William walked along the brick paved footpath and stopped in front of the butchers; the thought of sausages for dinner appealed to him. As he peered through the window at the display, he noticed his reflection in the glass. His weather beaten face, etched with deep furrows; the thinning remains of the shock of black hair from his youth, poked out from under the brim of his hat. A sad feeling rose up at the thought that time had passed, so quickly.
The tinkle of the bell on the door stirred the butcher’s attention. ‘Evening, Mr Campbell, what’ll it be?’ greeted the butcher in his usual jolly tone.
‘I’ll have a pound of pork sausages, thanks,’ said William.
‘I hear the boys in France are fighting hard. The army is looking for 50,000 more chaps to help out,’ said the butcher. ‘They’re paying up to eight shillings a day.’
The butcher wrapped the sausages in a white sheet of paper. ‘That’ll be six pence, please.’
William crossed Victoria Street. On the wall of the Rozelle Post Office was a large poster written in red ink
‘Commonwealth of Australia’
N.S.W. RECRUITING CAMPAIGN
50000
MEN WANTED
William turned off Darling Street and walked halfway down the hill to a small weatherboard cottage. The green paint was peeling off the windows and the gutters leaked leaving a brown rust stain on the faded yellow walls. The house was crumbling around them. ‘If only I could afford to rent a better place,’ he thought as he closed the bolt in the latch of the gate, click-clack went the familiar sound. He opened the door and there was Bert, his fifteen year old son, sitting at the table reading a newspaper.
‘I was expecting to see the house a bit tidier,’ grumbled William. ‘You’ve been home all day, what have you done?
‘I got the paper this morning. I went out with my mates,’ Bert replied.
‘Have you looked for a job? You finished school three weeks ago.’ William was starting to get angry. ‘Here’s some sausages, at least you can cook tea!’
William sat at the old wooden table and looked at The Sydney Morning Herald. A news article jumped out at him. ‘Scarcity of Farm Workers’. After dinner William decided to break the news. ‘Listen son. I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. The Hun are destroying the place over there; they’re killing innocent women and children. This evil has got to be stopped. I’ve decided. I’m joining up, tomorrow.’
‘What about me?’ cried Bert.
‘There are plenty of jobs in the bush and you’ll get a place to stay. You’ll be safe there until I get back.’
The next day, four days before Christmas 1915, William was passed fit for active service.
It had been a year since the medical. Will was relieved all the training was behind them and he would finally see action. He was buoyed by the constant reassurances of the Chaplains during training: it’s a righteous cause and we are doing what God wants. It was His will that we destroy those evil fiends. They told us that we are protecting our loved ones from a fate worse than death.
‘What’s that pong?’ gasped Charlie.
‘Christ, I don’t know,’ choked William.
The newly arrived company was ordered to ‘fall in’. Captain Hardaker paced in front of his troops.
‘Men, our orders are simple; we are to hold this position and stop Fritzie from taking Armentieres. Some of you may have heard that this is a quiet sector. Don’t be fooled. Your vigilance will be tested. Your mates are relying on you. You will not let them down. Now make ready for prayer.’
The battalion’s chaplain stepped forward.
‘O Prince of peace, we humbly ask your protection
for all our men and women in military service.
Give them unflinching courage to defend
with honour, dignity and devotion,
the rights of all who are imperilled
by injustice and evil.
Be their rock, their shield, and their stronghold
and let them draw their strength from you.
For you are God, for ever and ever.’
Will peered over the top of the trench into no-man’s land as the sun was casting its first light above the horizon. The ice formed little clear stalactites on the forest of barbed wire, dozens of parallel rows up to seven feet high. They crossed the contour, down into the thick mist that lay in the hollow.
He ducked down and turned to roll a cigarette when a tremor pulsed through the ground, immediately followed by a deafening explosion. He instinctively turned toward the sound and saw a huge plume of soil and debris rise high above the horizon of the parapet. Everyone braced themselves for the inevitable shower of mud and a merciless artillery barrage.
The troops stirred, waiting for the order. ‘Take your position,’ barked Sergeant Chisholm. The men scurried into position on the firing step. William levelled his rifle over the parapet, waiting for the movement of enemy coming out of the mist. They appeared. Crouching into a lower profile, the enemy inched up the rise.
‘Commence fire.’
