Diary transcript of Reginald Harriman Heywood, 1917 - Part 1

The only authorised version of the
life and letters of Captain R.H.Heywood,
A.A.V.C. during his voyage from Australia
to England en route for France. &c. &c. &c.
All rights reserved).
Emblem - see original document. 

Saturday, May 12th, 1917.
Parted with Max and left home at 6.45 a.m. for [*(avg)*]
the Port where we arrived at 7.10. Quite an enthusiastic
farewell - that's the best of leaving a few debts behind -
your friends never forget you. Said Good Bye to the
whole world. Boarded the tug "Nyora" and with the
"Jas Paterson" steamed slowly down the Bay and picked up
the "Benalla" H.M.A.T.24 (P.& O. 11.180 tons) in the
S. channel between Mornington and Dromana. Hove to
and boarded the old packet - no joke as there was quite
a sea on. The first man I sighted on board was Jim
Borrowman - Lieut and Ships' Adjutant.
When all the luggage etc was slung on board
we steamed down slowly past Dromana, Rosebud and dear old
Sorrento and joined quite a fleet of vessels off Portsea
and anchored for a while. Had a few anxious moments
while the luggage was coming in especially when a bundle
of Robbie's containing an assortment of provender performed
perilous flim flams in mid air. Fortunately after several
stomach stirring moments it elected to remain in the net
and now occupies a proud position amongst the general
impedimenta in Robbie's cabin (The A.A.V.C. headquarters).
Shook down into our cabins - Reynolds and I
in a 4-berth deck - Tucker next door and Robbie opposite.
Wouldn't swap ours for any other in the ship - yet. 

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On board are about 250 munitioners, 150 troops, 25 officers
(medicos etc) and 9 nurses.
About dusk we made a move and by dark we were going
through the Heads - a great sight - especially as the
searchlights were playing on our ships for a long while.
We are in it for keeps now.
Blowing a strong Northerly but very calm -
so made a good dinner. All lights are covered and very
hard to find ones way about outside, so retired.
Wonder how they are at home.
May 13th, 1917
Awoke about 4.30 a.m. in pandemonium - doors
banging and luggage sliding about - Jack's tin trunk
seemed to have a fiendish intention of chuting the chute
across the cabin and knocking the side of the ship out.
Robbie and I turned out in our little pink nighties and
with the aid of Robertson's famous "language for every
occasion" restored a little order. By an ingenious
arrangement we lashed an offending door to, but unhappily
locked the ubiquitous Knowall (see later) out on the deck
which was awash with sea, rain and mal-de-mer. It was
plenty rough and no more sleep. Beautiful W.S. Westerley.
7.30 Hot Sea bath and shave but had breakfast brought up
to the cabin.
Great sight from the top deck as the 6 or 7 

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vessels which had left Melbourne had been joined by others
from Sydney and New Zealand including the cruiser
"Encounter" and two destroyers. Terribly rough, so kept
in the cabin. Tom Tucker very sick and wishes the
Germans would come to Australia to fight.
The Clan MacGillivary alongside is a great sight -
don't know why she doesn't roll over and big seas continually
breaking right over her. This seems like a good sea boat - 
and even at that Jack's luggage still makes an occasional
spurt across the floor and his shaving mug just fell off
its shelf with disastrous results. I might add that
Jack himself just went down the alleyway past our door
at about 60 miles per hour.
I just learn that the engineers are making a
sweep on when we get torpedoed - and that the Captain
has had the pleasure twice. Think I'll sleep on my
worries.
May 14th, 1917.
Still very rough - and tho' not sick didn't
like to risk the dining saloon - so stayed on deck or in
the cabin where the steward brought me up a little nourishment.
It wouldn't have been very hard for me to have
brought up a little for myself.
The "Port Sydney" just astern is a great sight -
very close - could almost have hailed her. She's a big
boat, but looked like the proverbial cockle-shell in the 

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froth and bubble of the Bight. Couldn't get a photo of
her - tho' I did try one of the Clan McG yesterday.
Morgan, the third engineer, told me it was the
roughest time he has seen in the Bight. Tom hopes peace
declared by the time we get to Fremantle.
May 15th, 1917.
A bit calmer to-day - but some of the convoy
are pretty slow and we will be about 90 days on the trip.
Another big steamer joined us about lunch time,
but after following for a while departed in a Northerly
direction for Adelaide apparently.
Tucker quite recovered but wishes we were home.
Robbie continues in good form and has palled up with a
little akim named Mendelsohn who plays the violin beautifully.
The three of us rendered a "Perfect Day" with
much gusto and in as I thought good style - but other
frequenters of the saloon received it coldly - so retired
in disgust.
May 16th, 1917.
Rougher than ever - with fierce rain squalls but
we are used to the ship now. The rest of the convoy
seem to be catching it. Had our first experience of
Boat Drill. My boat is No 3 on the starboard side.
Occupants include 3 nurses, 2 doctors and some rough
looking diamonds. Wish I had a gun. The convoy seems 

