Mitchell Library, State Library of New South Wales

Jack Sommers war Letters and Verses, 1914-1916
MLMSS 3012

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Jack Sommers
Letters and Verses
c. 1914 – c. 1916

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Contents
a. Letters, c. 1914 – c. 1916, Pages 1-52
b. Verses, c. 1914 – c. 1916, Pages 153-172

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Written on eve of going down to Mena from Alex. 1914

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Thursday

Alexandria
10. Dec. 1914

My Dear Viva & Pater Mater & all.

We are on the eve of disembarkation en route for Mena, down the Nile

Of all the wonderful things Ive seen I can at present only hint

The trip thro the canal lined with 30000 Indian troops The wonderful procession of ships laden with troops passing thro the canal for 6 weeks without a break 5 miles apart

The harbour here with literally thousands of ships. Ships as far as one can see for miles packed like the Vic Dock. Prizes of the war & sheltering vessels. My trip

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a time like this that one can realize the might of Britain. This port & Egypt generally is part of the Ottoman Empire & yet here we are going the whole show & cooly using this port as a base. I could have got ashore tonight but as we go at 4.30 tomorrow Im off it. Its all like some strange dream, fancy Egypt. We are to go to the front later, probably thu Masseilles.

The British flooded all the county East of the Canal to keep back the
into and thro Port Said. French leave down a rope into a native boat & off. In which I and 40 others were caught & will get fits directly – worth it all tho. A wonderful sink of all the iniquities of Sodom & Gomorrah lonely cafes – shops weird folk. Of all tho I will write later. Why we go to Egypt we can only guess. 4 mths is the suggested stay for training but I think there is a more serious reason. We will be in the heart of Egypt 10 miles from the railway. It is only at

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Turk. It looks just like part of the Mediterranean instead of cultivated land. God knows how they’ll pump it dry again. The Indian troops are splendid types as are the Egyptians – Nubian. Ebony giants in red fez caps

I will write from camp more fully telling you all and sending you a paper from here. God how tired I am of this boat. 13 weeks now since we sailed. My fondest love to you all.

I am well & as happy as possible

Yours affectionately
Jack

Send 2 long letters from Port Said.

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[Sketch at top of page]

My Dear People

At last I have a chance to write again. We have been very busy indeed preparing for some approaching event which I cannot tell you of for Censorship reasons. I am at present on water guard which is to keep the troughs full for the horses and to prevent the septic Arab from washing in the water.

The little sketch above is the view from where I sit. Far off the blue grey in the morning air are the minarets of the celebrated Mosque of Mohamed Ali & the Citadel both of which dominate Cairo which is below to the left. The row of trees masks the road from here to the city a beautiful avenue of shady trees sheltering a fine limestone road 10 miles to the town. In the middle distance lies the beautiful verdant [indecipherable] land of Egypt, its crops of Berseme, a kind of clover used for fodder.

To the left is a camp & village of Arab dirty mud huts. Before me thro the desert sand move the women of the village with their stately walk carring wonderful loads balanced on their heads their [indecipherable]
in delightful folds flapping in the soft breeze. Tiny donkeys loaded with produce & the snaky deliberate camels move to & fro.

At my rear towards the morning sun and about ¼ mile distant tower the great pyramids & close behind me again is a beautiful grove of our own gums. Sheltering the newly formed hospital & army medical camp where nurses in grey white & grey & red move thro the grove attending the 400 sick who lie here. These girls have just arrived & bring with them quite a breath of home. We are not permitted to speak to them unless we hold at least a Lieutenancy. It must be very interesting to them here as this town of their [indecipherable] the only white women for miles among so many soldiers.

Away again to my left the desert in golden grey with strings & strings of tiny ants - cavalry black against the sand. The palest Khake looking [indecipherable] against this brilliant background.

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Away over the hills a machine gun is rattling away in its methodical maddening song. Like someone testing a noisy motor bike; the intermittent popping of the infantry practice is echoed from the pyramids. Sometimes an 18 pounder booms over the sand hills followed by the queer sound of bursting shrapnel like a big cart load of stones being dumped on a road.

In front of me sits a grey crow with a black hood & two dingo like pariah dogs with curled tails view me suspiciously. The sun glints on the silver anklets of a woman of the village & the sound of trumpets comes down the breeze.

I shall be glad indeed to take the warpath altho this is interesting enough this training becomes deadly. I seldom go to Cairo now its too far, too costly. However the move must come some day. I must abide in patience. How will it all end!

I often think, in fact I always think of you far away and your quiet life. I think how strange it is that I would be elected the wanderer of the family. It must be some ancestral reason that sets me off on restless escapades. I sincerely believe in my prophetic sense. I felt this coming months ago. Also I felt once I shall return some day. Certainly a wiser & I hope not a sadder man. I feel about 28 altho I have now a fine sprinkle of grey in my hair. The life fascinates me.

I have never got your letters of which Viva adresed me. She complains I don’t write – I’ve written pads of letters which must turn up some day.

I had 4 & 1 paper from her. Tell her to be patient. I am not neglectful but letters always go astray in this game. Praps you may not hear in 3 months a line but word will come at last.

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When you read this send it on to Viva I ask her to send you her letters also I am writing syndicate letters for you both all times. I cannot always duplicate my news.

Give my love to the dear kiddies & tell them their soldier uncle thinks always of them – will come home some day to see them. Praps they will be big then.

I hear that Australia is very depressed. Im thinking many of us are better here for many reasons besides doing our duty to our country. Im proud of this little army. Its physique is wonderful & its a credit to Australia. It will be a sore day for the enemy when our men are at last unloosed upon them. The [indecipherable] up [indecipherable] & enthusiasm of months will startle them Ill bet.

It grows hotter & hotter now & the haze of the desert & mist is ruling the hills. In the distance I see my mate coming across the desert. Im hoping his bottle contains something refreshing. Soon well go to lunch & then back here in the afternoon. Finishing at 9 tonight. So for a few minutes, adieu.

He has arrived & the [indecipherable] was good. You will notice that now my writing runs easier. Adam adam my comrade is snoring in the hot sand me thinks he had more than one of these potent English beers. The place

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& the sand becomes intense as the sun gets high in the sky. Far overhead the eternally wheeling kites (a species of hawk) the scavengers of the desert chirrup overhead.

Sunday 31st Jan. 1915

I have just returned from church parade. Altho I put down in my attestation papers no religion I am classed on my identification tag which we all wear round our necks as Presbyterian. I tried the C.E. crowd but find the best sleep is with the Pbty’s. Church is compulsory here.

A few nights ago I spent a night in the native villages. These are most interesting. The watchman ‘Safir’ with his old snider polished up like silver & his [indecipherable] of blank cartridge showed us thro the village in each case.

We got into their houses for boiled eggs & coffee a rare privilege with these arabs especially at 2 & 3 in the morning. Our entrance into these places received with wild barkings from the hundreds of pariah dogs who run to & fro on the flat thatched roofs. They look so funny peeping over the eaves & yelping. There are no chimneys the smoke escapes thro the thatch after filling the room with acrid smoke.

Today is hot & clear & we have not much to do. Ive applied for a pass to go again to the pyramids. There is no Sunday here

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in the home sense Friday being the Mohammedan Sabbath. I am surprised to find how much French I have picked up & my accent is regarded as good. I find it most useful, all the commercial folk speak French here & it is an entrée to the better class acquaintainceship.

We have now 4 Cinema shows going here a good thing for the boys keep them out of Cairo where so many of our men have been ruined by diseases of a very dangerous character.

Many will be sent home for this reason. I should like better than all to be home in your quiet house today with you around me in some peace & quiet this is a noisy raucous atmosphere at best. Tomorrow we go to the rifle ranges again for special shooting & then a drill & practise again.

I hope you will write often all of you tell me all the news everything about home interests us.

Give my love to every one.
I am in good health and reason
Yours most affectionately
Jack

Reg. No.
538
No 1 Sec.
No 2 Co
A.A.J.C.
Mena
Via Cairo
Egypt

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This is a description of a day on water guard at Mena Camp early in 1915
JS

31st January 1915

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You must understand that I cant duplicate letters so Ill send them you & Viva by turns

Mena Camp.
18.2.15

My Dear Pater Mater Dora & Stan

I received a letter a few days ago from Dora but none since Albany from you, Pater & mater. I spose they are astray usual.

I wrote last mail again & hope you get that.

Ive just returned from a long march in the desert & glad to get a wash shave & rest. So are all our horses poor chaps. Viva will swap letters with you. I write every time I get a chance. We are worked from 5.30 am sometimes till 8 or 9 at night & lights out at 9.30 pm so we don’t get much time. Ill write a bit more before this is posted but for tonight adieu or Au revoir I should say. Best love to you all

From Jack

With this a syndicate letter to Viva

Sent some things to Viva by registered parcel sending you some more next mail

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Written at the time of C Bean’s criticism of 1st Div Mena Egypt.

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Feb. 8th 1915
Mena Camp
Egypt

My dearest wife

Your letters distress me with your news of the non arrival of my letters. I have written often and long, and you should have heaps by now. The delay is caused by censorship and damn muddle of so much correspondence.

Well I’ve been hard at work and it’s a fortnight since I last wrote, up early back late – on picquet (as I am tonight). I feel sad and depressed and homesick tonight one gets tired of the eternal round of duties to be carried out so methodically. Still there is considerable interest. We go miles thro the irrigation areas, along roads on embankments and the scenery at times is beautiful.

Verdant clover fields with the always picturesque fellaheen (peasantry) with their funny fat tailed sheep, and camels, and cattle, and buffaloes, and their flowing robes and mostly black and white with sometimes a girl in vivid scarlet and green squatting among the lucerne, and always the villages on the broad waterways with their mud walls and maize thatched rooves in teeming crowds moving from the water to the door from which

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pour smoke – there are no chimneys here.

