Thomas James Richards, Diaries, Transcript Vol. 3, 26 January to 8 November 1916 - Part 25

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take quite a long time to dry this mud patch that covers 

the whole Flanders.

A letter came to hand from Mrs. Cadell today, I have 

often mentioned this woman in my notes, when I last saw her 

in Alexandria she was hard pressed and went so far as to tell 

me that she intended taking a sleeping draught from which she 

would never return to life when the end of her resources was 

reached.  Having lost a near and dear son she was almost 

mentally deranged; as a nurse or help about the hospital she 

was a talkative  nuisance, getting herself into trouble by 

standing up for and fighting for her beloved Australian 

soldiers.  A good fault perhaps but she went too far really.  

Anyhow, she has written me and I answered her - I may meet

her in London, though she is not an ideal companion by any 

means.

September 22nd.   Friday.

I have been painting but now and then I just run away

and forget all about the work - it is getting wearisome being

so far away from the firing line and at the same time being

so thoroughly aware that I should be in the thick of  the fray.

But to my relief comes the all significant fact that one 

doesn't get a dog's chance and I have always looked to getting

a sporting chance for my life right along through the

awakened period of my life, say 15 years ago.  But I am never

too busy to get away and have a look around the country.

Today on horseback I went along thinking to find out where

the 5th Brigade was, I found instead the 1st Battalion holding

a sports meeting on the loveliest piece of turf I have ever

seen for a football ground.  It was springy and yet as soft 

as a feather bed.  The tracks were all lined off with red

flags and the whole scene was quite picturesque indeed.  They

even made a jumping pit of sawdust into which the winner

jumped 17 feet 5 inches.

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I saw several of our 1st Field Ambulance sore "star

turns" about.  They did not seem at their ease at all.

A one star man does not cut much ice on the officers' mess

or amongst the privates either.  But good luck to them,

some of them will do jolly well eventually I feel sure.

I am being bothered by the fellows around to put in

an application for a commission too.  But to me it is not

honorable or fair to apply for a position of honor, these

positions to my mind should be given to selected men; or

men actually asked by Headquarters to fill out a form.  But

for a person to boast ^boost himself into a position of that kind

is intolerable.  I may yet do so but it will be hurtful to 

me to lower myself to do so.

 September 23rd.  Saturday

Hop picking is now on the wane.  Since arriving in

Flanders in April last we have seen the whole stages of hop

growing.  At first the 18 ft. or so long poles set over 1½ 

acres (sometimes more, sometimes less) at short intervals

laced with wire, were a great puzzle to us.  Nobody seemed to

know what these huge sacks of wood and wire were for, so to

give them a name the fellows called them aeroplanes, nets and 

spider traps.

When the Spring developed we saw the creepers grow up

slowly and adhere to the wire.  A little later they grew very

quickly and were thickening their foliage until their weight

must have been a consideration to those poles and wire.  It

was very interesting and all that to watch them growing and 

then to see them flower and the little cluster of hops come

forward and increase in bulk until the old women and girls

got busy and pulled the vines down one at a time and picked

the hops off into a basket throwing the vine away.  Some of 

these hop picking parties are merry little bands but as a 

rule they are working hard and look very mournful and

dejected at their work.

223.

Hop picking is now nearly finished and potatoe digging

commenced.  The lovely scented broad beans that I used to

admire and watch with some concern have beaten me entirely, 

I expected to see the beans pulled and sent to market but 

instead the whole stalk and beans were allowed to remain 

until they dried off, withered up, and were then cut down.

I must find out for what purpose.

At the cricket match "A" against "C" sections - we, C 

section made 101, A responded with 22 only. Our battery was 

not good, my gods stuck to me and I made 25 with 3 fourers

 amongst them.

After tea i went up to Poperinghe with Tom Yeomans.

We had to walk a long way round to dodge the police picket 

as we had no passes and passes are very necessary when going

into Poperinghe. For what reason I don't  know as no damage

can be done in Poperinghe as far as I can tell or see. I 

tried to buy some badges as i will have to give some away in

England and at the moment I have none at all.

