 4’ in the air. Jessie excelled, dad said she had never galloped that fast in her life.

  With some good fortune, one of the two resident town doctors, Dr Backhouse, was quickly located and summoned to the Post Office where he immediately operated on Frank on the front counter. Frank was extremely weak by the time the Doctor arrived, his life was very much in danger due to the large amount of blood he had lost.

  News flew around town that “Frank Hall has shot his hand off” and the locals gathered for a grandstand view through the Post Office window. It seemed the whole town had turned out to witness the event. Through some act of God or good modern medicine, or maybe a combination of both, Frank survived but his future as a farmer had taken a severe hit. The shattered remains of his hand were removed at the wrist, leaving him with a stump. Years later he would have a two-pronged hook fitted.

  CHAPTER 3

  20TH LIGHT HORSE

  IN THE LATE 1800’s, the six self-governing colonies of Queensland, New South Wales, Victoria, Tasmania, South Australia and Western Australia had unanimously agreed to unite and form the Commonwealth of Australia. The colonies would retain their own systems of government and the Federal Government would be responsible for matters that would be of concern to the nation.

  The Constitution of Australia came into force on the 1st January 1901.

  At that time our country was protected from external threat by several Light Horse Regiments based around the country and they were slowly growing in numbers. The rationale was that if Australia was invaded, the Militia would engage in guerrilla warfare to protect us. The regiments were made up mainly of volunteers, in general terms they would have skills that aligned with riding a horse and handling a gun. Most of the men with these qualifications and the enthusiasm to join up were young and rural bred, having learnt their skills as civilians at an early age. However, there was no restriction prohibiting any particular demographic to sign up.

  When the Boer War concluded in 1903 Australia had commissioned just over sixteen thousand men and around the same number of horses to that conflict. Most of these men having been drawn from the existing Light Horse Militia belonging to the six Australian colonies, so for a short period of time there was a double purpose for their existence, to protect Australia from foreign invasion and to supply forces for any external conflict should the British Empire request assistance.

  After the Commonwealth of Australia came into being it became necessary (and logical) to transfer all existing military units into the newly founded Australian Army. The Department of Defense was created, and the prestigious Rising Sun badge was adopted.

  By the late 1800’s and early 1900’s Britain had successfully developed an extensive array of colonies around the world, the most significant being India and the Empire relied very heavily on that colony due to its geographical position, size, population and resources.

  Although only a small stretch of water separates Britain from Europe, Britain felt isolated from the continent with no real connection to the rapidly changing political landscape taking place a few miles away. As Germany continued to spread itself out and develop its own colonies throughout Europe and with some force, southwards into Africa, the British became concerned that it’s extremely valuable trade routes might be blocked and that it would be necessary to protect its main asset, India. Keeping the Suez Canal open and protecting the Anglo-Persian oil pipeline, which was critically important to the British Navy, were other considerations that had the hair on the back of British necks standing up.

  War rumours and tensions brewed in Europe through the first decade of the twentieth century and into the second but there was no significant trigger to set one off. Allegiances changed, best of allies became enemies, borders were moved. Britain continued to monitor the situation and at the same time encouraged its own colonies to strengthen their military might in case called upon as had happened with the Boer War in South Africa.

  The message got through very clearly to the Commonwealth of Australia and one of the legacies of this increasing tension was the continuing growth and development of the Light Horse Regiments around Australia.

  The 20th Light Horse Regiment (Corangamite LH) was formed in the Western Districts of Victoria and incorporated Beech Forest. I would have walked the 28 miles into Colac to sign up, but I didn’t have too. With my home-grown skills of handling a horse and a firearm I was a shoo-in and the 20th came to me.

  On a couple of occasions, in the very early years of its inception, there was a training camp held in Beech Forest. The event became a community affair and from far and wide the greater Beech Forest inhabitants would come into town with their picnic baskets and blankets to catch up with friends and neighbours and, in the case of our family, watch me work out with the other local men and horses of the Regiment. On one occasion the event was held in conjunction with the sports day and included foot running and wood chopping activities.

  The Regiment required a lot of support and the Beech Forest community obliged, everyone wished to be involved in some way. We required Officers, Veterinarian’s, training programmers, handlers, kitchen hands, storage and transport. Everyone had a role to play or support to offer.

