This war, bad though it is, has been the salvation of England, which was undoubtedly drifting into a very peaceful condition & were fast losing their warlike spirit but now everything is changed. Today we stand at the head of the world stronger than ever for we know our power & so do the rest of the nations.
Another thing: how on earth can anyone love a thing without wishing to fight for it if need be. To me the 2 go together, loving & fighting, but of course they want to be used in moderation. What is worse than Nietzsche when he says that we should go in for fighting instead of loving, & there can be no worse sign than that a man should be found, even Tolstoy, to tell us that we should go in for loving instead of fighting. The 2 things go hand in hand for how on earth can we lose a thing without wanting to fight for it, & you cannot fight without having something to love. That at any rate is my own opinion of such things & I for one am strongly against this worldwide disarmament that some politicians talk so glibly of. No doubt Germany made a fine nation of her peoples but unfortunately she used it to a bad purpose. I am not one of these canting one-sided bitter prejudiced snoozers who reckon that a German should not be allowed to live after this. I reckon in one way she has done the world, taking things all round, a jolly good turn. There’s one thing: she united the British Empire more closely than ever would have been the case otherwise, & much as I deplore the awful loss of life & suffering, I believe fully that such things have to be & they will come in some shape or form. There’s no need for all the blame to go on the side like we are trying to put things; we were not altogether blameless in this great war.
24th December. It was about 1.30 when Harry Braithwaite & Bob Modral came down the stairs. I could see something out of the ordinary had happened by their faces but I did not ask, for out it came in an awestruck whisper. They said our C.O. Major McPherson had just blown his brains out in his cabin & that the flag had been half masted in consequence. I wouldn’t believe them at first but they were in earnest; sure enough he was dead. I got up & walked along to his cabin but could see nothing.
I wonder what on earth could have made him take his life. What a shock it will be to his people. Just fancy him now going through what he did & then to do away with himself when on his way home. There’s more than we know behind this act you can bet. He has kept to himself since coming on the ship. I have only seen him twice: once when Harry & I went before him & the other night when he went off at the concert. I am inclined to think now that it was only imagination that night he said he overheard chaps talking of him for they say he has been suffering badly from nerves.
After tea this evening at 8.15 all the troops were on parade & he was put over the side sewn in canvas. The bugler blew the “Last Post” & the parson read a sermon or service over his body & then he was consigned to the mighty deep. Charlie Ross then played on the pipes the “Flowers of the Forest”, a fine old Scotch tune.
It will be a memorable Xmas Eve, & I shan’t forget the crowd of silent men in the hot semi darkness of the Arabian Sea & the lazy splash of the waves against the ship’s sides, for we stopped while he was being buried.
25th December. Xmas Day & the second I have spent on the ocean & fifth since leaving Australia: 2 in France, 1 in Egypt & 2 on the sea. This one is easily the happiest for the war is over & the world is now resuming its former quiet occupation & giving up cutting each other’s throats.
I slept on deck as usual & rose, or rather was pulled out, by Penfold about 6.30, who was wishing all & sundry a Merry Xmas & etc, folded up my blankets & rolled them into the hammock then downstairs to sling them in the bin & there for a wash to get the grime off, for sleeping on deck, though cool & nice, is a very dirty business for we all get the dust & ash from the funnels.
We had our breakfast at 7.20 & after that a parade & then followed the Xmas service. We sang 3 hymns: “Once in Royal David’s City”, “Hark the Herald Angels Sing”, the other one I forget. After we had sung the King & dispersed we, or a few of us, went & had a dip in the canvas bath. We had some jolly fine fun splashing & diving about & ducking one another.
Dinner followed (they put a good one on): giblet soup, roast beef, turnips, potatoes & etc, roast goose, plum pudding, oranges, dates, walnuts, peanuts, lime juice & so on. Each man was presented with a pipe & a little card from the shipping company, & the Y.M.C.A. gave each man 90 cigarettes so it was a pretty good turnout.
Bit different from our last Xmas, but for all that I for one can’t realise it’s Xmas Day. The word seems to have lost all its old meaning but let’s hope next one will be a far happier & merrier time & by that time we will have resumed our old style & methods of living.
29th December. Have been lying on the big coils of rope on the gun platform for a couple of hours after tea this evening. It was lovely up there & a favourite place of mine at any time. I watched the sun go down right up till the time she sank like a big ball of fire into the sea. The sunsets are getting very fine now; it’s a most peculiar thing but in England & N. France the sunsets are very poor. I think this can be accounted for by the lack of fine dust in the air for this, according to science, is essential for good sunsets.