September 24th.  Sunday.

In walking home with Tom Yeomans last night he told me

a very tragic story. Down at the motor workshop there was

a man who was called away back to England as his wife had

died and his father ailing badly. It was a very trying time

for him indeed, moreso at parting from his children again.

A little later the second man went over to England on

leave, on his return his mate asked him how he enjoyed his

holidays - "Damn bad," he replied, "I thought you were 

unfortunate but I was worse, I would a thousand times sooner

have buried my wife than to find that after being away for

just over twelve months that my wife had, the very day of my

arrival home, given birth to a child.

September 25th .     Monday.

There is an officer's horse about here and its owner

"Tiger" Lee (Capt.) is away

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I have arranged to clean the horse and to keep it clean, and

then have the use of it for myself.  Today was my first day

and I took "Mollie" out for a few miles enjoying every minute

of the afternoon immensely. We rode through Poperinghe and 

on around about out to Reninghelst. On the way I saw some

lovely rural scenes, bringing in the harvest, beans, potatoes,

hops and tobacco and stacking and packing them away,  Woman,

children and old men were engaged in digging and picking up

potatoes.  I came home with Bill Bain about 6 o'clock.

I've heard with very deep regret that George Pugh was

killed in the trenches near Ypres about a week ago.

September 26th. Tuesday. 

The all important item of today's  events  was  the  dinner

and smoke concert to which the cook, Joe Graham, contributed

£5 and a barrel of beer as it was his birthday. He also did

all of the cooking and arranging for the turn out. In

conjunction with the dinner the prizes won at the Sports were

presented. The evening seems to have gone off reasonably

well, although i was dragging heavily at times.   I stayed

for the "dinner" which was very very poor indeed  and when they

started the vocal items, I was compelled to leave.   Jack

Pidcock had to get back to his artillery lines by 9 p.m. so 

at 7.30 when a fellow commenced to sing "Asleep in the Deep" 

I had to get out - anything so mournful was beyond me, with

the voice that attempted it.  Anyhow, ever since I've heard it

sung so regularly at sea and shuddered at the "Sailor take

care; many brave hearts are asleep in the deep so take care

&c."   It is the most pathetic thing I know in the hands of the 

usual novice that takes pride from such songs.  Ever since I

waited and listened attentively to 8 trombone soloists each

do a turn at the "Death of Nelson" at a competiton at

Charters Towers, I have never been able to bear the sound of

the tune other than through the medium of the finest of talent.

Anyhow, tonight I left early and was glad to escape, but had

I known that my name was on the toast list for "The Guests" I

would have returned.

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I played "in- goal" for the Soccer team today and made

a mild sensation by my play.  I was surprised to know i was 

doing so well.

September 27th.  Wednesday. 

The wind changed around this morning and everything

pointed to a rainy day. Bill Bain and I had decided to go

out to Ypres on horseback leaving at midday;  but the light

shower and the threatening appearance made us hang back.

until at 3 p.m. I got him going and away we went. I knew

full well that if I did not go out today I might never have 

another chance of seeing the much talked of town of Ypres

and I would be greatly disappointed indeed as it turned it

to be a most remarkable trip. Never could anyone have

imagined such devastation and wreckage. A town three or

four times as large as Albert. As large almost as Poperinghe

and yet not one house out of so many remains other than

gutted. The houses were nicely built, mostly tall, three-storied 

places. The inside of them seemed to have been

well tended and decorated. Walls nicely prepared and floors 

of tiles, some the small black and white square flags, but

many were a kind of mosaic work not uncommon in Australia

yet very effective. Every building had three floors. The 

roads were all well laid cobbles with the debris shovelled 

away over the footpaths.  Many of the bricks from the walls

have been taken away to build roads with, so that there is

not the quality of ruins lying about that one might expect

to see from rows and rows of shattered houses. The city

hall once a magnificent building is now an awful sight. How

some of the minarets and parts of wall remain standing is 

a mystery and such a novel sight. It would be no use

trying to write up a descriptionof the town as words, no

matter how well written or placed together, could possibly

convey  such terrible and interesting havoc, one really must

see it for oneself before getting the atmosphere and the

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peculiar feeling that comes to one wandering around amongst 

rocking walls unstaple and dangerous, while nearby one of our

own heavy guns shake the whole of the inferior surroundings

and an occasional shell from the German guns falls nearby.

