Great Anzac Stories

The Men And Women Who Created The Digger Legend

By Graham Seal

Allen & Unwin

Copyright © 2013 Graham Seal
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-74331-059-5

Contents

Introduction,
Acknowledgements,
Glossary,
Foundations of Anzac,
Digger,
First to fall,
The forgotten island,
The silent Anzac,
The first day on Gallipoli,
Talk about go!,
The landing,
Parables of Anzac,
Silence of the guns,
Furphy,
Leaving Gallipoli,
At Pozières,
We did all that was asked of us,
The charge at Beersheba,
Heroes of Anzac,
They just poured into the wards all day,
Everyone was as cheerful as possible,
Private Punch,
A soldier of the cross,
Fromelles,
The Australians are here!,
The Roo de Kanga,
The only gleams of sunshine,
The underground artillery,
Matilda goes to war,
Tobruk Rats,
‘Bluey’ Truscott,
Angels of the Owen Stanley Range,
Australia’s secret submariners,
The home front,
Scots of the Riverina,
The Durban Signaller,
The chalk Rising Sun,
Blighty,
Homecoming,
Very irritated,
Death’s soldier,
A stitch in time,
The Nackeroos,
Yanks Down Under,
The Brisbane Line,
Miss Luckman’s journal,
Laughter,
A million cat-calls,
The Pommies and the Yanks,
Religion,
Monocles,
Food and drink,
Babbling brooks,
Army biscuits,
The casual digger,
Officers,
Birdie,
The piece of paper,
Baldy becomes mobile,
Characters,
‘The Unofficial History of the AIF’,
Please Let Us Take Tobruk,
Parable of the kit inspection,
The Air Force wife,
Legends of Anzac,
The Eureka sword,
The lost submarine,
The vanished battalion,
The two men with donkeys,
Murphy’s daughter,
The souvenir king,
The crucified soldier,
The walers,
ANZAC to Anzac,
Anzac and the Rising Sun,
The first and the last,
Memories,
No. 008 Trooper J. Redgum,
The first Anzac Days,
Return to Gallipoli,
After the war,
The lonely Anzac,
The longest memorial,
The lone pines,
Mrs Kim’s commemoration,
The long aftermath of Fromelles,
The Unknown Sailor,
The Long Tan cross,
Flowers of remembrance,
The lady of violets,
Sound and silence,
Hugo Throssell’s VC,
Do you remember?,
Select sources and references,
Picture credits,

CHAPTER 1

Foundations of Anzac

Australia’s experience of World War I, from September 1914 to the armistice of 11 November 1918, is the basis of the Anzac tradition. The high drama of the Dardanelles landings in Turkey on 25 April 1915, and the dogged fighting of the next eight months, meant that Gallipoli (Gelibolou) quickly became the originating location of Anzac and all it has come to stand for. Other events and locations — sometimes not so dramatic or formative, but all contributing to the evolution of the digger — have disappeared from our general knowledge of the war. The fighting in German New Guinea the year before Gallipoli, the importance of the Greek island of Lemnos and the significant role of submarine AE2 in 1915 have suffered this fate of being largely forgotten. On the western front, meaning the trench lines that ran the breadth of Belgium (‘Flanders’) and France, further feats of bravery, endurance and sometimes incomprehensible sacrifice burnished the legends of Gallipoli and the digger, in the minds both of the Anzacs themselves and of those waiting and worrying at home in Australia and New Zealand. Pozières in France and Passchendaele in Belgium are among the places that still draw large numbers of visiting Australians and which are recorded on war memorials around Australia. In the region now known as ‘the Middle East’, some serious battles were fought, now mostly forgotten, with the exception of Beersheba in 1917. These events, a handful among the many that took place in four years of fighting, are the foundations of Anzac.

Digger

The term ‘digger’, meaning the rank-and-file Australian foot soldier, is closely tied to the significance of ‘Anzac’. Together, these two words have been at the centre of popular ideas about national identity since World War I (1914–18).