It is a beautiful view from the hills near the pyramids. The lovely fertile valley of the Nile spreads like a green carpet dotted with villages in the distance, the rosy gold desert [indecipherable] far off like a fairy tale city lies – Cairo with its towers, domes, and minaets of gold against the opal evening sky. Every where is color. Perhaps a little girl or boy in green over orange sleeves, and lemon petticoat with a heap of malachite melone, or gold oranges camels with trappings & tassels of rich colours, while
and donkeys with vermillion saddles. Blue robed peasants, with chrome yellow leather slippers, and sombre women in black veil (yashmak) and the gold cylinder on the nose. I send one with this.

The women here would interest you – just the ultra smart Frenchies, dressed to the moment tripping thro the town on high heels. Egyptian women of the better class with silk gauze veils showing the face clearly enough like a complexion veil – beautiful women they are as they roll past in their carriages. Perfect oval faces, fine eyes

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the pick of the harems. Peasants in black veils, dark Italians & Greeks, Spaniards with silk mantillas, are always here. Also the two types of English the wowser in tweeds, flat heeled, flat footed, and goggles and the spare smart aquiline officer’s wife type. The bazaars are fine full of stuff that would make your mouth water from jewellery to carpets – lovely brass urns, and bowls etc. The carpets are a dream. Streets & streets of nothing but prostitutes from black ones sitting like monkeys behind barred windows to smart French women lounging at the doors. I avoid the lot – they are killing heaps of our chaps.

The atmosphere reeks of sex here and revolts the senses. In Australia you are all calm, holy, wowsers, to these folk. Everything is openly suggestive. In the back streets one relieves oneself in public, or rather the niggers do, and no takes any notice – just like a dog. And the smell – Oh God!

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The walls of the native quarter are corroded to a depth of inches with the urine of generations.

Trades are all carried on in little box like shops open to the street and the smell of fried foods and garlic permeates all. Oh Hell what would I give to be home in the clean air of Sydney or Melb away from these savages and their filth.

The fine houses are dreams of Arabic architecture and the flat buildings very fine too.

But the Pests if you stop in the street dozens surround you trying to clean your boots, sell you fags, cards or any damn thing. One is always snapping out Emshi! (go away) Yallah! (get out) pushing them off only to meet more, hideous beggars, & wretched women blind with skinny babies, stretching out for the eternal backsheesh.

My French improves, I can carry on quite decently now, and it’s a great help here. The native music is most fascinating, wierd, wailing, desert stuff – very musical – to the accompanyment of the drums.

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The dancing is very queer, posturing, slow almost imperceptible movements. Some of the can cans are inexpressibly lewd, and the belly dance a marvel of abdominal twitching with alternate hip dropping movements, always to the tom tom tut a tom, tut a tom, of the drums. One soon wearies of it however. I wouldn’t walk over the road for any of even now.

I saw some wounded Turks one day poor haggard pain drawn faces peering from the ever present ambulances and the rows of battered hang dog wolfish prisoners. I’ll bet they are sorry they tried. I cant give you any war news – not allowed, you’ll hear it all soon before this. Its all ambulance, red cross, trains and soldiers and the curious native populace hanging round the railway station & good gloat over the butchers shop scenes. Yet its all so quiet & methodical. Two streets and there is no sign of people or cafes. People strolling soldiers walking & pictures shows & Theatres etc in full swing. I did well in my shooting tests getting the possible

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Written from Mena Hospital just before the 1st Div left. Mena for Lemnos

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Mena House
Sat 2 April
1915

Dear Mater, Pater & all –

Ive been very ill with fever & threatened pneumonia which has been epidemic amongst us. 6 in a day have died here lately but Im on the mend & to get up today. D.V.

This is a fine place originally a swell hotel now General Hospital No. 2, & we are well nursed & treated finely.

Australian nurses & the best of food etc. Still Ill be glad to rejoin my regiment Ill tell you. Ive written heaps to you lately I don’t think it will be long before we move off from here now. I have so little news

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to give you.

I hope you are all well you are all always in my thoughts. Im looking forward to seeing you all again when this beastly war is over

Give my love to all not forgetting the dear kiddies & same to your dear selves

from
Yours affectionately
Jack Sommers

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Just ready to go to Gallipoli

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S.S. "Minnewaska"
Alexandria Harbour
8 April 1915.

Dearest Mater Pater Stan Dora Marjorie & Jack,

Once again we are in sight of the blue Mediterranean, on a huge ship – I cant tell you why or whence we go – Because – you understand why – But Im better again after the fever – hospital I spoke of in my last, but still weak

Im mending & am fairly tough. Sent you heaps of letters – when Viva told me & tells me every mail of non arrival it breaks my heart. Don’t think I neglect you I never forget a mail when we are in camp.

Of course for a long while we were away in the desert but on return I always wrote to you. I don’t suppose youll hear from me now for a few weeks – the papers will tell you of our doings.

I hope you got the parcel I sent to you also all my letters will turn up some day

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also my sketches in water – oil Ive sent from time to time to you

Now don’t worry & realize that Im not in a civilized country next to a P.O. in peace times but a wandering soldier in a disturbed one.

Ill come thro alright. My Scots second sight tells me that youll see me home some day.

All my fondest love to you all & kisses for the dear kiddies
from Yours affectionately
Jack

Write occasionally. I got 2 letters from Mater – Pater & one from Dora since I left also about 5 altogether from Viva. I think many must have gone astray, however Ill be home soon & tell you all the news better than cold paper & pencil can.

[At bottom of page "1915 ap"]

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April 12. 1915

Arrived this morning at about 6.30 at Lemnos. The fleet including French, Russian, British warships conspicuous amongst which the Queen Elizabeth & Askold, lying before the long lines of transports against the delicate greens & purples of the island.

Above lay cumulus clouds of gold in which mingled the dark smoke of the battleships a fine and impressive sight. A wide open bay encircled by hills chequered with cultivation patches of delicate ochre, purple, dark green and sparsely timbered with grey trees behind these again rocky hills. Here there

[last line unable to be transcribed]

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the villages of faint red brick [indecipherable] with white walls against the sky tower like windmills with many arms. Whirl & whirl across the hills to the east long dark skirmishing lines of trench troops in packs of a dozen or so slowly stringing across the green slopes. Away down by the waters edge in the distance in columns or two of dusty khake clad troops scattered camps of white bell tents & the dark streaks of horse lines. In the harbour darting pinnaces, torpedo boats & one or two stealthy submarines animate the scene.

This afternoon for the first time came the sound of the guns from afar off behind Lemnos. The first

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12-14 & 15 April 1915

The days slip by monotonously fine weather prevailing. The infantry & other troops persistently practising landing operations. S.B. returned from a reconnasance with Queen Elizabeth, reports all quiet at the Gallipoli peninsula, a few biplanes in sight at one of which the Queen had a long range shot one small body of troops observed

B engaged in map work at which I shall join tomorrow.

[indecipherable] was first prisoner of war arrived a mild fair creature who is said to be a pressed man of Greek nationality surrendered to the Allies.

He walks about the boat receiving cigarettes from our men with one guard in attendance is said to be giving information – beast. Another man suspected spy is below in the cells

The lull before the storm General Birdwood reported to have said Constantinople is the middle of May

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Nothing else of note – dreary routine & our horses more unfit each day.

We are now on Army rations Bully beef & biscuit. The latter hard as the Kaisers heart.

Our men gamble persistently – sometimes all night the destroyers & torpedo boats [indecipherable] to & fro. Pinnaces dropping boats full of troop passengers.

[Hand drawn sketch of several boats in convoy.]
Nothing else of note except that tomorrow I may go ashore to the island.

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note of reality of the war a far off deep toned roar, which we shall probably hear much more distinctly in the near future down in the holds men are busy filling the belts of the machine guns with the wicked little brass cylinders, [indecipherable] cleaning each part examining spare barrels often with block & tackle heavy boxes of ammunition to the deck. The interpreter dark semetic looking chaps in semi military attire chat with the soldiers & still all is cheerfulness. Afghans of the mountain gun battery & Bengal lancer chat & joke with territorials & Australian & New Zealanders while aft in the troop decks the infantry clean arms or go thro drill evolutions. The are full of rumours the usual camp rumours from which one has to sift the meagre facts. So the day goes until the sun drops behind the hills of Lemnos & the general salute rings out astern as the old flag flutters down before the attentive troops.

So to tomorrow & tomorrow we turn our attention. This tremendous tomorrow – so long anticipated

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Sunday 25 April 1915

4.55 First man landed by [indecipherable]

at 3 am a terrific tramping roaring & screaming of horses on the horse decks. The sudden extinguishing of lights having the effect of terrifying the horses & mules. Pickets & guards groping on the dark shore to calm the maddened creatures – On deck a calm sea cleft into furrows by the long lines of the swiftly steaming transports away ahead. The brown of the land overhung with two bright morning stars, silence except in the murmur of the densely packed crowd in the forward decks. On & on toward the two gleaming stars a faint rattle far ahead gradually focussing into a distinctly muffled rattle the first shots of the attack. Our infantry at work passed the word from mouth to mouth. Louder & louder as we sped onward the eastern sky now flashing with faintest light. [indecipherable] & [indecipherable] & [indecipherable] away ahead as the blue grey land mass now becoming more tangible as the serrated edges of the hills appeared. From out of the gloom stealthy dark shaped destroyers [indecipherable] forward to meet us. The base of the [indecipherable] hills sparkles with the tiny points of light from the rifle muzzles & the destroyers draw to the transport [indecipherable] & the khake crowds surge toward the rail swarm down the ladders & away into the mysterious gloom where louder & louder grows the rattle of the rifle fire. Lighter & lighter it grows away to the south a strip of land shows darker against the rest. Suddenly blank blank blank blank the red flashes spray from the dark cliffs high up against the now bright sky tiny black dots appear spreading into fleecy balls & rings – the shore batteries have opened. Boom – swish – bump – boom. From the silent battle ships around us stream red flame & upon the dark promontory huge V shaped splashes of fire spring & spout. Boom boom one by one the great ships open fire the shore is lit with red sparks & clouded with huge columns of smoke as the huge shell fling rock & sand into the air but thro all the smoke comes the whack whack of the shore gun. Shells burst high above us throw huge spouts of water all around & one bursting almost on our bow scatters the hatches from the focsle turning the water alongside into foam. Still the destroyers parade with long lines of boats strung behind steam away into the brown of the shore.