William drew in a breath and took aim. A feeling of dread descended upon him. ‘This is what I joined up for.’ As the seconds ticked by the feeling of dread intensified. He closed his eyes, hesitated, raised the barrel and fired a shot. He couldn’t do it, there wasn’t a thought that this was wrong, it was this irresistible feeling. William emptied his magazine well above the enemy’s heads.
‘What are you doing,’ screamed Charlie. ‘You’re aiming too high.’
‘I can’t kill them,’ yelled William.
‘You’ve got to or you’ll be shot,’ scolded Charlie
‘I can’t do it!’
Morning inspection was a welcome relief. The men settled down to breakfast of bully beef and biscuits. A couple of chaps had a bit of bacon that they cooked in an old tin can over a candle. The smell caused everyone in that section of the trench to stare. The tea arrived. The soldiers were always glad to see it, something warm in the ice cold mornings.
‘They could’ve washed the petrol out of the tin first,’ grumbled Charlie.
William and Charlie were ordered to repair the trenches. A large shell had shattered the parapet and collapsed the trench.
‘We’ll start here,’ said William. He drove his shovel into the earth and hit firm resistance.
‘Quick, Charlie, there’s somebody under here.’ They threw the soil back against the wall and uncovered a young soldier. All they could do was move him out of the way and return to clearing the trench. A couple of days later, two stretcher-bearers collected the remains of the soldier and took him away to be buried.
William and Charlie were rotated into the reserve line. There had been a lull in the fighting for a week, the backlog of the wounded had been sent to the clearing units and on to hospital. William decided to discuss his dilemma with the battalion chaplain.
‘Excuse me Padre, can I have a word?’ said William.
‘Of course Private, please take a seat,’ the chaplain responded, pulling a small canvas and timber stool from beside his table. He was a little younger than William, about thirty five, sandy hair and pale complexion. ‘Is it about your faith, Private?’
‘Thank you. I want to do my duty, Padre, but I’ve been experiencing a lot of confusion and I’m finding it very difficult to shoot at the enemy,’ replied William.
‘It is not unnatural to question these actions. We are told in the Bible that it is a sin to murder and these thoughts are in your mind. But we are at war, trying to protect the ones we love from evil. You gave your oath that you would serve the King to resist his enemies,’ he explained. ‘God will want you and all your comrades to defend justice and purge this evil from his realm. Now have courage and faith, He is with you.’
‘Thank you Padre,’ William left reassured that his concerns were a manifestation of his Christian upbringing and he would be able to overcome it.
‘Campbell, Richards, take those boxes of ammunition up to the front line.’
‘These ones, Corporal?’ William asked pointing at a pallet of 303 cartridges.
‘Yes Campbell, now jump to it!’
‘No rest for the wicked, hey Charlie,’ quipped William.
The sun was sinking; the shadows were lengthening at a noticeable pace across the compound. William joined the ranks of his company and they were brought to attention. ‘We’re going to give the squareheads a bit of a shock tonight; make your way to the front and prepare for the attack.’ commanded Captain Hardaker. The order was given and the men moved through the communication trenches.
‘Good luck, Charlie,’ whispered William.
‘You too, Will.’
The men stepped onto the firing step, ready for the whistle to attack. The bloodcurdling shriek relayed down the line. As one, the men went over the top. In the distance, the rattle of the German machine-guns firing into the dark could be heard.
The sergeant barked out the order. ‘Form a line, men. Move forward.’ William stood to move forward. A blow to the right side of his chest knocked all the wind out of his lungs. A piercing pain increased with every breath, he felt a warm sensation taking the cold away as he fell to his knees.
‘Oh Bertie,’ he thought, ‘I’ve bought it’. He lay there, in the mud, waiting.
‘This one’s still breathing,’ said the stretcher-bearer. William slipped into unconsciousness.
The Hospital Ship Western Australia moved silently away from the dock into the Liane, as William looked across the river at the neat rows of houses nestled into the hillside. He was not sorry to be leaving France.
‘Are you comfortable, sir?’ A tall young man bent over him and started to adjust his blanket and deckchair.
‘Yes, thankyou,’ William replied. ‘Are you with the Friends Ambulance Unit, too?’
‘Yes.’
‘They’re brave lads. They got me off the line under heavy fire. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for them.’
‘Thankyou, sir. I’m Paul. I’ll be looking after you’
Paul left to attend to the other patients on his roster. William settled back and watched the Boulogne scenery slip into the distance.
‘Can I ask you a question?’ asked William. Paul looked at him and nodded ‘If we have the same God, why do you object on religious grounds?’
