The young lieutenant's face was grey.
As came the day.
The watchers saw it lifting white
And ghostlike from the pool of night.
His eyes were wide and strangely lit.
Each thought in that unhallowed pit:
"I, too, may seem like one who dies
With wide, set eyes."
He stood so still we thought it death,
For through the breath
Of reeking shell we came, and fire,
To hell, unlit, of blood and mire.
Tianced in a chill delirium
We wondered, though our lips were dumb
What precious thing his fingers pressed
Against his breast.
His left hand clutched so lovingly
What none might see.
All bloodless were his lips beneath
The straight, white, rigid clip of teeth.
His eyes turned to the distance dim;
Our sleepless eyes were all on him.
He stirred; we aped a phantom cheer.
The hour was here!
The young lieutenant blew his call.
"God keep us all!"
He whispered softly.Out he led;
And over the vale of twisted dead,
Close holding that dear thing, he went.
On through the storm we followed, bent
To pelt of iron and the rain
Of flame and pain.
His wan face like a lodestar glowed
Down that black road,
And deep among the torn and slain
We drove, and twenty times again
He squared us to the charging hordes.
His word was like a hundred swords.
And still a hand the treasure pressed
Against his breast.
Our gain we held. Up flamed the sun.
"The ridge is won,"
He calmly said, and, with a sigh,
"Thank God, a man is free to die!"
He smiled at this, and so he passed.
His secret prize we knew at last,
For through his hand the jewel's red,
Fierce lustre bled.
Friday, October 27, 2006
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
8th Battalion Poet at Natimuk
The 8th Battalion poet Tom Skeyhill, in a previous post was famous for the poem 'Naked Army' toured after he was invalided out. He gave readings and lectures - he was described as "a silver-tongued master of eloquence - a matchless orator, whose powers of description are more vivid, and word pictures of battles are more graphic than those of any other speaker on the war."
This report was found in the WEST WIMMERA MAIL for Friday May 20, 1916
Signaller Tom Skeyhill, the blind soldier poet, who lectured to a packed house at Natimuk on Friday evening had a wonderfully interesting story to tell, and be told it eloquently. His elocutionary training before he left for the war has proved providential. He knows exactly when and how to emphasise a .point, and the personal touches introduced throughout gripped and thrilled his audience. His story was not one of what he had heard and read, but what be had seen and taken part in. His wonderful collection of slides, actual photographs taken fighting with the boys, his description of life in the trenches, the close comradeship existing between the boys, and the many self-sacrificing acts be had witnessed, made a story absorbingly interesting and worthy of remembrance by all. During the evening he recited two or three of his stirring poems, actually written in the firing line. Private Bobbie Pearce, who accompanies Signaller Skeyhill sang several songs, favorites with the boys in the trenches. He has a powerful voice, and received a great ovation. Those who were not present undoubtedly missed a treat.
Man in the Corner
A chiel's amang ye takin' notes and faith he'll print 'em.—Burns
Signaller Tom Skeyhill interspersed his war story with some humorous stories.
One I think I have told before—about the soldier who explained his absence from the lines by the fact that he wanted a pair of boots and had to shoot 24 Turks before he got a pair to fit him.
Another was about an Australian soldier who was shaving himself—using the water from a pool in a rock—when an officer came along and enquired how he was. "Oh, I'm alright, but I'd like you to take your bloomin' foot out of my shavin mug."
A good one was about an Australian who had just put his hat on the parapet over his trench when it fell at his feet with a bullet hole through it. " My word," he said to his mate, " I was lucky I didn't have my hat on."
A story that appealed to the audience was purely Australian. Two of our boys had to flee from the Turks One of them was not fleet of foot, and was hampered by his kit. His mate, becoming alarmed, shouted. "Come on come on: the- Turks are gaining on you!" To which the laconic reply was made, " Bli me, d'ye think I'm runnin' stiff."