The roar of the rifles swells & the louder rattle of the Maxims swells the huge volume of sound.

The attack of the Australians has opened.

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April 1915

tres white.

I hope this year will close the war. Ive had 20 months service now & this is my third campaign so Im a bit tired of war. Could do a trip home or to England easily my word.

Havent had any letters in a month on account of the move here, but expect some soon surely.

I send my best love to you and all at home and friends and hope to see you before too long a time is past

Address the same
add. 1st Division, France
Love again to all
From Yours affectionately
Jack Sommers

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From France
Fleurbaix area
April 1915

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May 3 1915

Somewhere
Sometime

"Caelum, non animum, mutant qui trans mare

[They change the sky, not their soul, who run across the sea. Horace]

My Dear Wife

The days have been full of wonderful things. The nights of further mysteries. I will try and give you something of the atmosphere of one eventful morning.

The ships surge towards the two great stars swing against the pallid sky now showing the first wash of dawn. Steaming swiftly in great rows, silent except for the muffled throb of the engines and the muttered undertones of the dense crowds on deck. The chill breeze of early morning sends a slight shiver thro’ ones frame, as we slip thro’ a dark and waveless sea. Below the two great stars an intangible blur upon the horizon becoming each minute more distant as the dawn lightens the loom of the land lifts from the sombre sea, hung with mists of morning. A faint mutter from far ahead a vibration of the air rather felt than heard – like the breaking of distant bubbles arrests the senses. The khaki crowd upon the deck

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surges forward expectantly towards the foc’scle eyes straining into the gloom beyond to where the great ships steaming in swift straight lines plow dark furrows on the leaden mirror of the seas. A light land breeze rippling the waters ahead now brings the sound with greater distinctness – plop – plop plop – plop, merging into a rhythmic rattle as the machine guns join the rifles in the volume of distant sound.

The fight has opened. On the decks glistening with morning dew, the infantry, burdened with their heavy packs lean on their arms. The hundreds of faces white in the dawn light turned toward the new sound. Faces with nothing but the eager expectation of battle written in the eyes. Officers move to & fro giving instructions in low voices. Louder grows the rattle of the fight ahead as the rapidly flushing sky reveals the undulating outlines of the hills, clear edged in the morning air below which long sparks of light blink as the rifles flash along the shore. Lean greyhound like destroyers leap out of nothing white plumes of foam at the bow as for the first time the huge grey hulls of the battleships come to view, lying in regular formation

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right & left, leviathans in repose – silent, but menacing.

Clearer & yet clearer grows the sky, paler & paler grow the twin stars the hills lift higher from the sea as the transports swing into orderly formation. Away to the side a darker smudge betrays the presence of some promontory jutting from the hills.

The rifles & maxims still sing their maddening song rising & falling the fight ebbs & flows – Boom! crack! A huge jet of red fire shoots from the grey giant hull nearest. Far off a great V of scarlet sparks & tears upwards with lightning swiftness as the tearing roar & heavy crash of the shell come back on the breeze. Wunk, - wunk, - wunk. Little flashes spring from the dark bank ahead. Against the sky above appear little black spots which curiously unfold with little fleecy rings & balls Cr-ash! Crack! Crack – little fountains of water lift from the sea ahead & both sides. Bang! Bang! Bang! The huge red spurts spring from a half a dozen grey hulls. The swift V’s of scarlet sparks rush upward far away in the shadow followed by

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clouds of brown smoke exactly on the "spots" where the little flashes appeared. Flash. Flash thro’ the dust & smoke; the little black specks unroll overhead, crack a crack the water torn into foam as the shrapnel strikes the water all round. An ear-splitting crash right on our bow & a rush of bullets just along side sends the crowd on the foc’sle scampering to cover. The rifles, maxims fire ashore rises to a regular roar. The Boom of the great guns is almost incessant. The air full of the roaring of the huge projectiles fills the air. Another chapter of history is begun.

There is something so deliberate about the appearance of shells bursting in the air at a distance. The smoke appears to just unroll like a little tissue paper ball rolled tight changing to a globe of cotton wool which drifts as the wind. The hail of bullets pours down below scattering death & wounds.

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The big shells screeching over us fill the air with the rushing roar of an express train. The sound is hard to localize. In fact until they explode it is hard to determine their exact position. We have had some narrow shaves but one becomes quite used to these.

The men gamble persistently even going away from the ship they played banker, in many cases a little while before their death.

There is one infernal game called "House" which consists of cards distributed at a small price bearing an irregular sequence of numbers. These are checked by a leather bagged person who has a bag filled with numbered wooden disks. The man holding the card on which are the numbers called first shouts or yells "House!" & is the winner of the pool. During shell fire the whole show goes somewhat thus

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"House aback ‘ere" – Boom Boom! Eyes daoun ’n lookin’! "Bang crack – "Sevanty’ite" whirr – Bang Bang polp, plop plop. Boom – "Twenny naine!" R. Rumph – bumph – "Top of the ‘aouse" [indecipherable] Crack – "Fourteen" Boom – Boom – "House!!"

("R –Rumph" is the best I can give verbally for the sound of a shell bursting afar off. It sounds like dumping a cart load of old iron from a dray.) These men will gamble with cinders on the hobs of Hell. The casual Australians indeed.

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The poor wounded – some look quite cheerful in their queer bamboo splint jackets, but the worst cases are pitiful especially when young.

Strange but thro it all the thing that moved me most was one boot sticking out under the Union Jack. Just a human pathetic everyday sort of boot Ugh!!

These are great days. I feel well, & feel as though the normal conditions are landscapes punctuated with dust clouds & the little fleecy shrapnel bursts strung against the skyline.

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[Hand-written transcription of the previous letter.]

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[The beginning of this page is a hand-written transcription of the previous letter. The following section is not included in Sommers’ original.]
Sometimes a gnat like aeroplane from the enemy appears flying very high. The little white balls of smoke appear miles off in his direction like magic & off he goes.

None of the real thing is at all like the conventional battle pictures. They are all staged, theatrical condensed fictions. Some day I hope verbally & graphically to express the real

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thing. Also a most interesting side. The colour of war, I am missing nothing of artistic or literary value although the surroundings are anything but conducive to intelligent thought.

I’m enclosing if the censor will so permit some verse for the "Bully"

You must share this letter with those in our homes

I got your letter and, I think, most of your papers

That article of Fredric Palmer’s is very good. I’m glad you progess with French always write some of you letter in French so that I may see how you progress.

I find my French very useful now especially now in to some people here

Best love
Yours affectionately
Jack

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Jack’s letter to Viva

Dated May 3 1915 headed: Somewhere, Someplace

This is a copy of a letter written from Anzac copy made by my sister it contains a description of the Landing at Anzac. It has not been published

The account is from the "Minnewaska" carrying Birdwood & staff & 1st Battalion, 1st Div Tran etc

[Page 49]
1915 May Incomplete when given

& the flush of artillery. Last night as I was standing out admiring the beautiful sky came a whirring overhead, nearer & nearer, a deafening crash as the Germans dropped a big bomb just missing us. Its weird to be bombarded from the invisible, you can hear the engines of the plane as she passes overhead, then a soft stealthy whirr as she shuts off her engines and volplanes over the mark, then the peculiar whirr of the bomb, you can never guess where it will land, then the ear splitting roar as it lands and the rattle of the ’plane as she sweeps away to poise for another attack. On fine days it literally rains shrapnel bullets and shell cases and caps from anti aircraft guns, our own, fired at Taubes. Altho thousands of them whir & thud around the casualties are negligible, wonderful luck. The cap of a shell came thru the roof of our stable, hurting no one

[Page 50]
[There seems to be a page of this letter missing here. There is no page 70 in the originals. The first page of the letter is 69, the second 71.]
I hope so. I want a change of work.

Im writing this lying in deep cool grass full of buttercups, around me the hedges full of hawthorn blooms and the blossoms of the apple tree falling over me. A thrush is piping his evening song and across the fields comes that most beautiful note of the cuckoo.

Over in the big barn where we live, alone clamours the raucous strident note of Australia, the voices of my comrades in arms wrangling over some petty thing or other.

And ever again deep undertone the roar of the German guns. At times like gigantic surf on some beach of iron

I send you my thanks and all my love

Yours affectionately
Jack

[Page 51]
Part of a letter written Fleurbaix Flanders
May 1915

[Page 52]
S.S. Minnewaska

July. 18. 1915

My Dearest Mater, Pater, Stan Dora & Babes

I got the pouch tobacco some few hours ago a welcome present & much appreciated as an affectionate thought. Things move very slowly at present & there is a heavy drag on the hours. But "Shur Shur" as the Arab says Bye & Bye. "Bootha zum quies" a fine day tomorrow. I got also two papers Lane hand & Table Talk this is the second L. Hand lately. Many many thanks for them all. They pass round and are eagerly read. I really think you know more of the world events than we.