An aeroplane duel seems to set off the atmosphere of

such a sight. Had I seen Ypres without the war raging through

and around it there would have been an entirely different 

effect with the souroundings. No one civillian remains in

Ypres, this in itself  speaks plainly of the danger contended

therein, as I have seen the local folk selling chocolate and

been in some way very dangerous quarters, for instance, in the town

of Albert, on the Somme.  Or within machine gun fire of the 

trenches in the Sailly district where women sold beer and

chocolate and other goods. But there is notone in Ypres.

But I did see a notice saying the Y.M.C.A. was just down a lane.

Here no doubt was the only store in Ypres. The town nevertheless 

was by no means deserted as there were hundreds of both

English and Australian troops about, there was no house fit to

billet in, but as far as i could see the men made use of cellars

and used large numbers  of sandbags for protection. There was

however one strange scene,  one which I did not take very much

notice of at the time but now it comes back  and puzzles me. At

the military barracks there did not seem to be quite so much

wreckage lying about. In front was a guard lined up of 300

men while the square inside the fence and the street about was 

crowds of men around.The puzzle is, how is it that military 

 barracks shelter so many soldiers and is not shelled. Possibly 

the cheek of so doing puts the German off his guard, as it

really seems an impossible matter, on the other hand it may be

a kind of mutual understanding. You don't shell our camp

and we won't shell yours;  like Armentieres and Lille. The

road we took going out was a splendidly made military road.

Roads in Flanders have to be very carefully laid-first a good 

layer of logs must go down to make a foundation or the road

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is liable to sink in the mud during the winter. The sides

have also to be pegged in and bound, so that deep gutters can

be dug by the side so as to drain the road.

Coming home we followed the  main road from Poperinghe

to Ypes and it was a great road, not cobbled but moderinsed?

with a strip of two yards on the oval sides that were fairly

soft and good for the horses to trot along. The line of big

trees on either side was close enough to keep the sun, light,

and rain out altogether. On the cobbles in Poperinghe Mollie

slipped and came down a clear and clean fall. I rolled clear

and went on again.

September 28th. Thursday.

I went into Poperinghe and sent wires to A. Sims and

G. Williams saying that I was coming to London on Saturday. 

The small boil on my crutch is very sore today, riding yesterday

knocked it about very much. The football game was very severe

on it also.  But I have been using a lot of hot water and

now have it under control I think.

I washed my coat, hat, puttees, socks today and had my

boots soled so that I will at least look clean, if frayed and

worn, while on leave. I find I must report at the Poperinghe

railway station at 5.40 a.m.

September 29th. Friday.

It is 9 p.m. I am nearly ready for my trip to England.

This morning at 7 o'clock news came to me that leave was

cancelled, and one might well realise my feelings. Now, I

have my passes ready and have arrangeed for the train to stop 

right opposite the Camp instead of having to walk to Poperinghe.

(I am going to leave this book in Belgium

and write it up on my return from France.)

September 30th. 1916. Saturday.

Leave to London.

228. 242

September 30th, 1916. Saturday. Leave to London.

I got several different fellows to call me this

morning to make sure that I would not sleep in. I slept very

well indeed under the circumstances and just at dawn I got up

5.35 a.m. and got packed up and away by 6.15, the rain left

the siding at 6.25 and away I went to Hazebrouck, feeling a

doubtful kind of sensation as to whether it could really be

true; my going to England after living so long away from

civilisation and looking forward so keenly to a few days of

freedom and pece, but that I am now much hampered by military

rule and ceremony but still there is something, probably

the sameness of one's personal surroundings and nothing new

to discuss with little opportunities for contact with the

outside world and a little variety, a change from the daily

order of dealng with men, men and more men. Ah, yes,

England if only for 8 small, short and simple days, what a

change and how much it really does mean to a mentally starved

and grooved individual roving the hills of Anzac and the

desert of Egypt and the terrors of the Somme. England for 8

days, ye gods, the thoughts were grand but then all leave may

yet be cancelled, even from Boulogne men have been called

back, yes, I had not built up any high hopes or expectations

as the shock of disappointment would be so very heavy, no I

will out of the carriage windows and take in the changing

face of nature's effects upon the large and beautiful landscapes

scenes and dream not of England or anticipate the

mightiness and glory of such a trip - 8 small and puny days,

after 780 days of service.