The full mail extracts can be found at this excellent site: (http://www.ballaratgenealogy.org.au/goroke/wwm1916.htm)
This report was found in the WEST WIMMERA MAIL for Friday May 20, 1916
Signaller Tom Skeyhill, the blind soldier poet, who lectured to a packed house at Natimuk on Friday evening had a wonderfully interesting story to tell, and be told it eloquently. His elocutionary training before he left for the war has proved providential. He knows exactly when and how to emphasise a .point, and the personal touches introduced throughout gripped and thrilled his audience. His story was not one of what he had heard and read, but what be had seen and taken part in. His wonderful collection of slides, actual photographs taken fighting with the boys, his description of life in the trenches, the close comradeship existing between the boys, and the many self-sacrificing acts be had witnessed, made a story absorbingly interesting and worthy of remembrance by all. During the evening he recited two or three of his stirring poems, actually written in the firing line. Private Bobbie Pearce, who accompanies Signaller Skeyhill sang several songs, favorites with the boys in the trenches. He has a powerful voice, and received a great ovation. Those who were not present undoubtedly missed a treat.
Man in the Corner
A chiel's amang ye takin' notes and faith he'll print 'em.—Burns
Signaller Tom Skeyhill interspersed his war story with some humorous stories.
One I think I have told before—about the soldier who explained his absence from the lines by the fact that he wanted a pair of boots and had to shoot 24 Turks before he got a pair to fit him.
Another was about an Australian soldier who was shaving himself—using the water from a pool in a rock—when an officer came along and enquired how he was. "Oh, I'm alright, but I'd like you to take your bloomin' foot out of my shavin mug."
A good one was about an Australian who had just put his hat on the parapet over his trench when it fell at his feet with a bullet hole through it. " My word," he said to his mate, " I was lucky I didn't have my hat on."
A story that appealed to the audience was purely Australian. Two of our boys had to flee from the Turks One of them was not fleet of foot, and was hampered by his kit. His mate, becoming alarmed, shouted. "Come on come on: the- Turks are gaining on you!" To which the laconic reply was made, " Bli me, d'ye think I'm runnin' stiff."
The full mail extracts can be found at this excellent site: (http://www.ballaratgenealogy.org.au/goroke/wwm1916.htm)
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
Poems by Edward George Dyson
Edward George Dyson was born at Morrisons near Ballarat in March 1865. His father, George Dyson, arrived in Australia in 1852 and after working on various diggings became a mining engineer, his mother came from a life of refinement in England. The family led a roving life during Dyson's childhood, moving successively to Alfredton, Bendigo, Ballarat and Alfredton again. Unconsciously the boy was storing for future use the life of the miners, farmers and bushmen, among whom he lived. At 12 he began to work as an assistant to a travelling draper, after that was a whimboy in a mine, and for two or three years an assistant in a factory at Melbourne. This was followed by work in a newspaper office. At 19 he began writing verse, and a few years later embarked on a life of free-lance journalism which lasted until his death. His first notable work was "The Golden Shanty", which appeared in the Bulletin, and many other short stories followed. In 1896 he published a volume of poems, Rhymes from the Mines, and in 1898 the first collection of his short stories, Below and On Top. In 1901 his first long story The Gold-stealers was published in London, which was followed by In the Roaring Fifties in 1906. In the same year appeared Fact'ry 'Ands, a series of more or less connected sketches dealing with factory life in Melbourne in a vein of humour. Various other stories and collections of stories were published in the Bookstall Series and will be found listed in Miller's Australian Literature. Another volume of verse Hello, Soldier! appeared in 1919. All through the years Dyson did an enormous amount of work until he broke down under the strain and died after a long illness on 22 August 1931. He married Miss Jackson who survived him with one daughter.
Dyson was an admirable workman but does not rank among the greater prose-writers of Australia. The Gold-stealers and In the Roaring Fifties are two interesting tales, and the short stories are capably written. His work has the merit that it was written out of his own experience and observation. Of his two volumes of verse the first, Rhymes from the Mines, is the better, and gives Dyson an honourable place in the ranks of Australian balladists.
In his book "Hello, Soldier!" Khaki Verse, many poems were originally printed in the "Bulletin," others in "Punch," "The Leader" and Melbourne "Herald."
This poem was entitled - MUD
This war's a waste of slurry, and its atmosphere is mud,
All is bog from here to sunset. Wadin' through
We're the victims of a thicker sort of universal flood,
With discomforts that old Noah never knew.
We have dubbed our trench The Cecil.
There's a brass-plate and a dome, And a quagmire where the doormat used to be,
If you're calling, second Tuesday is our reg'lar day at home,
So delighted if you'll toddle in to tea!