My health remains splendid in spite of the many sicknesses around. Im pretty tough after all. You would hardly have prophesied in my delicate chested youth the possibility of my roughing it in early middle age. But Ive got you Mater & Pater, my dear ancestors to thank for my condition.

[Page 53]
Ill write each mail & praps bye & bye be able to tell you more about things.

However for the present au revoir with best love to all,

Yours affectionately
Jack

Jim Mac got biffed but cant hear how he got on. Heaps of ’em are gone. ‘Kismet –‘1.

Mr James Stewart Macdonald
Artist. at present Director
Of N.S W.ales National gallery
1st Jan. 1933
JS.

[Page 54]
24 July 1915

My Dear People

You must forgive the brevity of this note. My hands are badly poisoned with these awful flies. Every [indecipherable] chap has septic sores from these flies. My hands are bandaged up. Its very painful too I can tell you – the flesh refuses to heal the sore just spreads & spreads. God what a nice clean country Australia is after the East. Ill get alright some day its all in the game

Yours affectionately
Jack

[Page 55]
A wail about sepsis from Matrooh
Sausor
Campaign

1915
Jy 24

[Page 56]
A letter after the fight with Sennussi Sayeed Ahmed at Halazin Wells.

[Page 57]
Matrooh
1915

August 29
Same’oleplace

My Dear People

Paters letter to hand glad to hear that my notes are coming in. I never miss a mail. There is little I can tell you except that I have recovered from my septic wounds and fever at last and am fit again. I had a hell of a struggle to get well youve no idea how hard it is to get well in a mass of men and consequently

[Page 58]
their attendant germs. Also climatic conditions are against us all the time.

I am praying for winter now the heat has exhausted us all.

Australia seems to be backing up and by God men are needed but Im afraid you may overdo it. If you knew what is going on youd be sorry for the men. Still we must serve our time. Personally Im quite resigned very peaceful & to a great extent content with my lot. Its all Fate & Chance anyhow. I shall look forward to Margies first effort with great interest. She always appeared a bright kiddie. I expect when I come home she will be quite big.

[Page 59]
26 /10-15

My Dearest Wife - Ive just come in off a hundred mile ride, and, having finished my first sleep in 3 nights will tell you about it all

Someone ‘pinched’ (ie stole) the regimental ‘mascot’ donkey also 1 army mule, now the mule was bad but to steal a ‘mascot’ is about equivalent to blowing with your mouth into the hole of a beehive. So we organized a little expedition. We had already heard that the Arabs to the west had seen ‘Jimmie’ and decided to make enquiries in that direction. The party consisted of Lieut Rigby, two Staff sergts, two Lance Corporals, 1 Batman 1 Interpreter or Sgt of Egyptian Mounted Police, 8 horses 1 packhorse with panniers for horsefeed, rations etc. It was not a military party in any sense but I can tell you that one in two had ‘squirts’ in their wallets. At half past three on a fine moonlit morning I roused the party and after a nice ‘brek’ we rode off in Indian file into the desert. Away in front stretched the illimitable hills of Egypt silvery in the

[Page 60]
moonlight; we picked our way thro the sparse camel thorn over stony ridges where whirling quail made our horses [indecipherable]. Away in front the tall figure of our Soudanese escort a fine stamp of soldier 6ft high black as ebony mounted on the most beautiful Arab stallion, chestnut with high mane – tail, every trapping polished & clean his pony’s skin like satin, tail like spun silk, led the way. After about 2 hours the eastern edge of the desert sharpened slightly as the desert dawn crept into the sky. Imperceptibly almost the light strengthened objects became clearer until almost with a rush the sun sprang above the sands. Away ahead appeared scores of hair cloth tents the moving village of a tribe of Bedouins.

The sheik or Omdar mounted on a white Arab stallion rode out front as with much waving of hands and talk translated by our interpreter. His saddle cloth of scarlet cloth his gold embroidered saddle, his tray like stirrups of silver his tasselled bridle with embroidered check strap

[Page 61]
made up a fine picture, his big shawl or burnoose wrapped about his ample figure in graceful folds slippered feet and round fez cap with big black tassel set off the outfit

His first curiosity was directed at our horses and he at one made a wager of 2 guineas to 1 guinea with our officer to beat any horse in a race. We took him up and mounting our lightest member on our best horse, & he his lightest tribesman on his, the race was run altho our hose ran away from his Arab and altho the finishing point was distinctly stated his jockey ran on and when our mount pulled up he claimed the race. Of course he saw he was outclassed and only wanted to see what we could do. However we dropped the matter. He then accompanied us thro his villages of tents where we examined every donkey. On and on we went till at last the sheik with many salutations rode off accompanied by two of his headmen. They made a fine picture against the rising sun. Their ponies, cream white with long tails with a scarlet bar stained across the end of the tail, stood rimmed with silver, manes and tails of spun glass. Their riders with beautiful folds of shawl

[Page 62]
and long guns slung across their backs. We now began our long run to Aba-Sir the next military police post where we were to rest and water & feed horses & men. Mile by mile the desert slipped past. Oasis with palms burdened with purple brown & tan dates, and stunted growths of figs appeared and disappeared gradually we approached the sea, along our left on a ridge of hills a long chain of ruined block houses of some remote defence system stretched in to the distance. The sea a ribbon of the most intense blue showed at last thro the sand dunes. I have never seen anything in colors like the sea in that place. Waterhouses’ Sirens is drab compared to this bit of Mediterranean. Mile after mile slipped by till at last far ahead appeared a huge pile of masonry. The ruined palace of Aba-Sir. High above the sea in a rocky hill. Flanked by a broken lighthouse tower, it towers above the sea. A most impressive spot

[Page 63]
reminding me in its strange [indecipherable] of lines of Coleridges’ Kubla khan. "A hallowed spot, as holy and enchanted, as e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted, by woman wailing for her demon lover." A winding track up the rocky hill on which the party looked like ants brought us to the top where the police post is established.

The barracks, where a polite and well disciplined warrant officer welcomed us, is a model of military smartness and order. A row of loose boxes with stone mangers and pure white sand 6 inches on the floor was at the disposal of our horses, two or three of us then took the horses half a mile to an ancient well with stone troughs almost at the sea edge where clear fresh water awaited them, a good rub down and a good feed of barly fixed up the steeds and we sat down to our meal in a spotless barrack room waited on by black soldiers. After lunch we explored the ruined palace.

A dozen pages would fail to adequately describe the queer dungeons lit by

[Page 64]
V-shaped shafts running up to the sunlight far below the ground, beautifully domed baths circular in shape with broken statues and figures of lions scattered on the floor far far down in the earth, reached by spiral stairs, and lit by vertical stone shafts from above. The queerest place, wells everywhere of great depth and the ruins of a mosque in the great courtyard, but our time was brief and after a while we had to saddle up and press on. We left the pack horse here and for another 25 miles rode thro the Bedouin camps (without success as to donk. however) reaching Hannam an Arab village 50 miles from camp. Here are we up and entertained by the police officer our horses picketed at the rear of a pretty mosque, guarded by an armed soldier while we ate dates drank coffee and stretched our legs.

8 pm we started home again across the hills, our horses wonderfully fresh flew eagerly over the plain. One had to be very careful however on account of the numbers of holes in the

[Page 65]
ground which would bring a nasty fall. I saw Abu-Sir first, looming up above the salt lake and galloped home an easy runner Old Zig-Zag fairly bore up the steep hill as fresh as a lark 75 miles. At Abu-Sir we rested till 2 am saddled up the pack horse and started home. The Lieut and two sgts. went ahead leaving me in charge of the party, soldiers & interpreter. I took them along at an easy pace but had a lot of trouble with the youngest member who broke up completely with saddle cramp and exhaustion, finally falling from his horse clean done up. We we all very sleepy and had hard work at times to keep away awake. However we lifted the fallen hero on the pack horse & pressed on reaching camp at 8.30 am, tired but satisfied although we had no donkey. He alas must be miles away somewhere.

On arrival we found the camp in a hell of a state they were going to turn out 100 men fully armed to

[Page 66]
search for us. Silly cows they would never have found us in a month.

We put the exhausted men to bed and after a good ‘brek’ slept the sleep of the weary. The horses especially mine, came home fit and I rode old Zig-Zag again today. He is a great horse. 100 miles between hot dawns is good going in desert country full of stony ridges and heavy sand.

It was all very interesting and some day Ill tell you more about it. It will always be enshrined in my memory as a most interesting journey: a glimpse of the desert’s heart and strange people who from its scanty breast derive food for their flock, herds and themselves.

This letter is not for publication for certain reasons, but you can show it to your pals. Im feeling very fit and looking forward as usual to a return home. "East, west – home’s best". With love to you all and especially your dear self,

I kiss your hands
Jack

[Page 67]
29 Nov. 1915

My Dearest People at Home

I got three parcels a few days ago. I did not recognise the writing on one I think the wrapper had come off and the P.O written another but the other have come. Yours I got. 4 pairs black sox. 1 collapsible cup. 1 tin coffee Russian; 2 plugs tobacco Havelock. 1 pkt adhesive plaster 1 Balaclava (red)
1 Box lolly animals (God I did laugh when I opened ‘em reminded me of ‘hundreds of years ago’. I gave one to my pet. Officer.) I look flush. Thanks very much for your kind thought. All those things are good & useful to me. I hope you get a few little things I sent home. Viva advises me as to some parcel but you know all the mail is not here yet. You may soon only get Post Cards from me. You know why, but ‘read ‘em as letters’. Its quite cold now & I’m fairly well. I send enclosed a few photos of where we were on the Beach. The boxes are the depot ‘tucker, ‘etc’ – the photo big one shows just how they peppered us ‘all the time’. There is nothing else but to wish you all the best of good things and thank you again and send you all my love

Yours affectionately
Jack

[Page 68]
Nov 29, 1915

[Page 69]
A letter from the Senussi campaign to my folk

[Page 70]
29.12.15
Matrook
Western Frontier
Forces
Egypt

Dearest people at Home.

