Soldiers in Different Armies

Copyright © 2012, 2014 by Brenda Inglis-Powell.

Reprinted 2017

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Rev. date: 10/05/2016

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Contents

Chapter One: Beginnings

Chapter Two: The New Kitchen—1917

Chapter Three: To the Land of Sunshine and Promise—1920

Chapter Four: On the Farm—1922

Chapter Five: A New Life in a New Land—1924

Chapter Six: The Intermediate Certificate—1930

Chapter Seven: Mary Emigrates to Join Her Family—1930

Chapter Eight: On the Road—1930

Chapter Nine: Ivy Takes a Holiday—1937

Chapter Ten: Australia Will Be There—1940

Chapter Eleven: The Hold-Fast Session—1940

Chapter Twelve: The 2/14th Battalion Goes to War—1940

Chapter Thirteen: The Western Desert—1941

Chapter Fourteen: First Appointment—1940

Chapter Fifteen: Palestine—1941

Chapter Sixteen: Beaudesert, Queensland—1941

Chapter Seventeen: Syria—1941

Chapter Eighteen: Toowong and Wynnum—1942

Chapter Nineteen: Going Home—1942

Chapter Twenty: Wilston—1942

Chapter Twenty-One: Battalion Mascot

Chapter Twenty-Two: The Kokoda Track—1942

Chapter Twenty-Three: Promotion—1942

Chapter Twenty-Four: On to Gona Village—1943

Chapter Twenty-Five: ‘I Do’—December 1944

Epilogue

Wartime Memories

Wartime Memories

Wartime Memories

The 2/14th Battalion Association

Resources

Bibliography

With grateful thanks to my brother Ron whose collaboration

and encouragement made this book possible

In loving memory of our

Father, William (Jock), and Mother, Ivy

Thank you for purchasing this book.

In doing so, you have assisted The Salvation Army’s

work with the Australian Defence Forces

If you would like to know more of their work, please visit

salvos.org.au/rsds/

Chapter One

BEGINNINGS

G lasgow, Scotland, 1908. Proud, rotund, and strong, Mary Inglis surveyed the room, home to her family of four children, David, Jean, John, little William, and if her suspicions were correct, the fifth was on its way. The family were fortunate; theirs was the front room with a window overlooking the small cobbled Regent Moray Street. Mary made a particular effort to keep the glass clean and dreamed of having curtains at the window one day. Twice a week, she climbed the hill to the servants’ quarters of the ‘big house’ to do the washing for a wealthy family. Thanks to a kind-hearted servant, her children always wore clean clothes that Mary carried up dirty and carried back wet but clean, ready to hang up to dry. Her scarred, red-lined caustic hands bore testimony to this twice-weekly excursion.

The room in which Mary’s family lived was furnished with a table, two chairs, and one iron bed under which three bedrolls were stored. A wooden box in the corner served as a baby cradle. A wooden kitchen dresser with one of the two wire mesh doors broken off from its hinges completed the furnishings. The cook at the ‘big house’ had told Mary that there was a broken chair in the basement and that if Mary wanted it, she could ask the gardener to mend it for her. She knew that Mary’s husband was not able to do such things. If it could be fixed, then maybe two of the children could share it during mealtimes.

A cast-iron pot and a water fountain sat on the large black stove. Strung above the stove was a rope line where Mary dried her children’s clothes. Several pegs on the wall held a large pot, a pan, and three large cooking spoons. Another wooden box on the floor near the door held the family’s shoes when they were home. They were certainly too dirty and, in the winter, too wet to wear inside the room. Her children always had shoes on their feet unlike the ‘street urchins’, as Mary called them.

Porridge was the staple diet, eaten either hot or cold. A large pot of water containing scraps of bone became the evening meal. It was the children’s responsibility to walk the railway line and collect coal fallen from the trains to provide fuel for the fire. Out by the back-lane fence, the privy was used by the twenty-three adults and children who lived in the tenement. It regularly overflowed and poured out into the backyard, often seeping down the centre hallway. Large rats frequented the outdoor privy; only two weeks ago, a baby had died in its cradle after being bitten by one of these ultimate survivors.

The centre hallway, shared by three other families, was hard clay which turned to mud when cold rain swept down the hall. The broken door no longer helped keep the wind and rain at bay.