There is mud along the corridors enough to bog a cow;
In the air there hangs a musty kind of woof;
There's a frog-pond in the parlour, and the kitchen is a slough.
She has neither doors nor windows, nor a roof.
When they post our bald somnambulist as missing from his flat
We take soundings for the digger with a prop.
By the day the board is gratis, by the week it's half of that;
For the season there's a corresponding drop.
Opening off the spacious hallway is my natty little suite,
A commodious and accessible abode.
By judicious disposition, with exclusion of my feet,
There is sleeping room for Oliver the toad.
Though the ventilation's gusty, and in gobs the ceiling falls--
Which with oral respiration disagrees--
Though there comes a certain quantity of seepage from the walls,
There are some I knew in diggings worse than these.
On my right is Cobber Carkeek. There's a spring above his head,
And his mattress is a special kind of clay.
He's a most punctilious bloke about the fashion of his bed,
And he makes it with a shovel every day.
Man is dust. If so, the Cobber has been puddled up a treat.
On domestic sanitation he's a toff,
For he lights a fire on Sunday, bakes his sur face in the heat,
Then he takes a little maul, and cracks it off.
After hanging out a winter in this Cimmerian hole
We're forgetting sheets, and baths, and tidy skins.
In the dark and deadly calm last night they took us on patrol.
Seven, little fellows, thinking of their sins.
It was ours like blinded snails to prowl the soggy, slimy night,
With a feeler pricking out at every pore
For the death that stalks in darkness, or the blinking stab of light,
And the other trifling matters that are war.
That's the stuff to get your liver, that's the acid on a man,
For it tries his hones, and seeks his marrow throngh.
You have got the thought to comfort you that life is but a span,
If Fritz squirts his loathly limelight over you.
We got back again at daybreak. Cobber ducked to doss and said,
From the soft, embracing mud: "No more I'll roam.
"Oh, thank Heaven, blokes," he murmured, "for the comforts of a bed!
Gorstruth, but ain't it good to have a home!"
Dyson was an admirable workman but does not rank among the greater prose-writers of Australia. The Gold-stealers and In the Roaring Fifties are two interesting tales, and the short stories are capably written. His work has the merit that it was written out of his own experience and observation. Of his two volumes of verse the first, Rhymes from the Mines, is the better, and gives Dyson an honourable place in the ranks of Australian balladists.
In his book "Hello, Soldier!" Khaki Verse, many poems were originally printed in the "Bulletin," others in "Punch," "The Leader" and Melbourne "Herald."
This poem was entitled - MUD
This war's a waste of slurry, and its atmosphere is mud,
All is bog from here to sunset. Wadin' through
We're the victims of a thicker sort of universal flood,
With discomforts that old Noah never knew.
We have dubbed our trench The Cecil.
There's a brass-plate and a dome, And a quagmire where the doormat used to be,
If you're calling, second Tuesday is our reg'lar day at home,
So delighted if you'll toddle in to tea!
There is mud along the corridors enough to bog a cow;
In the air there hangs a musty kind of woof;
There's a frog-pond in the parlour, and the kitchen is a slough.
She has neither doors nor windows, nor a roof.
When they post our bald somnambulist as missing from his flat
We take soundings for the digger with a prop.
By the day the board is gratis, by the week it's half of that;
For the season there's a corresponding drop.
Opening off the spacious hallway is my natty little suite,
A commodious and accessible abode.
By judicious disposition, with exclusion of my feet,
There is sleeping room for Oliver the toad.
Though the ventilation's gusty, and in gobs the ceiling falls--
Which with oral respiration disagrees--
Though there comes a certain quantity of seepage from the walls,
There are some I knew in diggings worse than these.
On my right is Cobber Carkeek. There's a spring above his head,
And his mattress is a special kind of clay.
He's a most punctilious bloke about the fashion of his bed,
And he makes it with a shovel every day.
Man is dust. If so, the Cobber has been puddled up a treat.
On domestic sanitation he's a toff,
For he lights a fire on Sunday, bakes his sur face in the heat,
Then he takes a little maul, and cracks it off.
After hanging out a winter in this Cimmerian hole
We're forgetting sheets, and baths, and tidy skins.
