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)