On August 9, 1916, a boy from Condongblonga Station, near the town of Adelong, 100km as the crow flies from Canberra, walked into an office, told people he was 21 when he was actually 16, and got himself enlisted. His regimental number was 1637 in the Australian Flying Corps.
He made the mistake of refusing to salute a British officer and, for his efforts, his leave was cancelled and he was sent to the Western Front. His role during World War I would be a radio operator. The conditions were terrible. He would complain that his radio aerial was continually shot down. In the miserable mud and cold, he ended up getting double pneumonia and was in a very bad way.
Fortunately a nurse took him into her direct care and nursed him back to health. He was medically discharged on the July 27, 1919, and returned to Australia on a hospital ship. His record was not exemplary beyond his peers, but it was exemplary that a person would take themselves completely out of their comfort zone in country NSW.
Was it for adventure or was it for patriotism? Only he could answer that question. Later on, the memories of the Western Front would bring recurring nightmares and remained a traumatic experience for life.
In a small coastal village south of Christchurch, a young man, the youngest of seven children, decided to pursue a career in the army at the age of 19. He enlisted just before World War I. As a bombardier in the
first New Zealand expeditionary force he was sent to Gallipoli on April 25, 1915; service number 2-512. On the May 17, 1915, he was promoted to sergeant. He arrived at Gallipoli on the first day. He stayed there throughout the campaign except for a brief period when he was evacuated and hospitalised. On October 21,
1915, he was appointed battery sergeant major. He left Gallipoli on the last day. On April 7, 1916, he embarked to France for the Western Front. Some of the horrors from this time stayed with him for the rest
of his life. An example was the killing of all the men around him and his survival due to being mounted on a somewhat blind but what he considered a lucky horse.
As a sergeant he was awarded a Distinguished Conduct Medal for bravery under fire, at Messines Ridge and Bapaume. He was highly respected by his men as a person of immense character. After World War I, he stayed in the army, becoming a regimental sergeant major.
On my wall at home, I have a photo of him sitting beside the Prince of Wales, later King Edward VIII, with his bodyguard standing behind and a British officer sitting to the right of the prince. In World War II he was still in the army and had progressed to be the commander of the royal artillery for the New Zealand 3rd Division engaging the Japanese in the Pacific. He set up the gun emplacements around the city of Noumea in New Caledonia. He ended up serving in the army for 36 years and 233 days. In World War I, he served four years and 250 days and, in World War II, he served one year and 261 days.
These people mentioned were my two grandfathers. My father also enlisted in the army, ending up as a lance-bombardier. Unfortunately, or fortunately for me, his service came to an end when an antiaircraft gun, which was being loaded, swung out and smashed his legs. My grandmother, who was English, had either six or seven brothers we were never quiet sure how many. What we do know is they were all killed in war.
Every family has its connection to Anzac Day. The longer our nation prevails the more there are descendants of those who have given military service to protect our nation.
Anzac Day is enmeshed in the finest thread of our nations’ tapestry. Everybody on Anzac Day feels a connection to the fact that, if it wasn’t for them, we wouldn’t be here. That is why we remember them.