I got your parcel mitts, sox, cigarettes, & all safely a few days ago. Many, many thanks for your kindness. Xmas Day here was a [indecipherable]. Xmas night worse. Cold & heavy rain. We spent in the advanced trenches muddy & cold. Its warmer again now. This is a picturesque spot & full of interest & bullets. Id like to tell you more but cant or you wont get the letter. Don’t know how long we’ll be here. Anyway its better than Anzac a lot more to see, more open.

[Page 71]
I hope you got the few little things I sent for Xmas bone poor but well intended.

Also the various photos at different times.

Got a letter from Dora for which thank her. Also Bulletins & Lone Hand up to date for which also thanks. Ive got a bad hand, poisoned wound but everyone here gets septic so that’s nothing. These septic states are most stubborn & last for weeks ‘give one fits. I suppose 100percent of the men here have septic wounds & sores. It’s in the air & the earth, the water. A beastly Arab cursed country. Must close now with love to all. A Happy New Year

Yours affectionately
Jack

[Page 72]
My Folk at Home

[Page 73]
?1915

Matrooh
Western Frontier Forces
Egypt.

My Dear Folk at home – Back again in old Matrooh. Isnt it strange that one always clings to some place as a home to return to. The battle of Bir Shola heralded by rain came & went in a welter of mud. We had a tough time travelling the soil being absolutely sticky. I got into the left flank of the scrap & had a god afternoon sniping at Senoussis gang. We gave them as good as they gave & better. The weather is fine here now beautiful calm weather & we are dry & well clothed & fed. We cook little bits for ourselves

[Page 74]
After Gallipoli in Egypt

[Page 75]
?1915

I often long to see the kiddies if only for a little while – There are few softening influences in this game as you may guess. I got altogether in the last few months 2 Lone Hands and 2 papers. (1 Table Talk & 1 Herald (Melb)) for which many thanks I think in fact Im sure I acknowledge them as well as the tobacco & pouch for all of which Im very grateful. I just saw a funny little incident one chap has got a darn duck in his tent. A little pool with rocks round it & the pool made of canvas in which the duck swims. If you were in this game you’d realize what a mad thing this is. Yarra Bend must have lost a few when we left. Men here do all sorts of crazy things. If a chap has a looney streak it comes out in soldiering

[Page 76]
Ive been getting quite a few letters from various people lately. Letters are jewels in this life.

One never hears much of politics in Aust. Where oh where are the Liberals, Labourites and Fleming & the Anarchists?

Well Ive got little to say alas folks

So will close with best love to you all

Yours affectionately
Jack

Written from

Mex Camp just west of Alexandria, Egypt
After Gallipoli

[Page 77]
Matrooh
29.1.16
Western Frontier Forces

[indecipherable] Behold me then on the loveliest of lovely "Kingfisher" days. The sea – the Mediterranean the veritable reflection of the Halcyon’s wing, an arrangement of iridescent greens and purples that would shame the most joyous of our own bright seas at home. The forewater a flicker of living green marble veined with pale gold. At my feet the fallen pillars of a colonnade of an old Roman villa with its oval flattened oval square pillared hall strewn with countless fragments of pottery in which can clearly be trace the graceful lines of the amphorae. What bright eyes have gazed across this lovely sea across the bowls of Cyprian wine in the days of long ago. "Mais on sont

[Page 78]
les ‘femmes’ d’antan". If you will look at an ancient map of these parts you will see that this place is marked "Lotophagi" and the legend of the Lotos Eaters seems well understood on such days as these. Half a mile to sea little gold islets, perchance the islands of the Sirens themselves jut from the malachite shallows. To the left a dainty cream coloured mosque, suggesting in its remoteness the prison place of some fairy princess lifts its beautiful minaret. A savage place, as holy and enchanted, But look again, a grim line of sangars castellated with sandbags and enmeshed in barbed wire stretch from the beach, glint long snouted guns from which one breath would dispel all the [indecipherable], fairies in dismay, poke their noses to the sky. A sinister bunch of warships cluster at little landing place & dim columns of troops

[Page 79]
creep across the sand. "Pan is dead, is dead" and Mars and Mammon triumph.

Bir Shola, the latest and biggest fight in these parts came and went in a welter of mud rain and gore. Here we met for the first time the regular troops of Sidi Ahmed the rebel Senoussi chief, quite a different proposition to the white shawled snipers we have tackled before. After terrific difficulties on roads of fiendish tenacity an engagement accured in the open desert plain 8 miles to the west of Bir Shola

Of the left action from centre to left I can speak as I traversed that front during the fight and had the pleasure of assisting at the peppering of the enemys attempt to turn our left. And an operation from which they were considerable discouraged by our guns which did great work. It was like a fight

[Page 80]
in a dream, fought thro lakes of shifting mirage by distorted phantoms.

The enemy at times visible in great numbers seemed to appear on the sky line out of silvery lakes. Moving doggedly & slowly in well disciplined and extended order without haste they maintained a fire from Mausers which inflicted considerable loss to our held horses and to our supports. The high double crack of their Mauser rifles punctuated by the heavier boom of their heavy bores. Towards sunset they faded away to the west and south. My pal and myself I think firing the last shots on the extreme left where we made sure of a straggler just at dusk.

It would seem as tho war and weather were in partnership as since we have had peace and lovely sunny days.

The return of the column was picturesque in

[Page 81]
the extreme. Stretcher bearers carrying our wounded shoulder high. Mule ambulances. Tall camels with a chair on either side swinging along with wounded Sikhs one in each chair, red blanket wrapped, patterns of fortitude in their seats of torment. A Ghurka Dhook amulance with the bad cases on wire mattresses G. S waggons with stretchers each across the rails, all these together with foot sore stragglers plunging thro the soft soil towards Matrook. Weary, sore, but victorious. At the beginning of the good road the big motor ambulances whirled the worst cases off at high speed to where the hospital ship with shining Red Cross lay in the little bay of Mersa Matruh. Below the sangars on the hill tho alas the white crosses on the little patch of green, ‘lighting the deserts

[Page 82]
dusty face’ have of late sadly increased Kismet’. I am still spared to write to you Bien aimee of the beauties of this world; to feel the kiss of the soft winter sun and the caress of the soft sea wind. But for me here there is no Lotos of forgetfulness. My heart is far away where somewhere where the breeze wattle scented blows thro the beloved bush of Home thro whose aisles we may once more walk. When the roar of battle having died down the corridors of Time we shall understand in a new world with a new understanding

A ’Bientot
Jack

[Page 83]
A Chapter on "Skirt"

Matrooh
18.2.16

"The same as oft times hath, charmed magic casements opening on the foam of perilous seas in faery lands forlorn"

Ode to a Nightingale, Keats

Dear Pal Across the flat of Matrooh past the mound above the catacombs, drifts the usual procession of refugees, a dozen women or so headed by an old man donkeys the size of St Bernard dogs stagger under the ragged tents, Lares and Penates of the desert home.

"Fall in B troop fer yer issue of Skirt!" yells a stentorian jester from the horse lines. Bluey of N.S.Wales looks up irritably from his nature studies in the seams of an old shirt. Shut up yer chased from home b- "he roars back". Them sort he proceeds disgustedly "come ‘ere a week ago with white feathers still sticking to ‘em & they’ve got as much lip as a man’. Them ‘bedoon’ tarts is just the same as any other wimmen, and, he ruminates sometimes a lot better n ‘some Ive met at once. Now take Nazeera frinstance. I settle myself comfortably and grunt assent Bluey seldom talks of his adolateres, being as the boys say ‘a silent worker’. It was up in Cairo. Id got dead sick of shikker and all them cheap French mollies, seen all them stinken bazaars, done nearly all me ‘disasters’ (piastries) on crook scarabs an gharris and ’ad look to moochun about on me own.

One day I spots one them veiled tarts getting across a lane, she ’arf turns round as she darts in the door of a big house. Now I knoo this street. It wasn’t – well – a Y.M.C.A. joint anyhow and t’alf them veiled pieces ’ll give yer the glad eye – square or ’arf square. But there was something about his one that in me lonely ’omesick state

[Page 84]
give me a jolt. Be still me flutterin ’art I sez and after ’er

Well to make a long yarn short it wasn’t long before Nazeera’s little room was my lurk. Every time Id get leave I’d sneak away from the boozen click an 6 [indecipherable] down old Gubuck Pascha Street. Those were ’appy days. She was a peach, not a bit shook on ‘filoose’ (money) although a bloke ’as to keep it up to ’em. I’d get round & chat a walad for a silk ’ankerchief of some ’orrible colour or a bottle or two of this ‘O de Arab’ hop up the little stairs. We’d squat on the little balcony gazin down at the sun on them little iron cage verandahs at the tarts washun their ’air. Not that we could chat too good but she talkin pure ‘Bedoon" Arabic, but we done very well, ’er cookin meal & stuff on a little tin of live coals n scoffin them Arab patties n stew. It used to take me 10 long beers to git the taste out of me mouth. Then we’d smoke them ’orrible ’Gyppo fags and she’d tell me rude things to sing out to the ‘ladies’ down below. Go crook a treat they would. Did you ever notice them Arab tarts voices, like chewing glass to listen to em. After a bit a blanky coot who she called Adbul used to butt in now and then. Australia very naice he sez grinning. Well I took ’im in as part of the family. & give im a clasp knife & a badje or two, just to make things sweet. Once or twice I chats Nazeera about im. Dam Cook she sez, an that’s all, but where or who ’e cooked has beat me. Well training time went bye and we all gets the order fer Gallipoli. Gord but we was glad. I gets on the shikker with the past an forgets all about pore little Nazeera. One day just before we went I was sitting in a boozer with me cobbers, an a veiled tart pushes her frame in, as you know that’s dam strange in this country. The boys all stares & chips a bit. Then I

[Page 85]
screws ’orf the eyes over the veil, Nazeera, I sez – She just looks at me sad like points to the grog and sez "Musqures (bad) Bluey," drops a little bunch of them tuber rose sort of flowers they grow ’ere and off. "Father o father come ’ome with me now,’ jeers one of me cobbers. ’Ow’s Mrs Bluey sez another silly cow, by the time the scrap was over, she was gone an the picker maschin [indecipherable].

