by Alan Tucker
Although I cannot tell you where we are, Mother, I’ll write a riddle and hopefully you can work it out. I am in a very old part of the world. Our ship is surrounded by desert sands, palm trees, oases and robed figures mounted on camels. The moonlight on the canal is very beautiful.
I will write more when we have disembarked and encamped.
Give my love to Father and Hans, if you see him.
A giant hug to you, Mother.
Love, your well-travelled son
Thursday, 10 December
I am on land, under canvas. For the first two nights we had to sleep under the stars. That was fun for the first night but last night it rained. We’d been told it never rains in Egypt.
Camp Mena is an hour or so out of Cairo but only a short walk from the Giza pyramids and the Sphinx. What a glorious sight they were to wake up to on the first morning. I also awoke to the bleating of goats, the snorts of camels and the Muslims’ call to prayer. Egypt is very exotic compared to Moonta.
Evening
Before we were granted Leave our officers ordered us to be on our best behaviour.
‘When you wear the khaki uniform you represent the Australian Imperial Force so conduct yourself with pride. Men who disgrace the uniform will be arrested by the provosts.
‘Individuals who prove incorrigible in the upcoming weeks, will be shipped back to Australia in disgrace.’
I approached Robbo after parade and asked him what incorrigible meant.
‘That’s flaming obvious,’ Needle quickly replied. ‘A larrikin, a wild bushman, anyone who dares to tell an officer what he thinks of him and his blinking army and won’t back down.’
‘Sounds like half the men in the battalion,’ Fish added.
I looked at Robbo for verification.
‘Needle’s summed it up pretty well,’ he said with a smile. ‘A dictionary would say an incorrigible is someone who is bad beyond correction, someone you can’t punish for an offence because he will go straight out and do it again.’
‘Yeah. The sort of tough, fearless bloke you want fighting alongside you when you’re in a tight corner,’ Needle asserted.
Robbo laughed. ‘You’re probably on the money, cobber. If the fighting in France is as uncivilised as reports suggest it is, we’ll not only need every man available but we’ll need spirited fighters.’
‘You fellows think too much,’ Fish interrupted. ‘We’re on Leave. I’m hopping on the first train into Cairo to taste its delights.’
Friday, 11 December
Cairo is nothing like Moonta or even Adelaide: the sights, the smells, the sounds, the tastes—everything is different. And there are millions of people. Most of them are poor. Every street and alleyway is crowded.
At first, my friends and I wandered around the bazaars (markets) where just about everything is for sale. Some of the fruits and vegetables were unknown to us, and raw meat has flies crawling all over it and open sewers run alongside food stalls.
Donkeys transport people and goods throughout the city and soil the alleyways and market thoroughfares with their dung. Dozens of beggars and salespeople crowd around you if you pause to look at anything then follow you relentlessly when you move on demanding ‘Bakshish’ (money).
‘This is driving me crazy,’ Fish said. ‘Beside, there are other sights in the city I’m more interested in.’
‘I’m happy to get away from this bedlam too,’ Needle replied. ‘But before we do I want to have a little wager. I’ll bet you ten bob (two days’ pay) that I can race you around the market square.’
‘Like taking money from a baby,’ Fish said with a wink and shook Needle’s hand. He crouched ready to run. He knew he was much faster.
‘Who said anything about running, cobber? We’re racing on donkeys.’
Fish was momentarily shocked but then laughed, slapped Needle on the back and said, ‘You’re on.’
Needle rushed towards the nearest donkey, leapt aboard bareback and urged the donkey forward.
Fish shouted, ‘Unfair,’ before he too dashed to a donkey and commandeered it ‘in the name of the Australian Government.’ The two owners protested loudly and gave chase while the donkeys brayed furiously in protest about their jockeys’ unorthodox riding styles.
Fish never looked like catching up, even when he took short cuts and almost careered into some of the stalls. Chickens screeched and their owners yelled which added to the noise and chaos. Robbo and I made our fair share of noise too by barracking for both riders.
Needle won by several lengths, leapt off the donkey, slapped it on the rump and held his arms aloft in celebration. The two owners demanded Bakshish for use of the donkey but Needle pretended not to know what they were on about.
‘Speak Australian, maties. I can’t understand a word you’re saying.’
Their demands ceased when Fish and his donkey burst through the crowd and scattered them. He leapt off, gave Needle his winnings, tipped his hat as he handed back the donkey, then we moved quickly away from the bazaar.
My friends intended to have a late night in town but I did not wish to accompany them so we separated. On the way back to camp I saw a blind vendor. He heard my approaching steps, looked up and said, ‘Polish, mister, polish? Best clean for boots. You not happy, mister, I clean yours for nothing. True. I clean, you no pay.’
I presented my boots and watched as he skillfully cleaned and polished them. I marvelled at his thoroughness. Despite his lack of sight, he did not miss one square inch. My boots gleamed.
I was delighted with his work and paid him more than what he asked. It’s almost Christmas and I thought I should give generously to someone less fortunate.
