Australian Soldiers, Memorials and Military History

Alex_Watson__245_9th_Battalion_and__1593-24th_Battalion.pdf

REVISED_SARAWAK_TABLET.pdf

National Archives Australia - Service Record

https://recordsearch.naa.gov.au/SearchNRetrieve/Interface/ViewImage.aspx?B=3529460

RMS_Malwa_A_Bailey_LHR_March-July_1916.pdf

The Sun 6 May 1917 p 11 ENLISTED AT FOURTEEN BOY SOLDIER AT "MOOCOW FARM" “Gas Smells Like Fruit” PATROL'S DEVOTION Beside the fire at 8 Pine-street, Manly, there sits a boy of 16, who is gradually recovering from shell-shock contracted on the historic field of Mouquet Farm in France, He enlisted at the age of 14 and a few months, and his name is Cecil Thomas. He Is fair and slight, and serious-looking, and as he talks he stares into the fire, seeing, you hardly dare imagine what ghastly pictures in the glowing coals. He gave his age as 18 at the Town Hall recruiting depot, and as he was fairly tall, the white lie passed undetected. His parents' permission lie filled in himself, writing backhand to disguise his boyish penmanship. They put him into reinforcements;' and after a time spent in Egypt Cecil Thomas had his 15th birthday on a troopship' 'bound for France! "No, no one guessed how young I was," heasoys; "they all took me on as one of themselves, and It- was not until I returned that some of the officers found it out. There was another boy there a month older than me, but I never got a chance of talking with him. He is still in France, I believe." Private Thomas's father left with another battalion soon after the boy enlisted, and he is still fighting in France, but his son, hearing that the elder Thomas's battalion was quartered near his own, searched it out, and on two different occasions was able to have a chat with his father. Of the actual battlefield the boy is yet unable to speak fluently. There are phases of it, which touched upon ever so gently, set his lips trembling with memories — memories to be pushed hastily aside as part of an evil dream that is over. His mother says that a thunderstorm makes him "restless as a kitten," and that for weeks after his return he sat listlessly with his head in his hands, hardly speaking to anyone, and showing interest in nothing about him. THE MOTOR BIKE CURE For two months his anxious little mother hoard not one word from her boy's lips about | war or any of the experiences through' which he had, passed. His one desire, he told her, I was to get out into the country, away from I the noise and clatter of the city. So off she packed him to relatives on the North Coast, and here the thing that made him a boy again was — a motor bike! He laughs softly at the incongruity of seeking quiet and practically living on a snorting, shaking, fussy machine of that kind. But on the bike his mind rode back to normal. Talking of gas, Cecil Thomas gives a surprisingly novel description. "It smells like all the fruit you ever smelt — as if the breeze were blowing oft an orchard. It is so lovely that you could go on snifllng and snifllng it, and all tho time it would be killing you. As soon as the first whiff reaches you, though, you put on your gas helmet. Usually the word is sent along that a gas attack is expected, just the 'same as you get warning of the bombs that you have to put on tear goggles for. They have cayenne and stuff in them that makes your eyes sore for some time. The tear goggles are made of rubber, in sections to lit closely against the eye, and have bits of mica to look through." "The thing that always beat me was how our side got all the information they did. We'd get word seat along that at 9 o'clock the enemy was going to bombard us for five minutes, and sure enough it would be as true as if we had arranged it ourselves. "There was. one. officer: I can't remember his name, who belonged to the Intelligence Department. He had a German uniform and could speak German, so they said, and used to go into the enemy lines for hours at a time. He is in England now with one leg amputated. The Germans put out – papers and a bag in No Man's Land one day, and dared our side to get them. He and another officer took up the challenge. He got the papers, but the other chap was killed. Often the Germans would stick a flag, out and dare us to get it. Once or twice when fellows went out a mine went off as soon as they pulled the flag out of the ground." The boy soldier did not find listening-post duty as dreadful as he has heard others describe it. He pokes the fire and talks quietly ON LISTENING POST "The first night you go out on listening post your hair stands on end at every sound and you see faces in the dark! (That is the fifteen-year-old speaking!) "The second night out you scrag the new chum that goes with you for yelling out when he sees things. You have to stand stock-still and not even breathe louder than you can help! When the flares go up from the German lines any movement from the listening post would mean death, but standing still you look just like one of the stumps that are scattered about in dozens all over the ground at Mouquet Farm." He tells you that at first he used to take a delight in potting these stumps, until he found that it attracted the enemy's attention to his part of the trench and made things too hot for him. Patrol duty, which entails crawling under the enemy's barbed wire entanglements and staying near their trenches In the hope of hearing something, did not appeal to him at all. He was glad when that was over. But the mention of it brings to' his mind a story that fires his imagination and sets a light burning In his quiet eyes. The battalion was to make a raid, the artillery first cutting the enemy's wires. By some miscalculation it was our own wire that was cut, and as the men dashed on, the enemy's entanglements confronted them with certain death. It was then the patrol threw themselves across the wires and made a bridge by which the raiders were able to cross. The raid was successful and the patrol had not given their lives in vain. Cecil Thomas pokes the fire and stares into the coals for a space. When he is 18 ho hopes to go hack and finish up what he began as a fifteen-year-old. He returned to Sydney in December and celebrated his 16th birthday a week later. His mother's eyes have not yet forgotten their anxiety of it year ago, but she laughs us she says; "He was always serious, and even as a baby he took his pleasures seriously. He always used to say that when he grow up he would build me a nice house und then buy a yacht and go sailing round the world. But he did the sailing first instead of last!"

ANZAC Spirit School Prize 2015 - Arthur Trenwith

A_TRENWITH.pdf

ANZAC Spirit School Prize 2015 - Charles Clifford

C_CLIFFORD.pdf

ANZAC Spirit School Prize 2013 - Andrew Beattie

A_BEATTIE.pdf

ANZAC Spirit School Prize 2015 - Alfred Hastwell

A_HASTWELL.pdf

ANZAC Spirit School Prize 2013 - Alexander Pollitt

A_POLLITT.pdf

ANZAC Spirit School Prize 2015 - Arthur Walker

A_WALKER.pdf