Well Anzac came an went, also all me good mates. Bluey sighed heavily and executed a fine specimen on his boot. After I gets out of the hospital the first thing I does is to dart up to the old street. All the time during the scrap and in the ’oopital Id been thinkin of Nazeera. A tart with whitewashed face yells out from a balcony ‘Come on Australia’ ‘Australia very good’ ‘very naice’. Taking no notice I hops up the stairs and knocks at the door. A strange Arab woman opens the door wheres Nazeera I asks shoving my foot in. Nazeera - finish – Mafeesh sez the Arab gin. ‘Extra keep’ I sez wheres Nazeera, tell ’er Bluey. You Bluey sez the tart changing her style. Stamina (stop) and runs inside she brings me a bunch of them flowers all withered and crumpled.

Nazeera – finish – Abdul – she sez and draws a dirty finger across ’er throat. Then I guessed the lot. I never waits to argue the point, but just got fer me life down to old Cossarts bar & never touched ground till I wakes up in the Man Guard Clink, with unteen charges to me record. Aw they’re all the same – only – wistfully she was a shine little tart. – wimmen is wimmen ere as elsewhere and as fer them chased from ’ome [indecipherable] ’orf. We’ll see about that later.

The whistle of the orderly sergeant shrilled

[Page 86]
along the lines and as the string of horses moved down to the wells by the beach, I passed Bluey, deep in thought & clouds of smoke.

And from the camp of the ragged refugees came the sound of chatter and the shrill laughter of the Bedouin girls.

[Page 87]
‘White Feathers’

Matrooh

Dear Pal, The little mosque across the bay gleams like ivory against the sapphire of Mersa Matrooh. Rounding the point of the reef thro the [indecipherable] mother of the bar, a long flat monster slips into the channel masked by the violet of depth against the malachite of sunny shallow.

We are sunning after a dip, ’Ukky and I. Across in the gold sands a flight of gulls heading against the soft sea breeze dip and rise. Wonderfully shallow draught those monsters, I remark. Ukky takes his eyes off the gulls now a white patch lifting and falling to the swing of the Mediterranean surge. Reminds me of the old days on the Murrumbidgee, muses he. "Crawling over the bottom most of the time she was. Wot dye call them things. ‘Amphibants’ them wot goes on land n sea like the marines. I done a lot of their river boat work one time and another he adds. ‘Never forget my first trip. Bloke called ’Arris was skipper. I was only a kid at the time. Low as a snakes belly I was. ’Arris was skipper – owner of the craft. ‘Sarah’ was the boats name. ’E called her after his wife. She was near as bad as what ’es wife called after im every time e pulled out from ’ome. She ’ad no bulkheads in ’er Engine room, man hold after ’old was all in one so to speak, only ’ad to duck yer end under a beam when yer didn’t it [indecipherable] from one to the other. The Engines, - well if ye’d scraped the old oil off ’em wot was left was no good. There was three of us this trip. Arris one and a cove called Paddy and a hard doer he was. Well just before we east off ’Arris came down with the rations. A leg of mutton with the bone well in sight, a cake and two of what ’e called rice puddins, and we to do 14 days trip. I chats Paddy about this. Never mind says ’e

[Page 88]
we cleared at last & cleared ourselves at next town. Dunno ow e got ome.

Praps the Sarah [indecipherable] one with ’im. We left anyhow a case o beer whisky did same time too so we done all right. Took arf that [indecipherable] to get the fluff out of our system. Well wed better mooch on [indecipherable] it be going directly.

We trudge thro the heavy sand campward.

Paddy ’ad green [indecipherable] with red celluond collars on after im fer a week – Yes – Well [indecipherable] & go soon we’d better scoot ome – and we trudge thro the heavy sand to the camp below the hill.

[Page 89]
plenty of tackle in the cargo. Paddy ’ad been on the river before. Well we wriggled down the River, about a mile an ’our c’d see we was movin by the trees passing us & that’s all. Come & ave a bite says the skipper cheerful like. Too true a bite thinks I. Well we soon cleaned the bone up. Arris as not [indecipherable] tea. "looks like rain says Arris making conversation. Smell slightly of tea says Paddy [indecipherable]. Paddy as a bit of cake. Me too. Not bad e says Paddy reaching out fer a bit more. ’Ans off sey Arris. This aint a blanky banquet. Well pass us some of that boiled rice sez Paddy. That done it. Ow dare yer insult Mrs. ’Arris ’e snorts. Boiled rice – that’s rice puddin’, theres eggs in it, not sparrers sez Paddy, duckin’ just in time. I goes on deck – takes the wheel. ’Arris standing by tellin me the good points of the "Sarah" e was a Sherlock Olmes, also giving me the ’istory of the river. Forty year ago e sez, an this bend ‘e sez taking the wheel, Crumpf, sez the Sarah lobbing on a bank. Must a changed a bit in the forty year sez I. There’s plenty room in the channel ’ere e sez, mad as ‘ell. So there is now but its meant for boats to go thro bow first not side on, I replies. Praps you can do better, sez e [indecipherable]. Well I cant do worse sez I. We backs ’er orf & I takes er thro. Well we runs into a long reach & a big storm blows up. A big mob of these white screeching cockatoos comes flopping down the wind, thousands of ’em & lobs in a lot a dead trees on the bank ahead.

Down come the rain, drenching us; you know ow it rains there. Well these dam cockies gets wet this and the big squall as follers blows ’undreds of em into the river. Stop ’er yells ‘Arris with the air of a bloke with an idea. Keep ’er off the bank. Gord I needed a worker. She would a taken a hour to get to the bank. E rushes about, gets out the dinghy & Paddy starts pulling round after these cockies. I don’t know which was

[Page 90]
using the worst language Paddy or the cockies. Arris ’ad a big pair a scissors & when e got a bird or as mostly apppened a bird got ‘Arris ed cut the feathers off one way & chuck it in the boat.

Paddy trying to row with dozens of crawling cockatoos chasing ’is legs & back , biting ’ell out of ’im. And what with trying to row ship en clung over the boat into the river getting out of the legs of is pants ‘cursing Arris ’e ad is ands most full. Well they fills the boat an pulls alongside – unloads their screeching devils into the Sarah. Wot the ’ell are ye going to do with them sez I. Seven n six a piece sez Arris, young birds. Tender little chickens sez I [indecipherable] one old cow of about a undred years with scales on is beak like a old roosters legs off me ’ear. There was cockies every where, [indecipherable] was [indecipherable] at the time and every time wed pull a bit of wood out of the slack [indecipherable] cockies come too a columns of em deployed up the company & all Arris [indecipherable] catching it in a photo of Mrs Arris. Terrible digestion cockies n us. The rest was taking it out of the flour bags, & one old bloke at the side of Paddys portmanteau & wot e kep ’is kit in. That was the finish. I cd see nothing but cockies rushing thro the air & the water of the Sarah wa white with em and a old ‘whaler’ fishing in the bank to [indecipherable]. Seven & six yes pay Arris ’ud yell over [indecipherable] a screeching of feathers and flew [indecipherable] thro the ’atch took a week orf yer life, owl Paddy fer ever [indecipherable] of meat from off me. I sez nothing being busy wringing necks & [indecipherable] with poultry. Gawd these [indecipherable] times a we could a made a fortune out of the white feathers sticking to the Sarah.

[Page 91]
April 23 1916
Somewhere in France

My Dear Folk at Home,

So you see that we are here. The Tripoli campaign ended we were shipped here.

Cold very cold weather till today very nice. The sun is too & the air full of shells & ’planes & air combat. In a field hospital just behind the firing line got a crack on the knee that put me to bed for a spell but doing well. Feel a bit weak today so don’t expect a long letter.

France is lovely, a land of pictures although here it’s a bit dreary naturally. Ive seen some of the loveliest old cathedrals ever & quaint towns & people.

We live with the country folk a ‘billet’. I find a bit of French

[Page 92]
[Section missing.] On the ancient maps, just a little to the west of Libya you will find the word Lotophagi, somewhere about the tail end of that word is the wildly exhilarating spot from whence goes this epistle to civilization and you.

The Land of the Lotos Eaters’, apparently a weird misnomer if one remembers the exact effect of that ancient fabulous fruit. Desert of the first grade country compared to which a paving stone is a chunk of intense cultivation, and a billiard ball a jungle. As to the forgetting of friends,

[Page 93]
home ties, and dear remembered things, one is beset o’nights’ with visions of peculiar potency, [indecipherable] of beckoning hands and all the hearth stone pixies of a thousand thousand firesides, the loves of yesteryear rub a warm cheek beside one’s hirsute jowl only to elued the frenzied grasp to melt into the giant spiderwebs of barbed-wire entanglements

To mention beer is high blasphemy. To mention women to court leathern missiles of strange accuracy. The sun come up out of rocks and wire, and sinks disgusted in bone and sandbags.

Lotos eating forsooth.