Friday, 18 December
Training has been relentless and as a result I know our teamwork and individual combat skills have improved. Our calves are considerably stronger too thanks to marching twice a day through miles of soft sand. Who knows whether strong calves will benefit us in France? It’s sandy here and muddy there but maybe leg power will help propel us to victory.
Robbo told us that Egypt was proclaimed a British Protectorate yesterday.
‘The local sultan has been installed as the new Egyptian leader. Turkey and the Ottoman Empire no longer have any control over this country.’
‘Will the Turks be happy about that?’ Needle asked.
‘If they’re not and want to do something about it,’ Fish replied, ‘they’ll have us to contend with.’
Sunday, 20 December
Merry Christmas my dear Mother and Father,
It’s almost Christmas and this morning’s Sunday service was overflowing with battalion members. The sermon, naturally, had a Christmas theme. I was very excited when the chaplain pointed out that Bethlehem is less than 250 miles from this very spot. We concluded with the most enthusiastic carol singing I have ever heard. You would have loved it.
I hope you are both well. I am very fit and healthy. Our camp was desert sand when we first arrived but it’s now quite comfortable. Roads have been built and water piped around. The engineers have placed rock borders along the pathways which reminds me of Hans’ garden bed borders. The weather is hot and training strenuous but my friends and I are coping well.
Robbo reads the newspaper most days and says it’s well reported back in Australia that we are in Egypt. So I can now tell you that we are camped close to Cairo where I was surprised to find a huge YMCA. It has become my home away from the camp. It’s used by thousands of soldiers every day: Australian, New Zealand and British. The staff and volunteers from various Allied forces offer history lectures and language classes. The French class is particularly popular because we know we’ll eventually end up in the trenches of France.
The YMCA organises amusements and sports such as billiards, skittles, tennis, football and boxing. They also provide free pencils and paper and a comfortable room in which to write letters (which is where I am seated right now).
Please write soon and tell me news of your Christmas fes
tivities and Hans’ current circumstances.
I will think of you all on Christmas day and say a prayer for your well-being and happiness.
Your loving soldier son, Victor
Thursday, 24 December
Needle’s favourite sport at the YMCA is donkey polo. I didn’t tell Mother and Father about it because you have to see it to understand it. The Australian and British teams couldn’t be more different. The British are mostly officers who are experienced in how to play traditional horseback polo. The Aussies are bushmen who have just been introduced to the sport. What they lack in polo skills and style, however, they make up for with muscle and dash.
In this morning’s game the British were leading 2-nil until the Australians threw caution to the wind (and the rule book into the bin) and started thumping the ball forward and deliberately crashing into their opponents’ donkeys, unseating two British officers. The British cried, ‘Foul’, but our boys told them to stop whinging.
‘We played to your rules at the start, mate, but it’s bush rules now.’
‘What, pray, are bush rules?’ one angry soldier demanded.
‘They’re easy to explain, cobber. There are no rules.’
He reached across and slapped the officer’s donkey on the rump which caused him to buck. The rider maintained his seat in the saddle.
‘Good effort, mate,’ the Australian said cheekily. ‘I thought for sure you’d fall on your arse. Keep playing and we’ll make a horseman of you yet.’
The officer went bright red and tried to speak but words failed him.
It’s such fun being in the army. I would never have met the men I’m surrounded by if I’d stayed working as a pickey-boy in Moonta. And yet every one of them comes from my home state (apart from the Broken Hill boys who we think of as honorary South Aussies).
Friday, 25 December
I awoke before Reveille sounded and thought of my family back in Moonta. Australia is six or seven hours ahead of us so as Christmas day was dawning here, my family were probably sitting down to Christmas dinner.
We ate our battalion Christmas dinner under canvas on long trestles. The meal was capped off with a serve of traditional pudding and an extra ration of beer. I didn’t want any extra, so my friends drew straws to see who would have my allocation. Needle won.
He said, ‘Cheers,’ and was about to drain the bottle when he stopped, smiled and said, ‘It’s Christmas, lads. We share and share alike. You two drink your fill then hand what’s left to me.’
I noticed they watched the bottle’s level very carefully to ensure they only drank their fair share. ‘Merry Christmas,’ they each announced before they consumed their portion.
‘Good health in the year to come,’ Needle toasted. ‘The war didn’t end by this Christmas but let’s hope by the next we’re all home safe and sound with our families.’
‘Hear, hear,’ we chorused.
I missed my family but I felt strong affections for my new friends too.
This afternoon was free of fatigues and drills. The time was allocated to sport. My battalion played Australian football against a Victorian battalion. The only one of my friends selected to play was Robbo. If I’d been asked in advance which of the three would make the team, he would have been my last choice. How wrong I was.
His skills were extraordinary and by game’s end, which we narrowly lost, he was voted best player and given a trophy. We expressed our surprise.
‘You thought I was simply a bookworm, didn’t you? You should know not to judge a book by its cover,’ he laughed and went off to shower and change.