Mary cleaned and scrubbed her room while dreaming of something better for her family. Some weeks her baker husband would bring home a miniscule wage that she was expected to stretch, but other weeks the money did not arrive at all. Instead, William would sway in a drunken stupor down the street, having drowned his sense of failure in alcohol. Glasgow was a poor city, and William wanted more for his children, but ‘more’ never came.

As the small fire struggled to hold back the bitterly cold winter evening, Mary knew something had to change. She would not succumb to the abysmal poverty that surrounded her. She would gladly make any sacrifice for her children. Glasgow, choked by a cloud of coal dust and deafened by the noise of the shipyards, stunted its children’s growth and starved the less fortunate of its citizens. A good schooling will be your way out of this place was Mary’s mantra. Should the children miss one day of school, they would receive a swift reminder around their legs that they must get an education.

Mary’s heart always went out to her eighteen-month-old baby, William. He had lain in his small box cot at night with each leg strapped between two pieces of wood in the hope that they would straighten his legs enough for him to be able to walk properly. Mary spent many nights by the small fire, rubbing and exercising his little legs before rebinding them, while William screamed his protest. Other children who did not have such a conscientious mother limped on bandy legs, twisting their spines, causing great pain. Glasgow was full of such children, suffering the effects of malnutrition and lack of sunlight. This child would be given every chance to walk properly.

David and John dragged out the bedroll they shared. They read their one dog-eared book over and over again, escaping into fantasy. Their sister Jean now took it up to read to her brothers before the candle gave out its last flicker of light. ‘And they lived happily ever after,’ she read. ‘Come boys, into bed.’ Jean pushed the table against the wall, unwrapped the bedrolls, placed them under the table, retrieved the thin blankets from the box in the corner, and tucked the boys into bed, hungry again.

‘Jean, would you like to hold little William for a while?’

Carefully transferring the small child so as not to bump his bound legs, Jean sat on the floor by the fire and cradled her little brother in her arms. The bitterly cold wind whistled around the tenements, and Jean wrapped the tiny blanket tightly. ‘Mum, he will walk one day, won’t he?’

‘I am sure God will answer my prayer. He will walk one day.’ Silently, she questioned, Would the splints work? Would this tiny child be able to walk one day, unaided on legs that would not hinder his progress? Mary’s agonising prayer once again rose up within her, and she struggled to hide the tears that filled her eyes.

Forbes, Australia, 1915. Strands of shell-pink clouds filtered the early morning sunlight as Annie Trethewey moved slowly around her bush kitchen, preparing the day’s food for her family. The black water fountain with a long brass water tap hung on a chain over the embers of the fire. Annie was glad that one of the boys had remembered to fill it the night before. Two other cast-iron pots and a scone dish rested beside three heavy irons standing to attention, ready to be heated when required. On the scrubbed kitchen table sat a white crazed crockery bowl with a pouring spout and two wooden spoons that her husband William had shaped out of pieces of wood. A long toasting fork created from fencing wire hung on a nail beside the fire.

There was a promise in the air of another scorching February day. Forbes, a small town in the Central West of New South Wales, baked in the summer heat. Scones had to be made, porridge cooked for breakfast, and other meals prepared. Harold and Florence were organised, ready for Annie’s mother, Sarah, to collect them during the morning. Their belongings were packed in a sugar bag, ready for an extended stay with their grandmother. Annie thought how fortunate she was that her mother lived just outside town. She had come and taken the children each time a baby had been born: Fredrick, her first child, born in 1907, Reginald in 1909, Harold in 1911, and baby Florence in 1913.

She was heavy with her fifth child and, even at this early hour, weary of the precious burden she carried. ‘Maybe today, Lord?’ she whispered as she continued her kitchen preparation. ‘I count all my children a blessing, but please don’t bless me so often. I’m not ungrateful, just tired.’ The child moved within her. Slowly, Annie collected the flour to commence the scone-making. There would be enough for breakfast this morning, so there was no real hurry. Easing her heavy body on to a kitchen chair, her nimble fingers started to knead the dough. The luxury of a quiet kitchen was something to savour.