At Boulogne the trainload of leave-men (some 30

Australians only amongst them) numbering, perhaps 2,000, were

drawn up in columnsof four and marched down towards the

wharves. It was just 3 o'clock and all seemed well for a

straight run across the Channel, but alas! there was roubel 

ahead.

229. 243

We turned abrupted to the right and commenced to climb a hill

through the streets of Boulogne. What could they possibly

be, going to do with us and where oh where could we be going.

Up and up that long continuous hill we toiled sweating and

swearing, but always on and upward. Never was there so long

a hill and never were men more anxious as to the outcome of it

all, certainly it did not mean getting to England that day.

Well, we lined out in a big yard right on the top of

that long hill and were told that we would have to remain

overnight and go probably in the morning. 10 men were

allotted  to each tent and given one blanket each.

The canteen was well stocked with drinks including

beer and all was well, a piano standing in the corner was set

in motion and an impromptu concert started in deadly earnest,

the fellows gathered around as do a crowd of travellers on

board ship waiting for the tide to allow of travellers on

a journey. Some tunes were good, some were bad. The climax

was reached when a fellow got up to sing the song I much

detest and was so certain that it would come - "Asleep in the

Deep". I could not stick it any longer and came to my tent

where I did manage to get in a few hours sleep before the

camp was astir at daybreak.

I surveyed my appearance many times and the effect

was not pleasing at all, my boots were old and half soled as

well as having an iron plate on the heel that would surely

slip and get me into trouble. My puttees were tattered,

holed and worn. Pants quite good, tunic patched and very

worn and pulled out of plumb. Hat very worn and awkward

looking.

October 1st. Sunday.

At 10 a.m. we all lined up and started the descent

into Boulogne, quite a pleasant walk down hill, reasonably

interesting as the folk took a whole lot of notice of us and

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were in turn interesting coming from Church &c. as they were.

A little wait on the wharf and we were loaded onto

the vessel "Queen Mary", a regular channel boat. Each man

got a lifebelt and nestled down as well as possible on the

deck. At 12 o'clock the ropes were cast and we seemed to

dash off out of the breakwater and straight across the smooth

water for the plainly seen outline of the Britain coast. 1½ 

hours or so  and there were shores of Britain within

stone's throw. But now that England and 8 days of liberty

and life was so near at hand, a remarkable change came over

me and my long looked for holidays now assured, now an

accomplished fact, I seemed to drift into a theme of solid

thought and to be concerned as to the most valuable way of 

filling up my holidays to their upmost.

We were accompanied across by torpedo boats. I

saw several tugs trawling for mines all around us. An airship

with a rather small balloon sailed charming by, ships

moved quietly about, but I could not see many warships about

at all. There were a number of wrecks to be seen on both

sides of the Channel. I kept a careful lookout and there

was nothing eventful happened at all during the journey across.

At Folkestone we were soon aboard the train and

bound for London. I nearly cried for joy as the people,

children and ^as well as men and women of all ages, came to their

comfortable cottage doors and waved their white handkerchiefs

or threw kisses. It was all so wholesome and so pretty to

be welcomed in such a quiet, but effective way. Just outside

of Folkestone we ran past a cemetery; never had I seen so

much taste in the direction of graveyards before but there

was something striking about this one, the white headstones

were scattered about with spaces of the greenest and loveliest

grass I've ever seen; the flowers growing about lent a charm

of colour and beauty to this scene that made me light up 

enthusiatically at so spendid a sight. Once perhaps I