In the dark and deadly calm last night they took us on patrol.
Seven, little fellows, thinking of their sins.
It was ours like blinded snails to prowl the soggy, slimy night,
With a feeler pricking out at every pore
For the death that stalks in darkness, or the blinking stab of light,
And the other trifling matters that are war.
That's the stuff to get your liver, that's the acid on a man,
For it tries his hones, and seeks his marrow throngh.
You have got the thought to comfort you that life is but a span,
If Fritz squirts his loathly limelight over you.
We got back again at daybreak. Cobber ducked to doss and said,
From the soft, embracing mud: "No more I'll roam.
"Oh, thank Heaven, blokes," he murmured, "for the comforts of a bed!
Gorstruth, but ain't it good to have a home!"
Friday, October 06, 2006
Lieutenant Leonard George Prentice Errey, DSO,MC, 8th Battalion, AIF.
Leonard George Prentice Errey, enlisted on 16th August 1914, as a private aged 22. In civilian life he had been a carpenter living in Campertown, Victoria. He is listed as being a member of the Campertown Rifle Club.
He received the Military Cross in April 1917, the citation reads:
“During the operations in front of Queant and Phonville, 19th April 1917, 2nd Lieut ERREY’S work was of an extremely courageous and useful nature. His duties included patrolling no man’s land in front of his Company sector. In this he showed great courage and initiative. He went through the enemy’s wire and gained valuable information at great personal risk. On the night of 10th April 1917 he encountered an enemy patrol of 56 strong. His party was only 8 strong and the enemy endeavoured to surround him. Not withstanding this he gave them fight and succeeded in driving them off with bombs and rifle fire. He handled his men with great skill and got back without a casualty, the enemy leaving 4 dead on the field. Lieut. ERREY is a young officer who has been with the Battalion since shortly after its inception and is a splendid leader and absolutely fearless.”
Ron Austin in ‘Cobbers in Khaki’ writes about the incident:
“On the night of 19th April 1917 a patrol led by 2nd Lt George Errey came upon a German patrol of about 30 men. The 2 patrols engaged each other with rifle fire and within a few minutes the Germans withdrew from the encounter leaving behind 4 dead comrades."
Later that year in September, He was recommended for the Victoria Cross, although it was turned down, he received the Distinguished Service Order in its place for his audacious work: The citation for the Victoria Cross reads:
“For conspicuous gallantry during the attack on Polygon Wood on the 20th September 1917, after the third objective had been gained, the consolidation was greatly interfered with by heavy Machine Gun fire from an enemy strong point which caused many casualties and was beginning to disorganise our line. Lieut. ERREY with four men, in the face of very heavy Machine Gun fire rushed through our own barrage and attacked and captured the strong point together with 5 officers, 60 other ranks and 2 Machine Guns. This officer’s most conspicuous bravery, determination and prompt action undoubtedly saved many lives and altered the situation at a critical moment enabling the line to be firmly established.”
But on the 3rd Oct, the eve of the attack, Lieutenant Errey who was now the Battalion intelligence officer and his men laid out the white marker tape on the ground. At 5.30 the enemy shelled the rear trenches, the shelling took its toll with 3 officers being killed, Captains Rudolph Kirsch, and John Davidson and Lieutenant Errey.
He died of wounds received, aged 25 and is buried Menin Road South Military Cemetery, Belgium.
He received the Military Cross in April 1917, the citation reads:
“During the operations in front of Queant and Phonville, 19th April 1917, 2nd Lieut ERREY’S work was of an extremely courageous and useful nature. His duties included patrolling no man’s land in front of his Company sector. In this he showed great courage and initiative. He went through the enemy’s wire and gained valuable information at great personal risk. On the night of 10th April 1917 he encountered an enemy patrol of 56 strong. His party was only 8 strong and the enemy endeavoured to surround him. Not withstanding this he gave them fight and succeeded in driving them off with bombs and rifle fire. He handled his men with great skill and got back without a casualty, the enemy leaving 4 dead on the field. Lieut. ERREY is a young officer who has been with the Battalion since shortly after its inception and is a splendid leader and absolutely fearless.”