Allowing her mind to wander as she worked, she remembered the day when, as a young woman, she had met William Trethewey, a striking young man who, despite his humble beginnings, had plans to own his own property. He was 5 foot 10 inches tall and had a strong open face with a receding hairline, a neatly trimmed moustache, hands that demonstrated his ability to sink free-flowing water wells, a very distinguished manner, and a smile that immediately won her heart. They met at the local Forbes Salvation Army Barracks where William played a cornet in the band. His proposal of marriage had been readily accepted, and she prized the silver crest that William had brought back from Sydney as an engagement present. There he had listened to General William Booth, The Salvation Army’s Founder, in several of the large rallies conducted in the city.

For forty pounds, William had purchased five acres of river frontage in Bathurst Street, Forbes. The doomsday prophets said that William had been foolish to purchase the property. ‘The Stockinbingal railway will go straight through it,’ they prophesied. William knew differently. The Lachlan River ran too swiftly and was too deep behind the property. The railway would have to cross the river further upstream. William proved to be correct. The railway bridge was built several hundred yards upstream from William’s property that he named Willobank.

William Trethewey and Annie Black were married at the Forbes Salvation Army Barracks on 28 August 1906. The guests paid three pence each to attend, and the funds raised provided for a sumptuous afternoon tea and a present for the bride and groom. The guests tin-kettled and spooned the happy couple to the railway station where they boarded the train for a honeymoon in Melbourne where Annie used her wedding money to purchase a fine china dinner set. The driver blew the train whistle all the way to Parkes, informing communities along the line that a honeymoon couple was on board. What a privilege to have gone interstate to Melbourne for their honeymoon! Annie returned to Willobank to become queen of her own kingdom. Willobank became a profitable farm, growing produce for the local town of Forbes. Yes, thought Annie, I have been blessed with a strong man. He works hard to provide for his ever-increasing family.

Sleepy-eyed young Florence in her nightdress silently crossed the hard earth kitchen floor, touched her mother’s arm, and wakened Annie from her pleasant day-dream. ‘Muma, hungry,’ she babbled in her two-year-old fashion.

‘Good morning, Florence. Here you are. Sit in the high chair, and I will serve you some porridge.’ Lifting the child, Annie knew that it would not be long before her new baby would arrive. Having completed their chores, Fred, Reg, and Harold came into the kitchen and joined their little sister. ‘Fred, can you bring me Florrie’s little dress from the back cupboard so I can dress her, please?’

Fred and Reg were now old enough to stay and help their father on the farm. Harold and Florence would visit Grandmother Sarah. They would enjoy the company of their aunts and uncles until after the baby’s birth. ‘I will sit in the high seat in the sulky with Grandma,’ said Harold. Florence began to cry.

‘We’ll let Grandma decide who sits up with her and who sits in the dicky seat.’ Annie was not in the mood to adjudicate in this dispute, for she was too tired. ‘Eat up your breakfast so you can get the rest of your chores done before Grandma arrives. Fred, you and Reg must go to the river and bring up the water. Please bring up twice your usual buckets so there will be plenty, and fill a bucket of water from the water tank for drinking. Harold, feed the chooks, collect the eggs in the basket, make sure they have water, and sweep the back path. Now hurry up, all of you!’ There was always so much work to be done. Usually, Annie enjoyed the bustle of her family, but today, it all seemed just a little too much for her to bear. Her voice rang with uncharacteristic impatience. ‘Florence, help mother clear the table, and you can dry up the spoons and forks.’ It never occurred to Annie that later generations might consider her demands upon a two-year-old unreasonable. This was a time when everyone pitched in, regardless of age.

Fred and Reg, having finished their breakfast, moved to the back door. The yokes, each with two buckets, were standing up against the back shed. The boys shouldered their burdens and set off down the back path to the river. William had constructed a boom to which a bucket could be attached, swung out, and lowered to the river to collect the water and then swung back. This way, the boys did not have to get too close to the water’s edge. Today, because of the lack of rain, the river was at a low ebb, appearing deceptively like a lazy stream flowing slowly to its convergence with the Murrumbidgee and then on to the sea. But the water ran deep with a strong current behind the farm, and the boys needed to be careful. During other seasons, the river became a force strong enough to sweep life from its banks.