Just now from high in the

[Page 94]
maddenly blue sky an aeroplane banking in astonishingly swift spirals has dropped thro a big fleecy cloud, swooped like a hawk over Headquarters dropped a smoky cracker followed by a beribboned despatch, swung away to drop like a gull on the smooth sands.

Presently perhaps another will move from the hangars by the blue bay swing up and up the silvery nacelle flashing in the sun up & up to the likeness of a honey coloured dragonfly, peer down at us with red ringed eyes and fade away over the desert.

Down on the golden beach clusters the little bunch of craft, trawlers, manned by Thickset men out o’ Yarmuth or Grimsby or some other place one associates with tinned fish

[Page 95]
[Following 2 pages reversed]
at home, short of stature but surprisingly thick of chest and thin. Men of amiable intention Ganymedes of rare ‘Bass’ or ‘fags’. Flatiron monitors capable of navigating as long as the sands are wet, Minelayers, the marine cuckoos of the Fleet, and a variegated jumble of storeships, pinnaces etc. On the flat sands Long trains of camels, water and fodder laden, swing past, silent reptilian, grey, things of a dream. Blue freeze clad Arabs push trucks to chants like the wind over the desert. Tall black Soudanese stalk past their immense height accentuated by a tall ‘Tarboosh’

[Page 96]
of khaki cloth with a bunch of grey feathers. Nearly as great a stature the handsome Sikhs pass: turban Brooched with their quoit shaped national weapon and with their extremely thin legs. Legs which make one wonder what would be left were the putties removed Vishnu and Siva protect them! For they are grand soldiers and our own men bulking large even in such company built on the lines of young St Bernards, slouching easily over the heavy sand or centaur like, galloping bare backed horses to the wells. Foul mouthed, swaggering, but – solders born.

A great assortment of Yeomany, Territorial Infantry of every conceivable regiment

[Page 97]
and of every grade of phisique from pink cheeked young & burly farm hands to twisted bowlegged aenemic products of English slum and factory.

God forgive England for producing such as thee. She has held the mother to the loom while she bore them. She permitted the slums which stifled them, the food which stunted their bone & brain, the child labour which twisted & bowed their growing limbs and now in her real hour of need she has sent them forth to make War in a world of stalwarts I gaze at them, and I remember how the ulcerated Good News or Dirty Bits not so long ago showed us

[Page 98]
with pride how many tailors or tailoresses were required to sew the Coronation Robes how many white ermin skins were used. Pictures of packed narrow streets cheering the Show. The Groom of the Back Stairs in his robes of office, the master of the Pluckhounds against a maze of silk, velvet, tulle & strawberry leaves, yellow plush, side whiskers, calves.

A wizend youth staggering under 50lbs of salt beef answers the query, Heavy mate? ‘Not ’arf.’ Think of an infantry pack, 200 cartriges a heavy rifle etc. Think of heavy sand, brackish water, hard biscuit, half ration & miles & miles of heavy sand or heavier mud, I’ve seen

[Page 99]
[Following 2 pages reversed.]
‘em faint & fall out on the ground by squads. When Berlin is stamped flat, when all is over will they go back to the narrow streets, the cotton dust & the coal, I mean what are left. Will they stand in the cold rain & watch them go past. When the Zeps are a dream of the past, watch them go into the warm bright lights out of the cold, safe. Will they cheer & crowd round the boards where the latest Robes are posing in the process blocks, Not ’Arf!

Away across the little plain thro the motor filled streets of deserted Matrooh, nestling beneath the sangars on the hill, a little patch of green

[Page 100]
is rapidly filling with white wooden crosses. They are not nearly complete yet. Not ’arf. Ugh!

The streets of Matrooh, once I believe an old Roman town. Here & there amongst the flat topped, squalid, deserted shops, a tile roofed "villa" of the better class. Near the blue bay’s edge the ruins of a Roman Villa despoiled for military works its colonnade still shewn with veined marble fragments of pillars, the ground strewn with broken amphorae. Who were they whose bright eyes looked out across the kingfisher blue of the little bay, across the bowls of Cyprian wine, loved

[Page 101]
laughed & passed. Perhaps the winter home of some Roman Sybarite fled from the rigours of the trans Mediterranean winter to the Halcyon days of the Egyptian Coast. A queer procession winds thro the deep rutted muddy street. Refugees – half starved Bedouins, an old man with his many wives a pageant of rags. The women, with that marvellous creature the desert baby bound all ary on the back perhaps supporting and enveloped by a heavy sack as to the head, [indecipherable] the pigmy donkeys and a mangy camel or two. Lean faced keen eyed folk the women, mothers of experience and 12 to 16 years tattooed

[Page 102]
from nether lip to chin. I point to one bundle of babe & rags ‘Walad?’ (boy) Aiwa (yes) says the cheerful Bugham young of seventy summers grinning like a gargoyle, ‘Walad, ‘Walad’, Bent (girls), Walad’ indicating sundry other rag-bags. Girls & Boys, a nice little family indeed. Quies (good) I grin back at him, the patchwork quilt effect fades out of sight. Burnoose, camel pad, household gods & habits, all these were the same thousands of years before the Romans built that queer new fangled villa on the sea shore. Will probably be the same when that gold dragon fly of a ’plane overhead is resting in the same museum with Murdocks steam engine and a model of the Pyramids. Ancient aeroplane. 1916. "queer clumsy old thing. My

[Page 103]
[Following 2 pages reversed.]
Dear – ‘I believe they’re wearing them quite untrimmed in Mars this winter’ "Lily’s coming over from Australia to tea this afternoon". I’d love to meet her" –

These quiet days slip past to the sound of strange tongues and the changing passing crowd here in this little backwater of War. Little news drifts in to disturb us or cheer us. The fight at Bir Shola came and went in a welter of showers mud and mirage, a fight in a dream.

Approaching it across a flat plain accompanied by a good Australian "cobber" we first saw away across the hardly perceptible firing line and at a distance of a thousand yards or so, many black dots and notes of exclamation moving with great deliberation across the shifty mirage blurred sky line. Near at hand

[Page 104]
squatted in the mud a yeoman or two with an English officer carefully scanning the black olycct thro glasses. The aforesaid yeoman grouped about a neat little Maxim stringing along across the plain a long row of prone figures from which proceeded a steady crackle. Overhead and about the cheerful whizz-plop of the Mauser bullets. Here-there a discernable figure leading a limping pathetic horse back from the long lines of horseholders, and here and again a slipped steed neck outstretched in the mud. "Whats that mob over there" said my ‘cobber’ – addressing he of the binoculars. "Aw! That’s the enemy." The squatting yeoman sprayed the distant punctuation with the Maxim. This’ll do me said the cobber & lying carefully down in a comfortable spot with the

[Page 105]

air of a man well satisfied dropping a pile of ‘clips’ handy what range mate – this to the next yeoman. ‘Right’ I followed suit and in a cheerful afternoon we indulged in some interesting shooting. Shells alternately high explosive and shrapnel spurted mud and opened little mushrooms of smoke over the morning ‘blots & dots’.

Motor ambulances whirred from the rear & rushed off into the mirage. Weird phantoms on stilts wavered along the sky line. (Mounted troops) Here – there a stricken man talking excitedly or swearing quietly. The gleam of a white filed dressing.. A rush of brown figures. Thick flash of guns. Whirr of maxims & the high pitched song of the bullets. A wierd day a wierd fight. Thereafter swaying camels double chained with pain racked black faces of hurt Siklis

[Page 106]
Dark laagers, fireless and muddy miles on miles of desert slipping behind. The weary column away to left the ant like figures of the scouts, iodine, iodoform, sleepiness and the familiar camp once more. A Wash! Hot food! – and dreamless profound the sleep of sleeps. O ye days of soft beds ease. There is no bed so soft as the hard bony old breast of Mother Earth when one is really truly tired.

So the days slip by in Matrooh. Nothing seems real its all a dream, intangible, like the shifty gleaming mirage over Libya.

Dear Pal – is anything in the Present as Real as the things of the past. Perhaps

[Page 107]
[Following 2 pages reversed.]
far away in these exiles, in these waste places of the Earth – away from the petty distractions of that Ante Bellum period – How long ago! – Perhaps amongst the hush of big things the tender spectres find courage to draw nearer to a mind more open to receive their sweet ministrations

Dear Ghosts – hail and farewell

[Page 108]
conflict from the past. But after this always I hear the echoes of retreating footsteps down the corridors of the years a distant door closes quietly and the everyday hurly burly begins anew.

Your book of Kipling and the programme arrived of course safely with your dear letter. Parts of that letter hit me hard – very very hard, but for the present let me reverently close the little door.

I should love above all to see London thro your gentle guidance – perhaps – who knows. Much water must pass the bridge yet.

The Kip book is quite in his old manner and good

[Page 109]
and vivid in the good old spanner, nut coupling shaft kip style bringing home to one another phase of this big ant fight. Many thanks for it. Your description of a London day made me shiver in my tropic thinned sanguine fluid and yearn for an inch or two of that

[Page 110]
Paco for Bully
Please rewrite if illegible JS

Tom Henley ’Hen’ L.A. of Drummoyne gathered the expectant (& hungry) Australians on the yellow sands of Matrooh and after a speech which brought lumps to the throats of the Auswaddies dealt out warm sox, billy cans of dainties, mufflers shirts etc. G.O.C. Wallace apparently overcome with sympathetic emotion also spoke nicely to the crowd was applauded in a shrieking disiplinarian silence by T.H. Thereafter in all the camps the sound of staging & puffing of fags & the scratching of grateful pencils to enclosed addresses.

The only rift in the lute was when Bill X. now reformed four months received a billy full of toy red devils and black spiders and

[Page 111]
Published in Bulletin Early 1915

[Page 112]
The Temple of the Sphinx.