I do all my thinking on the same coils of rope, but all the results I have got so far amount to good headaches. I revolve all sorts of plans in my mind & look at them from all possible points & angles, but they all tend towards the land. What I am trying to settle is in what capacity I will make my start in, whether to take up Crown lands & work for a lifetime improving it, or go share farming & take the risk of bad seasons & setbacks — not that I am frightened of the latter or hard work. Then again I think of taking up contract work in the bush & get a gang of men. Another plan I fancy sometimes is of getting a job for a year with some successful farmer in the district I decide to settle in & keep my eyes open & learn the methods & at the same time look out for my land — I don’t want to rush in blindly & grab anything. I have made up my mind to waste no time holidaying; a couple of weeks in Tasmania & a week in N.S.W. will satisfy me. I am going to combine pleasure with business as much as possible & all I ask is for my discharge from the Army & let me get to work. If ever anyone is sick of this loafing about it is me; I am itching to get to work once more.
God only knows how fed up I am with the Army. It would break my heart to be compelled to stop in it much longer — I am certain I would run amuck & break all sorts of regulations. Now the war is over I consider myself a civilian & anything military I thoroughly detest. The only time I would fight again is in defence of my own country; I would never go out of Aussie seeking stoush, I have had my fill of it. At the same time I am glad I came to this. I will never regret it as long as I live, but now the job is done I want to be out of it.
1919
Returning home
7th January. Been a very quiet & tiresome day. How the time drags & I suppose the nearer we approach Aussie the slower the time will go. I am just beginning to realise that at last I am going home, & I wonder & ponder how everyone will seem to me after being away so long. They are certain to see a vast change one way or the other for it will be just on 7 years since I left Tassy with the intention of stopping 18 months in N.S.W. but as the old saying goes: “Man proposes but God disposes”. This is what my few months have led to, & during that period a chap must alter considerably.
There’s one thing this knocking about has done for me & that is killed all desires I might have had for rambling. All I wish for now is to be allowed to settle down quietly on the land somewhere & work towards my goal, for I have a certain thing in view & I shall not be satisfied until I get that far.
9th January. Saw for the first time last night, or rather early this morning for the hour was 3 A.M., the good old Southern Cross. There she was sailing high & dry in the Heavens & it struck me as if welcoming us home. To me she appeared in the light of an old friend after our long absence, & now I fully realise that we are homeward bound at last. The very sight of her brought back old memories of guns, horses, gum trees, home & etc, &
very little sleep I got the rest of the night.
19th January. Everyone on the boat is in a great state of activity, cleaning boots, airing & brushing clothes & so on, but there is very little excitement, everyone taking things as a matter of course. I don’t suppose I shall be in the least excited until I get to about Colebrook coming home then I shall be on the lookout for old familiar faces which I have not seen for years. A chap will about realise then that he is really home at last.
22nd January. Passed Cape Otway about dinner time. The country behind looks to be well wooded, but the foreshore is sandy coloured. We skirted the Victorian coast all the afternoon; heavy bushfires appeared to be raging along most of the coast, & a thick mist hung over all. Shortly after tea we entered the Heads.
There has been much speculation as to whether we will go into quarantine or not. We will soon know now what’s doing.
The pilot has just come aboard & we are slowly going up the bay. It’s too dark unfortunately to see anything save the glimmer of the lighthouses.
The sunset tonight was a dinkum Aussie one, bright red, the first one of its kind for over 4 years.
Most of the lads are highly excited. So far I have not gone or done anything silly, but I suppose my time is to come.
28th January. Everyone is in a great state of excitement tonight, getting cleaned up once more, for I think it is dinkum this time & soon we shall be home. I can’t realise that we are even in Australia yet but once we hit the land we will understand.
Afterword
by David Hassall, son-in-law
In the early 1950s I had the good fortune to meet a delightful, diminutive auburn-headed lass. She was the daughter of a World War I Anzac hero, Archie Barwick, who fought and survived the Gallipoli fiasco as well as many of the dreadful battles in France. He was seriously wounded several times and was active in service right to the end of the war, finally returning home by ship together with thousands of his mates.
Judy Barwick acquainted me with Archie’s massive collection of diaries and his personality shone through his writing. One could see his strength, determination, courage and integrity as well as his sophistication of mind.
Archibald Albert Barwick was born in Tasmania on 7 March 1890 to George Arthur Sturgeon Barwick and Elizabeth Ann (nee Tillack) who lived on a property near Hobart. He enjoyed an active social life and once played cricket for Tasmania. Archie grew up to be a typical country lad, independent and resourceful, who soon branched out on his own to manage a sheep property in New South Wales. When World War I broke out, he enlisted in the Army’s 1st Battalion and his diaries detail his time as a soldier.
Back home in Tasmania after the war, Archie set up in business selling farm machinery. That turned out to be a disaster for his partner went on an extended holiday to Europe and Archie suddenly found that the business owed over £1000 that the “partner” had left him to deal with. So he set to, worked hard and, using up all his savings, eventually managed to pay back the creditors.
