I’ve always been obsessed with World
War I – and particularly Gallipoli. And
that was even before I saw Mark Lee and Mel Gibson running into battle! I think my fascination in ingrained. Somehow as an Australian I can’t help
myself. I hear stories and read accounts
of a place where Australians and New Zealanders (as a minority) fought a pointless battle and
you can’t help but be completely indignant about the position they were put
into by the War tacticians. It’s a
romantic notion – no matter how horrible the actual situation was. In Year 11 I did a unit of English on
Literature in World War I which I absolutely loved (I just went and checked – I
only got a ‘B’ for it, so I loved it but didn’t set the world on fire with my profound
understanding of the subject). But the
stories and the poems have stayed with me – and I still keep a copy of ‘Up the
Line to Death: The War Poets 1914-1918’.
I also have a treasured first addition copy of ‘The ANZAC Book’. I still haven’t managed to visit Turkey and
Gallipoli myself – but it’s definitely on my ‘to do’ list.
So today it is appropriate for me
to write how I am grateful for all people who sacrificed their lives to
preserve our way of life. This is a simple and easy statement for me to
make, and I do so with a lot of background noise that I want to acknowledge. ANZAC Day is an important day of remembrance. It is said that Australia became a nation in
part because of our role at Gallipoli. I
would like to think that we would have become a nation anyway – without the
loss of lives. Australia was in its
infancy, but a great defeat is not an auspicious start to a nation.
I really find War History
interesting and so I’m going to quickly mention two World War I stories:
1. James Nathaniel Woolley - I was most excited (if that’s
appropriate) when I discovered that my Grandmother’s Uncle had died at Lone
Pine, Gallipoli. James was 36 when he
died on 6 August 1915. As designated
next of kin, his sister was given his personal effects. However, under the Deceased Soldiers
Estate Act of 1918, there were rules about who would receive the war medals in
cases where there was no will. It was
first available to wife (if applicable), then parents, then oldest surviving
BROTHER. This meant that although Mrs
Fisher was the next of kin, she was not entitled to the medals. Nor was Mrs Mary Williamson, as the eldest
sibling.
After
some investigation by the Special Inquiry Office, it was ascertained that Mr T
Woolley was the eldest surviving brother.
A letter was written to him asking whether he objected to Mrs Fisher
getting the medals. He replied that:
“for reasons which there is no need to enter into I object to [the medals]
being handed over to Mrs Fisher and as person entitled to receive them, would
like you to forward them to me.”
I wonder what Thomas did with those
medals…. (Note that completing a Will was a condition of enlisting in World War II)
2. Wilfrid George Crofts – Ian’s
grandfather was under 21 when he wanted to enlist so his father had to provide consent. He also had to work out at the local YMCA so
that his chest measurement would be large enough to be accepted. Anyway, his father was in England at the time
and sent a telegram stating “Father consents if Mother Agrees.” Ummm…. Wilfrid wrote to his mother faithfully and
she kept all of his letters. They
actually detail a rather boring life:
Lots of movement from one place to another. But Wilfrid Crofts came back from war a
changed man. He often spoke of his
hatred of war. He wrote a fantastic story about one of his
mates who didn’t come back – I’d put it in here, but I haven’t
transcribed. It’s good ‘though.
Lest We Forget
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