I went to the temple of the Sphinx: it was with emotion that I surveyed the marvellous collonade of granite pillars, the alabaster pavement, with its niches where once the statues of the great ones stood – and around me walked and chattered the khaki-clad Australians accepting with characteristic flippancy the whole scene. What a strange contrast in peoples! Could Pharoah walk in this land today, what would he think of us. The men that reared these temples and pyramids were not a flippant race – they were a race of giants, and their monuments will endure when our race is as the dust of their mouldering temples: The Sphinx will smile inscrutably over Egypt as ever when we are forgotten. The Sphinx is wonderful. Its body and limbs crumbling into dust. Its face with its queer half smile and wide open eyes stares over the lovely land of fertile Egypt to where gold in the setting sun set like a jewel in the green the minaretted town of Cairo drowses in the haze. The great Kaliphs are long dead and dust in their stately tombs – but the glamour of Egypt is the same to-day as when Cleopatra’s barges swept with silken sails over the bluegreen waters of the Nile. Below on the shady roads roves the endless khaki procession of the sons of a new and older world. (Jack Sommers.)

[Page 113]
Senussi
Original of verse published in Bulletin description of Matrooh. West Egypt

[Page 114]
[Comment written on the side of the page - Jack Somers Feb. 1933]
Billjim to some Critics

We’ll own they smashed the Wuzza up,
And stoushed the Red caps black and blue;
We’ll own they quaffed the festive cup,
And shickkered on the amber brew.

There’s always a percentage strong.
Of rowdy fools in every game,
But that don’t make the good crowd wrong
Or brand the decent chaps the same.

All "pushites" didn’t stay at home
Some blatant bush skites hopped out too
Don’t blame the lot because you find
In every hundred one or two.

I’ve seen ’em dying puff a ‘fag’
Bloody and tortured sport a grin
Heaped up beneath their country’s flag
Piled with the dirt they died to win.

[Page 115]
Night at Matrooh

The little mosque across the ink-blue bay
Gleams in the moon, an alabaster toy;
Like golden fireflies the morse lamps play
Where line on line the pallid tents deploy.

The moonlight’s fingers linger on the sheen
Of silent ’planes, like giant gnats asleep
A cross of blood above a bar of green
The "ship of pain" steals out across the deep.

Jack. Sommers
Matrooh.

[Page 116]
By Jack Sommers
written at Anzac
published in Sydney Bulletin 1915
JS.

Anzac

Let the deep guns toll their knell
They who fought so hard and well;
Let the westwind sing a drige
Piling wreaths of Saros’ surge.
Let the shrapnel’s fleecy white,
Cloud by day and fire by night,
Deck their graves along the height
‘Samothrake’ golden crowned
Broods above the hallowed ground.

Gaba Tepe battle torn
In her sunlight seems to mourn;
Where our southern heroes fell,
Let the deep guns toll their knell.

[Page 117]
They’ll sweat and toil and curse the while
They’ll booze and riot, but fight like Gods
And starve and freeze and burn, but smile
Cut out the wowsing! Whats the odds

War’s not a feed of milk and buns!
Its Hell let loose! and devils work!
So cheer the "bad boys" at the guns
But shut the mouths of saints who shirk.

Jack Sommers

[Page 118]
Night at Matrooh.

The little mosque across the ink blue bay
Gleams in the moon, an alabaster toy:
Like golden fireflies the morse lamps play
Where line on line the pallid tents deploy

The Moonlight’s fingers linger on the sheen
Of silent planes, like giant gnats asleep
A Cross of blood above a bar of green
The Ship of Pain steals out across the Deep.

Matrooh, Jack Sommers

[Page 119]
’Ome Papers.

We’ll be glad if you’ll allow us just to write and tell – explain
With a foot of nice thick mud below and overhead the rain
Weve been looking at ’ome papers and if all we see is true
In them fine an’ fancy photos – just a word or two with you

Chuck up yer bloomin pageants an yer fancy dress affairs
Yer can ’elp the poor at ’ome – and us – and never leave yer chairs
Knights in armour gaily prancin’ may look fine in Martin place
But the nights in mucky trenches is the thing that wins the race

This route-marchin’ too of ‘Wombats’ is spectacular & fine
But a train is heaps the quickest way to join the thin brown line
Tho’ these schools fer training officers may bring yer ‘bucksheesh’ stars
You’d be better as a ranker diggin’ round fer silver bars

[Page 120]
Yes – we see you in the pictures clobbered up so flash an’ neat
A chattin’ of our wimmen on the corner of our street
While their chaps is dying mucky in a lonely sort of way
But the blokes that come ’ome after ’praps they’ll ave a word to say

Theres a few fit blokes too spruikin’ fer to make the rest enlist
That ’ud do a dam sight better with a shovel in their fist
Grab a gun and drop play actin’ photographed in fancy dress
And hop out and help yer cobbers in the real and dinkum mess

Now we ’ope that you’ll excuse us if we seem too rough an’ plain
But them bally illustrations really causes us some pain
And if you don’t believe it, ’urry up an join the show
And we’ll lay an even tenner it wont take you long to know

[Page 121]
If I return

"Ill do so & so . . . if I return"
Everyday remark everyday.

If I return and sit at last
Beside dome hearth fire safe & sound
Perhaps Ill send some tales around
About our doings of the Past.
Of stairs that twist from musty lanes
Weird dens of sin with latticed doors
Fierce gasping fights in corridors
Slave market walls with rusty stains

Peach coloured dawns with opal mists
The snaky camel train that steals
Past oxen plodding round the wheels
Gold bangles loading womens wrists
The flash of anklets thro the dust
Veiled women round the village well
(What dark eyes say no tongue may tell
Of Hate of hate, of [indecipherable]
Grey ships in rows on azure seas
Where fish like silver parrots fly
Strange lights that blink & wink & die
The roll of gun fire down the breeze

Peaked islands from the sea that start
And curved white sails that dot the blue
Tired little birds of alien hue
That rest awhile and then depart

A hundred breeds of men that meet
And strive with tales in broken speech
Sad tales of homes far out of reach
Barbaric music weird & sweet

[Page 122]
Huge tombs of priests & dust of kings
Rising beneath our careless tread
Where whistling kites swing overhead
A thousand thousand wondrous things

Huge shells that roar like railway trains
Dun smoke bursts hurling shattered men
The gasping bayonet charge, and then
Turn uniforms with dreadful stains

Still heaps beneath the outspread flag
The wolf like captive’s pleading eye
The firing party plodding by
Quiet heads beneath a bloody rag

Wry heaps of clothes that clutch & sprawl
And ghastly boys that fight for air
[indecipherable] twisted mouths with eyes that stare
Blue skies & sunshine over all

White naked shapes all queerly slashed
And those who see and catch the breath
And yell with rage and rush in Death
Among the rocks all leaden splashed

Huge fleets of ships that come and go
With sporting shells flung in between
And Red Cross ships with rows of green
And red lights moving to and fro.

If I return to sit and weave
These tales, & watch the homefire burn,
When I return, – If I return
Do you believe that they’ll believe.

JS

Somewhere – Jack Sommers

[Page 123]
[Blank page]

Transcriber’s notes:
p. 5 khake – khaki
p. 6 cooly – means coolly
p. 6 fits directly – means fines directly
p. 16 fellaheen – an agricultural labourer in an Arab country
p. 61 burnoose – a narrow shawl
p. 62 reference to the British artist, John William Waterhouse
p. 71 the Lone Hand – an Australian monthly magazine of literature and poetry.
p. 76 Fleming – a reference to William Montgomerie Fleming (1874-1961) a conservative politician, who had a seat in the NSW Legislative Assembly
p. 76 Mex Camp – a staging camp for troops sent into Western Desert, Dec 1915 to fight Sensusi
p. 77 Kingfisher days – calm, peaceful days
p. 78 Lotophagi – a people visited by Ulysses on hi wanderings. They subsisted on lotus. Also, a person devoted to pleasure & luxury.
p 78 sangar – a temporary fortified position
p. 81 GS waggon – General Service waggon
p 82 bien aimee – sweetheart
p. 82 lotos – is a variation of ‘lotus’
p. 83 Lares and Penates – benevolent gods in ancient Roman households
p. 83 Nazeera – an Arabic girl’s name meaning "Helper"
p. 83 shikker - slang for alcohol
p. 83 piastries – a unit of the Egyptian pound
p. 83 gharris – a gharri is a horse drawn cab in Egypt
p. 84 my lurk – used as a noun here, to mean a hideout
p. 84 walad – boy
p. 84 badje – possibly means badge
p. 85 mafeesh –there is no more, nothing
p. 87 Matrooh – abbreviation of Egyptian city Mersa Matrooh, means Port of Matrooh or Matrooh marina
p. 94 nacelle – cover housing that holds engines, fuel or equipment on an aircraft
p. 95 Tarboosh – a rimless, usually felt cap with a silk tassel
p. 96 Ganymede – Trojan prince in Greek mythology
p. 99 amphorae – a two handled jar with a narrow neck used by the Romans to carry wine or oil
p. 101 Sybarite – Sybari, an ancient city in southern Italy. Synonymous with pleasure and luxury
p. 102 Murdock – Scottish engineer (1754-1839) – inventor of the oscillating cylinder steam engine
p. 102 burnoose – hooded cloak worn by Arabs and Berbers
p. 102 gods – means ‘household goods’
p. 105 Maxim – self powered machine gun, invented in 1884 and improved and redesigned pre WW1.
p. 106 laagers – a place where armoured vehicles are parked
p. 106 iodoform – the antiseptic component of medication
p. 110 disiplinarian – means disciplinarian
p. 118 morse lamp – a blinkered lamp used for sending Morse code

[Transcribed by Alison O'Sullivan for the State Library of New South Wales]