The term Anzac is derived from ANZAC, the telegraphic abbreviation of ‘Australian and New Zealand Army Corps’. It seems to have become a self-descriptive word in use among members of the First AIF during training in Egypt, perhaps even earlier, and was immediately applied to the beach where the Australian and New Zealand troops first landed at Gallipoli on 25 April 1915. At this time, the soldiers were often referred to as ‘Anzacs’, sometimes as ‘Billjims’, with the term ‘digger’ not becoming an accepted denomination until 1917 on the western front. Nevertheless, the term is commonly employed retrospectively to refer to Australian and New Zealand soldiers who fought from the beginning of World War I.

The image of the digger draws on the nineteenth-century romance and mythology of the Australian bush and its heroes. These include the pioneer, the free selector, the gold prospector or ‘digger’, the shearer, even the bushranger, as well as many similar characters who feature in bush verse and song, and in the literature and art of writers Andrew ‘Banjo’ Paterson and Henry Lawson and painter Tom Roberts, among many others. From the 1890s, these archetypal figures were closely associated with popular ideals concerning Australian identity. When the country went to war, most Australians considered that this event represented the emotional ‘birth of a nation’. Through the experiences of the AIF, the ideal of the bushman effortlessly morphed into that of the digger. Instead of driving cattle overland, shearing sheep or rounding up herds of brumbies, the bushman now wore a uniform — more or less — and employed his bush skills and nous in excavating ‘dugouts’ and ‘possies’, making jam tin bombs, sniping and generally trying to outfox a wily enemy resisting an invasion of its homeland (in the case of Turkey). Even though many members of the First AIF came from the city rather than the country (contrary to a popular and persistent myth), as a body they demonstrated the bushman’s independence and ingrained disdain for authority, as well as pursuing — frequently to excess — the masculine pastimes of drinking, fighting and gambling. The digger’s symbolic status, rooted in these available traditions of the bush, was immediate and enduring.

With this background it is not surprising that the origins of the term for the Australian infantryman have been the cause of ongoing controversy. It has been argued that the term was derived from the mid-nineteenth-century gold rushes in the eastern colonies, in which the men who hastened to the goldfields to seek their fortunes came to be known as ‘diggers’. It has also been suggested that the word originated at Gallipoli, because the Anzacs who landed there were quickly compelled by the Turkish resistance to ‘dig in’; they were famously commanded by General Sir Ian Hamilton to ‘dig, dig, dig’. New Zealand variations of the story include the suggestion that it came from the local term ‘gum diggers’ for fossickers of the fossilised resin of kauri trees. Another claim has been made for the origin of the term among members of the 3rd Division’s 11th Brigade, training and digging on England’s Salisbury Plain in September and October 1916.

There are numerous other folkloric accounts that claim to pinpoint the origins of the word. The only certainty is that Australian troops did not begin to call themselves ‘diggers’ — or to be called so by others — until at least early 1917, two years after the Anzac landings at Gallipoli. From the moment the term first appeared it was, and continues to be, frequently debated in letters to the editors of newspapers and within the ranks of ex-service associations around the country.

Writing in 1944, Lieutenant Colonel C. Dennis Horne gave this version:

Just before the last war I was employed in the PWD Tasmanian Railway Construction Branch. In one of the day-labour gangs a typical old bowyanged navy (ex-N.Z. gum digger), Digger Cowley, always greeted you with ‘Good-day, digger.’ The timekeeper on these works, W H Sandy and I drifted to World War I.

After Gallipoli we went to France. On a typical grey sloppy Flanders morn, early 1917, Captain Sandy (now Lt-Col Sandy, DSO), and I were plodding through Poperhinge near the original Toc H building [a comforts facility in the Belgian town of Poperinghe]. I was surprised and impressed by ‘old Sandy’s’ greeting to each passing lad —’Good-day, digger.’ Like magic the term became mass-produced. From every estaminet, urged by the vin rouge or vin blanc plonk, oozed the expression, ‘Good-day, dig’, or, more slangishly, ‘How’s she, dig.’

I often think of ‘old Sandy’, that cheerful unorthodox soldier with the persistent bubble in his Adam’s apple, and I feel that many, knowing him, will say: ‘Well, now you come to think of it, he is just the likeliest old b — — in the first AIF to have been the originator of “digger.”‘

A Major T. A. Connor responded to this version.