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to have settled down now into fixed positions. There are
3 columns - on our right the "Ascanius" followed by the
"Pakeha" and Turakina" (both N.Z.) In our column
(the centre) H.M.A.S. "Encounter", "Ulysses", "Shropshire",
"Benalla" and "Port Sydney". On the left are the "Marathon",
"Boorara" (Wardle's boat) "Clan MacGillivary" and "Tofua"
(N.Z.). The destroyers have returned.
Robbie secured skipping ropes for us and we had
a few halfhearted hops on the boat deck.
Played whist after dinner and turned in.
A beast of a night.
May 17th, 1917.
The Bight is living right up amongst its reputation -
tremendous seas and fierce squalls. I fancy we
have been considerably S. of the usual track as we have
been travelling N.W. for some time. Cape Leeuwin can't
be a great way off.
The roughest night we have had and the dinner
table resolved itself into a sort of glorified chute -
with our end the shot at.
Turned in early but couldn't sleep. A couple
of seas came over and one splintered a large seat on deck.
Nice quiet night - so quiet I could hear every door banging
and every bath can sliding about thro'out the ship.
One of the ventilators making a very creditable and highly 

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realistic imitation of the sighing of a lost soul added
to the quietude.
This is a bum ship - she'd roll in a dry dock.
May 18th, 1917.
Not much to do but size up fellow passengers.
The Melbourne meds are right up to W.F.A. standard, but
the lot from N.S.W. are a sure bad ad. for the Ma state.
Three of the five we have called, Ned, Navvy and Knowall.
Ned is a most ponderous youth with a moustache which
Snowy says resembles a well worn tooth-brush and a real
whiskey bugle nasal outfit. About as lively as a warmed
up corpse - and his long suit is reach-me-down uniforms
and issued boots - reminds Robbie of a superannuated
milk-man. Has most irritating manners at the table -
with an ardent way of gazing at things put down in front
of or anywhere near him. Must have been brought up
during a series of droughts by the way he tries out
everything he can and gazes sadly at things he can't
place. Operates his knife and fork as tho' he were
dissecting a particularly malodorous portion of the
cadaver.
Navvy is easily described. I can hear him
eating from where I sit. Other than audibly expressing
his appreciation of the culinary arrangements - has
manners which would shame any self-respecting member of
the sty family. With the others has a penchant for 

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reach-me-downs.
Knowall is the most objectionable person on
board and there are others. He's one of those wizened
up little runts with a 7½ head that's been bulged out with
brain or thickening of the skull according to whether
you like or dislike the man and receding hair that's getting
pushed farther and farther back buttling into other people's
business. As his name implies - knows everything even
that Benalla is up near Ballarat - sure to be unpopular
and sure to fall out with me before the trip is over.
Even old Padré says he's a blatherer - oh he's the whole
herd Knowall is.
The other two include a tall willowy youth - with
hair scraped back á la mode, a nose sharp enough to file
bills on and a sort of inverted retroussé chin - and a
dyspeptic looking Hebrew with a ferocious looking moustache
about ³/₁₆ths inch from end to end and like pinfeathers
on a young duck. Said Hebrew fully tried out the culinary
arrangements first night out but hasn't been sighted since.
The willowy one drapes himself over the furniture like a
wet table cloth and Robbie says he's got a face like a
praying mantis.
The chosen one's strong point is facial contortions -
aimed at the removal of food particles from the
mouth, during and immediately after meals.
The Padré is a sporty old bird who must have 

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grazed over very poor country and who now smokes cigars
which Robbie pronounces excellent.
Lieuts. Collyer and MacFarlane - in command of
the troops - both decent fellows, come from Duntroon.
Major Oliphant O.C. on board I am not permitted
to criticize, but if I were allowed to say anything it
would be alright.
Lieut Col Leane do. was on board the "Southland"
when she stopped one in the Mediterranean.
The Melbourne meds include Major C.A. Stewart
(S.M.O.) Capts. Gray, DeLacy, Patrick, Mendelsohn and
Fethers. The other two are Capts. Jermyn and MacGillvray
(one of the best) from S.A. I think - and a very great
improvement on the ex-convict settlements quota. DeLacy
rowed for Scotch 3 times and Gray also from Scotch played
football for the shop.
May 19th, 1917.
A bit calmer today - after a bad night. Read
the war news - boxed a few rounds with Snowy, skipped and
walked for half an hour.
To resume on the boat's company. The Nurses
are a decent lot, tho' a bit passée some of them. The
chief is a jolly old girl who seems to bulge alright in
the right places and about the shape and build of a band
rotunda. When she puts on her little red cape at nights 

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I often think I'm walking past the pillar box in Burke Rd.
Another one reminds me of "Moses in the Bulrushes"
in the same stable as the dyspeptic one.
The Grill room God I take my hat off to - he's
in the blue ribbon class the cook is.
The stewards also ran but the field is a very
good one.
We are very well looked after, but the men who
left Port on this ship have done their bit. We all
know Snowy and Tuck - good fellows and good stable mates -
but Robertson - he's father and mother and Santa Claus
and then some Ernie is. Has everything in his cabin
from pneumatic life belts and gum top boots to pipe
cleaners and a bottle of tomato sauce. Ask Ernie!
Argues with anyone from the Matron down - for the 6 of us
and looks after us well and is as funny as a circus.
There's nothing to do on this boat - no comforts -
no nothing and still in spite of weather as disagreeable
as Mrs Ewart we've done nothing but laugh since coming
on board - that's Ernie (punctuated of course with bouts
of mal-de-mer).
I haven't seen much of the ships' officers.
The skipper always seems decent enough but they say he's
a very crusty old boy. Perhaps picking up a nail in the
"Arabia" and getting run off the course in the "Himalaya"
has soured him some.