Ron Austin in ‘Cobbers in Khaki’ writes about the incident:
“On the night of 19th April 1917 a patrol led by 2nd Lt George Errey came upon a German patrol of about 30 men. The 2 patrols engaged each other with rifle fire and within a few minutes the Germans withdrew from the encounter leaving behind 4 dead comrades."
Later that year in September, He was recommended for the Victoria Cross, although it was turned down, he received the Distinguished Service Order in its place for his audacious work: The citation for the Victoria Cross reads:
“For conspicuous gallantry during the attack on Polygon Wood on the 20th September 1917, after the third objective had been gained, the consolidation was greatly interfered with by heavy Machine Gun fire from an enemy strong point which caused many casualties and was beginning to disorganise our line. Lieut. ERREY with four men, in the face of very heavy Machine Gun fire rushed through our own barrage and attacked and captured the strong point together with 5 officers, 60 other ranks and 2 Machine Guns. This officer’s most conspicuous bravery, determination and prompt action undoubtedly saved many lives and altered the situation at a critical moment enabling the line to be firmly established.”
But on the 3rd Oct, the eve of the attack, Lieutenant Errey who was now the Battalion intelligence officer and his men laid out the white marker tape on the ground. At 5.30 the enemy shelled the rear trenches, the shelling took its toll with 3 officers being killed, Captains Rudolph Kirsch, and John Davidson and Lieutenant Errey.
He died of wounds received, aged 25 and is buried Menin Road South Military Cemetery, Belgium.
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
Sergeant William Dobson SCORER, DCM, 8th Battalion, AIF.
William Dobson Scorer was a 21 year old Clerk from Essendon, Victoria when he enlisted on 30th July 1915.
During the Battle of Broodseinde Ridge on the 4th October 1917, he was awarded The Distinguished Conduct Medal. The citation reads:
“During the attack on Broodseinde Ridge eat of Ypres an 4th Oct., 1917, Sgt. SCORER did splendid work both before and after the advance. He assisted the intelligence office in guiding the Battalion on to the tapes. When the Battalion advanced, Sgt. SCORER maintained direction on the flank in a most efficient manner and when held up by machine gun fire he crept forward and alone rushed the gunners, bayoneted 8 and put the gun out of action. He was wounded in this fight but continued his task of maintaining direction on his flank until the objective was reached when he was again very badly wounded while assisting to supervise consolidation. “
In Ron Austin’s book ‘Cobbers in Khaki’ the following passage mentions him:
“When Chaplain Booth arrived at the RAP to assist the RMO the first man he saw was the Orderly Room Sergeant, “poor old Bill Scorer.” Lying next to Scorer was Lieutenant Goodwin, who was described by Booth as “One of the most courageous officers of the 8th Battalion. Bill Scorer seemed cheerful but we hold very little hope for him, while poor old Goodwin has no chance. We looked him over, he was quite unconscious.” (Goodwin died that day, Scorer died two weeks later).”
Bill Scorer died of wounds on the 24th October 1917 and is buried in Estaples Military Cemetery aged 24.
During the Battle of Broodseinde Ridge on the 4th October 1917, he was awarded The Distinguished Conduct Medal. The citation reads:
“During the attack on Broodseinde Ridge eat of Ypres an 4th Oct., 1917, Sgt. SCORER did splendid work both before and after the advance. He assisted the intelligence office in guiding the Battalion on to the tapes. When the Battalion advanced, Sgt. SCORER maintained direction on the flank in a most efficient manner and when held up by machine gun fire he crept forward and alone rushed the gunners, bayoneted 8 and put the gun out of action. He was wounded in this fight but continued his task of maintaining direction on his flank until the objective was reached when he was again very badly wounded while assisting to supervise consolidation. “
In Ron Austin’s book ‘Cobbers in Khaki’ the following passage mentions him:
“When Chaplain Booth arrived at the RAP to assist the RMO the first man he saw was the Orderly Room Sergeant, “poor old Bill Scorer.” Lying next to Scorer was Lieutenant Goodwin, who was described by Booth as “One of the most courageous officers of the 8th Battalion. Bill Scorer seemed cheerful but we hold very little hope for him, while poor old Goodwin has no chance. We looked him over, he was quite unconscious.” (Goodwin died that day, Scorer died two weeks later).”
Bill Scorer died of wounds on the 24th October 1917 and is buried in Estaples Military Cemetery aged 24.
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