‘It wasn’t just his skills that impressed me,’ Needle said. ‘It was his courage. He put his head where I wouldn’t put my hands. He’ll be a handy mate to have alongside us when we’re in the thick of the action.’
Thursday, 31 December, 1914
Today is special and not just because it’s New Year’s Eve. I received a letter from home.
Dear Victor,
Your father and l are well. The mines will close over Christmas which is usually a time of the year I look forward to very much. But Christmas this year will be very hollow without our wonderful son to celebrate it with—and without our dear friend, Hans.
We have written to him three times but are yet to receive a reply. It’s sad, isn’t it, that he’s lived with us all these years and yet I don’t know how well he can write English. I feel embarrassed that I know so little about the poor old soul. I miss him, and you, terribly.
We cannot visit you for Christmas but Father has kindly given me the money to travel to Adelaide and visit Hans on Torrens Island. I shall pass on your best wishes and find out if we can provide him with a few home comforts.
The papers are full of stories about the war. The German armies are proving more than a handful for the British and French armies. Hopefully you Aussie boys will soon arrive at the Front and put a stop to their advance.
Back here thousands of German-born Australians have been rounded up and interred. The authorities made a large raid on several houses and businesses in the Barossa Valley recently after reports of Germans secretly arming themselves. That’s a frightening thought, if it’s true. I don’t know what to believe anymore.
May your Christmas day be blessed with peace, my son. Father and I send great love, Mother
Later
Our battalion was assembled this afternoon and given a rousing speech by the Australian High Commissioner. He’d travelled all the way from London to speak to us on behalf of the Australian Government. He told us our upcoming mission was ‘as pure and noble as any soldiers ever undertook’.
I was moved by his sentiments and hoped that we prove worthy of his confidence. Needle was less impressed and said words come cheap.
‘I’d like to see him put his money where his mouth is, pick up a rifle and join us in the trenches when we take on the Huns.’
Friday, 1 January, 1915
Soon after midnight
I have the tent to myself because my friends have gone into Cairo to celebrate New Year’s Eve. They’ll return to camp very late.
At midnight I took a few minutes to think about my future and reflect on the past year. This time last year I wouldn’t have imagined that I’d be in Egypt now. Who knows where I’ll be in another twelve months: maybe in Cornwall with my grandfather, maybe home with family and friends. I wondered where William and Richard are: still in Moonta or training at Morphettville or on board a ship bound for Egypt?
Since we left Australia we’ve heard stories about the ruthless advances of the German army and the bloody battles in France but so far I can’t complain about army life—the four and a half months since I enlisted have proved to be the adventure I hoped they would be.
The best part of being in the army is spending time with my new friends. Their company means the world to me.
The worst thing is leaving my family and dear old Hans. He always gave me great affection and now, because of this silly war, our government is treating him like a criminal. I wish I could do something to help him.
Wednesday, 13 January
One of the battalion died today of a disease I’ve never heard of: meningitis. He reported sick with a severe headache and was dead within 24 hours. The men he shares a tent with have been quarantined because the disease is contagious. So far they’ve shown no symptoms.
The death came as a shock because the condition of the camp is so much more hygienic than when we arrived. The water supply is more reliable and the ablutions blocks are cleaned every day. We even have a reserve area where army shops have opened. On pay day (once a fortnight) we can have a haircut or buy little luxuries at the canteen.
The camp does not exist in isolation though. It is surrounded by overcrowded, unhygienic villages and, of course, Cairo.
Friday, 15 January
Dear Mother and Father,
The poverty here is confronting. When I return I will no longer look at our humble cottage and think we are poorl
y off. Compared to the ‘housing’ tens of thousands of people here live in, our little home is a palace.
The buildings are decaying and streets, alleyways and transport overcrowded. When we go into Cairo on Leave we forever brush against unwashed people who are probably diseased. Even our horses look like kings of beasts compared to the local camels and mules which are scabby and malnourished—and badly treated by their handlers.
My friends Fish and Needle explore Cairo as often as they can but I prefer the peace and quiet of the YMCA. Robbo often accompanies me because he likes to read the newspapers and books they provide free of charge.
We have been in Egypt for a month now and apart from brief periods of Leave, we are in full training. The army keeps us fully occupied but the men grow restless. There is still no clue as to when we will be shipped to France to join the fighting. As Needle said, that may be for the best because the weather there is atrocious. Reports indicate soldiers are up to their knees in mud and slush. We South Aussies wouldn’t like that.
I’ll write again as soon as something exciting happens or I have definite news about our deployment to the Front.
I hope life goes smoothly at home and that Hans is reasonably well. The summer weather should aid his arthritic joints.
Your superbly fit son, Vic
PS. I’ll write to Hans. It will be interesting to see if the army delivers my letter!!!
Sunday, 17 January
I wrote to Hans but had to be careful what I said. There are so many things I wanted to say but couldn’t. I suspect the censors won’t like me writing anything at all to a ‘German’.
Dear Hans,
Mother wrote and told me you are living in a camp. I hope you are happy there. Our camp is quite comfortable but the officers train us very hard most days.