Archie’s caption for this photograph is: “Some of my cobbers in Paris. The one on the left (Jack Hayes of the 1st Batt) captured 128 Germans single handed though badly wounded himself.”
A postcard Archie sent to his mother from England, where he was recuperating. It is dated 26/5/18, Birmingham, Queens Hospital. Archie is on the far right, second back row.
The message on the back of the postcard reads: “This is a group taken of some of our Ward. Our Sister (a Dane) who has been so good to us can be seen sitting next to the Matron on the left. While the remainder are day nurses in the Ward.”
Archie’s caption for this photograph is: “Amongst the Welsh girls in Cardiff.” His diary entry for 18 August 1918 gives more detail: “We met the girls this morning at Cardiff railway station. We went out as far as Barry & then walked to the beach at Barry Island. We had about 20 girls (all business girls) in our crowd & there were some very fine ones too. We all went bathing for a start & had a rattling good time teaching the girls to swim & shoot the breakers, which on this beach are pretty good. After we had our dinner we all went for a stroll & during this I took a few snaps with my camera to help keep alive & fresh a happy & clean day.”
Archie sporting Sergeant’s stripes, probably in England at or near the end of the war.
Archie left Tasmania and returned to northern New South Wales, where he managed a sheep and farming property for several years. In 1930 he married the girl of his dreams, Mona Carroll — an Australian girl unsurprisingly, as he was always at pains to emphasise in his diary that they were the best type of girl. Together they bought their own property east of Armidale, where they raised three children, John, Judy and Tim. Mona was a trained nurse and many times she was called on to treat injuries and illnesses for her own and other families. She was fully involved in good times and in bad, when drought, flood and fire threatened to overtake them, and was a constant confidante when plans were being made for developing the property and improving the livestock. A proud achievement of theirs was to have one of the first properties to introduce the “improved pasture” system in New England. Archie was fond of saying that the clover and rye grass grew “as thick as the fur on a cat’s back”.
Although his schooling must have been limited, Archie was a great reader and very knowledgeable about history and geography. He would always rise early and by the time others got up he had probably studied the newspaper and a National Geographic magazine. That’s if he was not already gardening, for he had a wonderful vegetable garden and marvellous fruit trees — a green thumb no doubt a legacy of his childhood in Tasmania. He hardly drank and occasionally smoked an old pipe that didn’t give off much smoke but seemed to require endless cleaning and stoking.
Archie was a pillar of the community, a justice of the peace who many times helped bail out locals who got into legal trouble or who had trouble with a neighbour’s stock. He used to run the local polling booth at election times and, as an ex-WWI Sergeant, he was in charge of the local VDC during World War II. He and his family were Anglicans but he was not unduly religious. An interesting fact is that he carried a little prayer book right through the war and used it to press the petals of flowers from the battlefields. Daughter Judy Barwick still has this precious book.
Archie kept up his contact with some of his old war mates, some of whom had drink and emotional problems. Thankfully he was apparently not much affected by the war. We believe that putting all the effort into writing a summary of his wartime experiences helped him emotionally. I can recall him on a couple of occasions saying, “It is very hard to kill an old soldier,” and he would describe how you dived into the nearest shell hole. Archie was always amazed that he survived but so many of his mates did not. He died in Armidale in 1966 at the age of 76 years.
Archie, on the right, with an unknown friend. Photograph believed to have been taken in Hobart in the 1920s.
Archie and his son John in Sydney in about 1934.
Archie’s three children at the family property in about 1949: John (aged around 19), Judy (aged around 17) and Tim (Rodney) (aged around 14).
Archie and his favourite horse, Dandy, on the New England property.
Archie and his son John on the family property in about 1934, with sheepdogs Daisy and Lassie.
Archie and his son John marking lambs on the New England property, probably in the early 1950s.
Archie and his wife, Mona, at their daughter’s wedding in June 1955.
Archie Barwick, a farmer, soldier, family man and model citizen. A great Australian, we salute you. May you rest in peace.
May 2013
Glossary
5.0.11
a particular strongpost
A.C.F.
Australian Comforts Fund
A.S.C.
Army Service Corps
Batt
Battalion
Bde
Brigade
Blighty
England; a wound that causes one to be sent to England
&
nbsp; Boche
a German
bonzer
excellent
B.O.R.
Base Operations Room
C. of E.
Church of England
Cadre
core group of officers and the like necessary to train new military units
chats
lice
C.O.
Commanding Officer
come a gutser
to fall over; fail through error
Coy
Company
D.C.M.
District Court Martial
dixie
large metal pot
do a get
to run away; escape
doss
a bed; sleep
flukey
uncertain
Fritz
a German, Germans or German Army collectively
Gotha
bomber plane used by the Germans
G.S.
General Service
howitzer
cannon with a short or medium barrel
Hun
a German or Germans collectively
Lance Jack
In Great Spirits Page 36