  During these early drills, Frank and Wal
would take care of a couple of horses between training exercises, groom and water them. Mother would work in the women’s tent supplying tea and selling a few pieces of homemade cake. Dad and his brothers from “Woodlands” farm were heavily involved with the planning of the day’s activities. Every other family willingly offering up the same commitment, it wasn’t a chore, it was a community inspired event.

  Most of the horses were ridden by their owners, in my case the two horses we owned at Cloverdale were farm horses, a very large Shire/Clydesdale standing at around 16 hands and Jessie, a very tough and agile farm breed but both were past their prime or unsuitable to be sprinting down a paddock at full bore on a mock battle charge. My uncle Harry owned several younger horses that were a bit smaller. In support of my commitment to the 20th Light Horse, Harry allowed me to use a beautiful brown filly named Poppy. Standing at around 14 hands her size made for an easier mount and quicker dismount.

  Some men would carry their own rifles during these drills, some would carry timber replicas. I’d been a member of the Beech Forest Rifle Club for some years and would carry the old bolt-action single shot .22 from the farm. For obvious reasons, firing of live ammunition was not permitted during drill.

  The final activity on the day would be that all men and their horses would trot out three to four hundred yards back from the assembly and viewing tents. We would arrange ourselves in a straight line across the back perimeter of the paddock. Poppy had developed memory of the exercise and I could always sense her anticipation. Between my legs I could feel her sucking the air in, in anticipation, waiting for the call to go up, “CHARGE”.

  We would take off like lightning, the fast horses would be at full gallop within ten strides, men yelling, holding their guns high, charging down the paddock towards the imaginary enemy. The roar of twenty horses pounding with all their might made the ground shudder, our hearts jumping out of our chests, our enthusiasm and pride on display.

  To wear the badge of a reserve soldier, positioned in the middle of the pack, controlling a 1000lb animal with one hand, rifle aloft in the other was the best feeling in the world.

  At the viewing end, all the townsfolk would stand and wait for the call. This was the highlight of their day also and they were not to miss out. They yelled and screamed their delight, the younger children jumping with glee and awe as the show of force thundered past them. Everybody felt the pride, the warmth of being involved. A proud community, doing what it could for our boys so that they may grow and develop their skills to one day, hopefully, become good soldiers. Supporting our country on this little patch of earth called Beech Forest.

  Some of the older Officers of the 20th Light Horse were returned soldiers from the Boer War and we would listen intently as they recited stories of their recent, first hand experiences. One day while we rested during exercises, I recall a discussion took place between the older men on the horse’s future in modern warfare. With the invention of firearms that could fire several rounds before requiring to be reloaded, the horse’s ability to deliver charging men into a battle line was under review. It might be that the horse adopts more a role of transport, delivering men close to a front line, the horse then being brought back a bit for their safety and the men continuing on foot. In the case of retreat, the horses would be ready.

  The conversation flowed on into the ability of a motor lorry to deliver men and equipment swiftly into battle. Personally, I feel that the horse is the greater asset, she is fast and flexible, I cannot imagine any motor lorry that could replace her, she has proven herself in history time after time again. I’m not invited to speak on any of these subjects, I have no personal experience in them anyway, so I accept the advice of my father and keep my ears open.

  Britain’s direct connection to Europe was in the form of a piece of paper signed seventy-five years earlier in 1839 and referred to as “The Treaty of London”. It was an agreement between Britain and Belgium that states that in any European conflict, Belgium would remain neutral and that in the event of such a conflict, and Belgium being invaded, Britain would defend her.

  Europe was a powder keg just waiting for someone to throw a match into it. Germany had become a massive economic and military might, and they harboured a desire to rule all of Europe. They had been at war on and off for one hundred years somewhere or other in Europe and were now ready to throw their weight around further. When they invaded France via Belgium on the 4th August 1914 they were aware of the Treaty of London but expected Britain to mind her own business and stay out of it. That was probably their biggest mistake. By the end of the day, Britain had declared war on Germany.

  If Britain was at war, the British Empire was at war and that meant Australia was now at war.

  Immediately Australia offered to send twenty thousand men and one light horse brigade to wherever Britain nominated. Most of those men and horses would come directly from the twenty-three Light Horse Regiments now positioned around Australia.