‘We believe in the principle of peace and non-violence as stated by Jesus,’ Paul said. ‘Gods have been used as an authority to justify war for thousands of years.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You can go back to ancient India to a battle between two royal families. In their sacred book, the Bhagavad-Gita; Krishna, an incarnation of the god Vishnu, tells Prince Ajuna he must go to war to protect the righteous from destruction by evil. This was refuted by the Buddha, it is impossible to destroy evil with evil acts.
‘I see.’
‘In the Old Testament, God is said to authorise his people to go to war to take the land He has given them. Jesus refutes this by saying love your enemies. ‘The Catholic Church under Pope Urban II has gone against Jesus and adopted the philosophy of a just war, saying it’s the will of God.’
William nodded.
‘Some men have a desire to kill, a lust. A war is an excuse to kill. The state and authorities will dress it up as patriotism and an altruistic act to protect, but basically the soldier has been given permission to kill the enemy. They are told they have permission from the King, who through the Church has permission from God. Then there are men who respond to the call to duty, good men who are willing to defend the Empire from its enemies. They have no desire to kill. They believe that they are doing their moral duty and God is with them. Some of them will face a dilemma when they face the enemy for the first time. An uncertainty will fill their mind. For a second they will hesitate and notice an unfamiliar feeling welling up from inside them as they are about to pull the trigger.’
‘Yes I’ve experienced that,’ exclaimed William.
‘Some of the men will ignore this feeling. They will fire and kill the enemy because they were ordered to do so. Once they are past that initial uncertainty they find more killing less confronting. Then there is the soldier who doesn’t ignore the feeling. It is strong.’
William stirred, this piqued his interest.
‘The feeling that wells up is powerful it cannot be resisted. The soldier knows from deep within that he must not kill. It is a feeling that comes from the core of his soul. We believe it is the Holy Spirit.’
The troop ship’s bow thrust skywards as it crested the wave, only to freefall on the other side. Wave after wave jolted the ship, each one sent a wave of nausea through the passengers. Each roll of the ship found something new, not secured. William sat with the others all swaying in unison trying to stay up-right in the crowded cabin. ‘I can see Le Havre,’ shouted a soldier.
Rows and rows of munitions were piled along the dock. The Chinese labourers scurried back and forth moving the tons of cargo onto trains, trucks and horse drawn carts. William weaved through the chaos to the station. He found his berth on the train. Finally he could relax and watch the French countryside drift past his window. He was headed to the front at Ypres.
Pools of muddy water lay in the pock marked fields, the grey mud distorted into a mess of oblique forms. The tangled remnants of lifeless trees were silhouetted against the grey ominous sky with its promise of a violent storm. This fertile ground showed no sign of the life it could bear, a desolate panorama from horizon to horizon.
The unmistakable stench of decay wafted in with the breeze, its disgusting embrace seeping into every pore. William knew it would take a day or two to get used to it again. The squelch of approaching boots drew his attention; he swung around to see the Chaplain. ‘Good afternoon, Private,’ he said.
‘Good afternoon, Padre.’
‘God be with you.’
‘Thank you, Padre.’ William thought that was a bit strange.
The 36th battalion was called to parade with full kit. ‘Men, we’ve been given an objective. Tomorrow at 5:25 a.m. we are going push forward and take the ridge at Passchendaele. From there we will move on to the village and establish a front 400 yards past that. Sergeant, move the men into position,’ ordered Captain Fisher.
In single file the company moved into the communication trenches and on to the frontline. The onslaught of heavy rain, accompanied by strong winds made shocking conditions worse. Craters, filled with water, became silent traps for the unweary in the low light. The order to ‘stand to’ came. The company rose and fixed bayonets. The click-clack of the bayonet being mounted on the rifles sent William back to Rozelle. ‘I wonder how Bertie is,’ he thought.
The shriek of a whistle shattered the silence. The attack began. William made his way through no-man’s land. The mud between the craters captured his every footstep. A young soldier was hit in the leg and went into a crater full of water. He didn’t surface. William couldn’t stop. He had to move forward. Move up the ridge. The German soldier appeared from nowhere, he looked William in the eye. William took aim. He hesitated. The familiar feeling rose up from the depths of his soul. He knew what it was. Don’t kill.
A bullet passed under the brim of his helmet. He didn’t feel pain. He found peace.
Australis Aquarii 