Having filled the buckets, the boys struggled back to the house, depositing the water cans outside the back door before returning for a second load. They then took another bucket to the water tank for drinking water. ‘Fred, bring two of those in, please, and leave one beside the stove, and fill the water fountain with the tank water, please,’ called Annie. Fred entered the kitchen to find Florence seated on the table next to the washing-up dish splashing water down the front of her smock. Annie had dressed her, and he was aware of his mother’s short temper this morning. ‘Come on, little one,’ he chided, ‘you are ready to go to Grandma’s. Don’t mess yourself up before you leave.’ Gently, he lifted her down, and she ran outside to see whether Grandma had arrived. Standing beside the front gate post, she strained her eyes in the already strong sun, looking for a cloud of dust that would announce the arrival of the sulky carrying Grandma Sarah. Sitting on the ground, making a pattern with a stick, Florence daydreamed for quite some time until the awaited cloud of dust appeared. Running back into the house, Florence proudly announced, ‘Ganma! Ganma!’

Annie was relieved to know that her mother was on her way. She knew the younger children would enjoy a visit with her, and she needed some time to be alone before the baby arrived. Reg and Fred had gone to join their father in the river paddock to continue the task of hoeing ready for the next crop. They also had fruit to pick for bottling. No school today—there were too many tasks to be completed. Crossing the kitchen, Annie filled the teapot ready for her mother and took a small batch of scones from the fire, filling the farm kitchen with a delicious aroma. Outside, there was a general commotion as the children welcomed Grandma and led her into the kitchen. They were anxious to receive their share of the scones too. ‘Hello, Mother,’ Annie sighed, dropping a light kiss on her mother’s cheek. ‘So glad to see you. Sit down and enjoy a cuppa.’

Sarah, seeing the worn state of her daughter, immediately took charge. ‘Now you children take one scone each, and I will prepare a basket for Harold to take to your father and brothers. Come straight back, Harold. I won’t be long, and then we’ll be off to my place.’

‘It’s my turn to sit up with you, Grandma, isn’t it?’ questioned Harold.

‘Never mind that now!’ Grandma scolded. ‘Just leave your mother and me in peace for a while. We’ll discuss that later.’ Shooing the children out the door, she anxiously turned to her daughter. ‘Annie, you are looking decidedly pale and worn. You also have a short temper this morning. I think it will be today.’

‘I hope so, Mum. This heat is almost too much to bear.’ In companionable silence, mother and daughter sipped their tea, unspoken fears rising up between them.

‘Annie, I’ll call in at Mrs Spittels’s place on the way out and get her to come up and have a look at you. Are you sure you don’t want to go into town for this birth?’

‘No, Mother, I have talked to Dr Deloryee, and he sees no reason this time. Despite the problems I had with Harold, I had no trouble with Florrie’s birth.’

‘If that is what you wish. I will still alert Mrs Spittels. I’m glad she lives just down the road. I’ll wash these cups, clear up the kitchen, and take the children back home.’

Sarah rang the bell outside the kitchen door, signalling that the younger children should return to the house. ‘Children, come on,’ Grandma called, ‘time to be on our way.’

William had packed two large boxes of fruit, vegetables, and eggs for Sarah and Harold to put in the sulky along with the sugar bags containing the children’s clothes.

‘It’s my turn,’ grumbled Harold as Florence endeavoured to clamber into the sulky before him.

‘There is no reason why you can’t both sit with me. Harold, you may also be able to hold the reins for a short while. Your father tells me you are quite good with horses.’ Harold smiled at the compliment.

With a gentle kiss on her daughter’s cheek, Sarah climbed into the sulky, took the reins, and urged the horse forward. ‘I’ll call in to see Mrs Spittels on the way. Look after yourself now.’ And with that, she was off down the drive and out on to Bathurst Street with the children waving goodbye, not the least bit worried about leaving home, knowing that a real adventure awaited them.

Annie turned back into the kitchen. The heat was becoming oppressive, and she was decidedly unwell. William and the boys would be in from the paddock for lunch, so she decided to just serve them the newly baked scones and cold meat. She sat with a glass of water, waiting.

Reliable as always, Mrs Spittels called from the back door a short time later. ‘Good morning, Mrs Trethewey. My, I don’t think you have long to wait now.’ Mrs Spittels, the local midwife, cared for many of the women,