  By this stage the 20th Light Horse (Corangamite LH) had moved its base into Colac, had become considerably more disciplined and was now directly under the control of the Australian Army (soon to change its name to the Australian Imperial Force – AIF). A strict chain of command had been phased in, we were supplied regular uniforms that everyone was fiercely proud of. Rifle training with live ammunition, target practice, horses owned and stabled by the Regiment, no longer boy soldiers showing off to their parents in an open paddock. We were now at war and the drills and dedication to the 20th Light Horse reflected the situation.

  When war was declared, I was a couple of weeks shy of my 19th birthday. Old enough to enlist but there was a bit of “wait and see” mentality at both the 20th Light Horse and around the table at Cloverdale. The AIF in the first instance were seeking experienced soldiers and commissioned officers before recruitment of us younger men would be necessary. I am by this stage almost full time with the 20th but return to the farm whenever possible. My first love and trade is that I am a dairy farmer, being a soldier is what I will do if Australia and our King requires me to do so.

  As the month’s tick over, the war effort accelerates, men are coming in from all over the Western Districts to join the 20th LH as a stepping stone to AIF enlistment. We are running drills every day and there is a distinct feeling of anticipation that the British Empire will require more of us sooner rather than later. News of our troops being in Egypt filter through, then in May 1915 we hear of a campaign known as Gallipoli. We have suffered a very heavy loss of men.

  It is my duty to enlist. With my training from the 20th LH, I consider myself competent and capable enough to do so. Many men from Beech Forest, including two of my cousins from the Woodlands farm have already done so. There is no reservation from me or my parents. We openly discuss the duties and responsibilities of becoming a soldier along with a very real expectation that I would be sent abroad. This is a proud time for all of us, the community and the country are backing the call to arms, men are clambering all over themselves to sign up for King and Country. The time has arrived, now it’s my turn.

  One month short of my twentieth birthday in July 1915, I catch the train up to Melbourne and armed with consent letters from my parents, walk into the AIF office in Swanston Street and sign the enlistment papers. The medical examination is carried out on the same premises and it will tell me what I already know. That I have inherited my mother’s stature, standing 5’ 3 ½ inches in bare feet (a long way short of my father’s 6’ 1” frame, (before he broke his back) and that I weigh in at 9 stone 9 pounds4. Blue eyes and black hair.

  The report also notes that I have a scar on my breast. It’s an old one that I scored when a horse bit me ten years earlier.

  So, I’m not the biggest man in the army but as my father said to me, “It’s not the size of the dog in the fight son, it’s the size of the fight in the dog” and I will carry those words of wisdom around with me.

  CHAPTER 4

  CASTLEMAINE – WILLIAMSTOWN – BROAD
MEADOWS

  August – December 1915

  “I suppose you have seen that there are one or two Meningitis cases in this camp, nothing to worry about though – we go about our daily routine as usual – if you saw one or two of the specimens in camp, you can guess the reason of the diseases.

  I saw one weakly fellow down in the market I believe he had one wash while he was there, how they (few & far between I’m glad to say) pass the test is a mystery – they are drafted out & discharged in time.”

  I AM ONE of six hundred men who board a train at Spencer Street Station in the second week of August 1915 and head off to Castlemaine. Due to the flood of men enlisting into the AIF the existing camps cannot support the additional numbers therefore several other camps are being set up around Victoria to accommodate us.

  We are advised that we are the first troops being sent into Castlemaine and will be required to establish a new training camp in the area. This all sounds very exciting to us but when we arrive there it’s pouring rain and there is no camp. While there are two dedicated rifle ranges, one close to the railway station and the other about a mile and a half out of town, a camp ground hasn’t yet been agreed upon. The term “establish a new training camp” is a rather large understatement looking out over the rolling hills as there hasn’t been a single tent pitched.

  The Castlemaine community, like those around the rest of Australia, jump in to assist. We are split up into two groups, three hundred of us are billeted at the Town Hall and the other three hundred men are put up in one of the Market buildings at the North end of town. The locals arrange reading rooms and provide stationary for those wishing to write home. Some community entertainment programs are scheduled, and the AIF are quick to ensure six hundred men are not sitting around idle all day, implementing a series of squad drills that commence the very next day.