I must join issue with Lt-Col Horne on the origin and application of the word ‘digger’ in the first AIF. At least two years prior to 1917 this greeting was in general use, and I submit that its origin may be traced to the later days at Gallipoli.

Following the unsuccessful battles of early August 1915, the bulk of the Australian forces was engaged in constructing and improving trenches. The 7th Brigade (2 Division) was on Cheshire Ridge, The Apex and Durrant’s Post, and it was a general source of merriment to other units to inquire of our boys their ‘present occupation’, to which the reply was generally ‘Digging, digging, always b — — well digging.’ My own battalion (27 battalion) became well known as the ‘3 D’s’ (‘Dellman’s Dugout Diggers’) to which we added the then popular ‘dinkum’, and so caused the battalion to be known as ‘Dellman’s Dinkum Dugout Diggers.’

I suggest that the greeting ‘digger’ originated at this time and not, as suggested by Lt-Col Horne, in the early part of 1917.

The controversy continues today.

First to fall

The first Australian engagements — and casualties — of World War I took place not in 1915 at Gallipoli but during the year before in what was then known as German New Guinea. In September 1914 a combined Australian Naval and Military Expeditionary Force attacked German forces and wireless installations at and near Herbertshöhe (now Kokopo, East New Britain province in Papua New Guinea). These installations were considered dangerous because they formed the communications hub for Germany’s East Asian Cruising Squadron. A month or so after the engagement, First Class petty officer C. Hoffman wrote home to Rockhampton in Queensland about his experiences, giving an on-the-ground account of the fighting.

You know that we left Rocky and everything was a whisper. When Max Jeffries and myself reached Brisbane we were ordered to Sydney by the same train that brought us from Rocky, along with over fifty Queenslanders bound for Sydney. Still everything done in a whisper. When we got to Sydney there was no secret about it. All along the line the people were at the stations to give us a cheer, right up to 2 am. We were a queer looking crowd, only one third of the boys in uniform. On arriving in Sydney we were run to Edgecliff. Some were fitted out with uniform and boots, and webbing gear similar to the soldiers. I was not fitted with clothes until we were at sea in the Berrima. We had a fine passage right through. We anchored ten days in the Palm Islands, going on shore in the ship’s boats, skirmishing and rifle practice. There were about 500 naval reserves and over 1200 soldiers with two machine guns.

… When we arrived off here at 7 am on the 11th we had orders to go on shore for the great ceremonial as the Germans had surrendered, but we very soon found out that they had not.

The Governor said that he could not surrender and the navals were landed. The run to the wireless station, called Kabakaul, about six miles from the landing, was a dangerous piece of work. It was one open road with thick jungle on both sides, with a trench across the road which was mined in places. We lost the best naval officer of the expedition, Lieutenant Commander Elwell, a real ‘toff’, Captain Pockley of the Army Medical Corps, another ‘toff’, and four of our reserves, all AB’s, along with three other reserves wounded.

Landing parties from the destroyers also landed and did good work. We also had one naval officer, Lieutenant Bowen, wounded, but he has since rejoined. Our boys fought like tigers; no holding them back. The Germans themselves did not do much damage. They cocktailed [failed to fight]. The native armed police did most of the damage. They were posted in trees. We got a number of German officers and non coms, also thirty-six native police besides those that were sent to the boneyard. The two officers that were shot, also the AB’s, were shot with soft-nosed bullets, the lead standing out about a quarter of inch above the nickel. Some of the nickel bullets were filed like a cross over the point of the bullet, and others were sharp-pointed. There would be no chance of living if any of them went through you. The bullet-holes in Lieutenant Elwell and Captain Pockley on the one side were very small, but where they came out you could drop a billiard ball in.

After the wireless was taken we had to look for the Governor, forty Germans, and 200 armed native police in another part of the island. The Encounter shelled in the direction where the force was supposed to be, about six miles in a straight line, and that put the fear of God and old England into their hearts. They had retreated to another place. We had been in the bush all day, and just about dusk located them up a bit of a mountain. Two shots from our field gun into the ridge and out came a white flag with word that the Governor and his troops would surrender. On the Thursday the Governor came in and surrendered on condition that they got full honours of war.

On the Monday it was a grand sight to see the Germans coming in with their black police. Their drilling was something lovely, just like a piece of machinery. Three days after the battle I was made a first-class petty officer for services, and two days later was appointed master of native police. I took charge of the police when they surrendered and disarmed them. They were armed with 1912 and 1913 Mauser rifles and jagged bayonets. They are a fine body of boys, I have got them into shape with the English words of command. They have no time for the Germans on account of the Germans ill-treating them. When the Germans started getting away from us the niggers started to talk amongst themselves, and the only way for the Germans to save their own skins was by surrendering themselves and the black police as well. They fed them up like fitting [fighting] cocks and got the ball cartridges away from them, and gave them dummy ones instead.

The Germans had another wireless station about thirty-two miles from here, and the road to it was a beauty. It was simply a pass in places and if they had put up a fight in this direction there would have been very few of us left to tell the tale. There were places where it would have been almost impossible to get at them, but thanks to the native police the Germans threw in the towel.

Another twenty-six blacks and whites arrived from New Guinea as reinforcements and walked across the island. We intercepted these, and they surrendered. All the ships lay up in Rabaul, the capital, which is on Simpson Haven, about fourteen miles from here. The soldiers are in garrison there with the exception of about two companies, which are in New Guinea, and twenty-eight naval reserves and four companies of naval reserves are stationed here at Herbertshohe. I take my armed police into the bush and am away two and three days at a time. I am not a bit afraid. They swear by me and say, ‘Hoffman, he good feller master. You no make him cross.’ The other natives on the island take some watching; but they all say they are ‘English — German no good.’ In all the southern papers, we get here there is nothing in them about the forces bound for England; not a word about our boys being boiled up under the Equator, and never a murmur from the papers. The soldiers that have accompanied us here have never fired a shot yet, and are not likely to.

Things are quiet here. It is simply garrison work. I get plenty to do. I have to look after the native police and natives, and I have a lively time hunting up the German planters for ill-treating natives on their plantations. I have got Max Jeffries in the office here with me now, so don’t wonder at Max forgetting his English when he returns. He is getting quite a big chap, and is filling out fast and has helped to keep up the name of the Bulldog Breed and Sons of the Sea.

How are all the boys in Rocky? We should have had fifty at least from Rocky. Some of the lads from Victoria are not eighteen years of age. I would like to tell you a lot more, but enough said for the present. I see by the southern papers that Lieutenant Commander Elwell and Captain Pockley were killed at Rabaul in Simpson Haven, and that they were bayoneted with jagged bayonets. That is incorrect. The fight took place between Kabakaul and Bitapaka, where the wireless station was situated, as none know better than the Australian Naval Reserves. Kabakaul is between Cape Gazelle and Point Liaison.

Now I think I have said enough for once. With kind regards to you and yours from Max and myself. Hoping you are all well. Give our chin-chin to all Rocky, and tell them we came out to win and win we did. With the best of good-wishes for dear old Rocky.

Australia’s first submarine, AE1, was part of this operation but was lost at sea with all hands — and has not yet been found. These events, occurring immediately to Australia’s north, took place before the formation of the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps, which is perhaps one reason they have not received the same attention as Gallipoli. But the attitude and approach to the fighting give a hint of what would develop into the Anzac tradition.

The forgotten island

The story of Anzac is founded on events that took place on Gallipoli from dawn 25 April 1915 to dawn 20 December 1915. Forgotten in this chronology is the Greek island of Lemnos, around 130 kilometres from the fighting on the Turkish mainland. While the island is fairly well known for its role as a hospital base for Gallipoli casualties, Lemnos was the point at which the various Allied forces assembled prior to the 25 April landings. It was also the place to which many soldiers were taken after the evacuation of Gallipoli and was effectively the main support base for the entire campaign. Even twenty years later, A. H. Edmonds of the 1st AIF vividly recalled the scene of the combined landing force assembled in Mudros harbour, on Lemnos.

(Continues…)Excerpted from Great Anzac Stories by Graham Seal. Copyright © 2013 Graham Seal. Excerpted by permission of Allen & Unwin.
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