Typescript copies of letters from Hector Roy McLarty, 18 November 1914 to 7 August 1918 - Part 4

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He usually brings me a supply of magazines, and after
telling me a string of most amazing lies, moves on.
It is a glorious day, clear and soft, like a
Spring day at home. The Islands in the distance are
distinct and covered with that glamour which always
enhances distant mountains. The highest points are
capped with snow. The sea is sprinkled with Men of War,
Torpedoes, and other odd small craft and I have a longing
to get out there and sail and sail away for ever. Since
leaving Australia I have taken to love the sea. I wonder
will I grow restless when I go back?
Viv Ogilvie has just seen this letter addressed
to you and sends all sorts of kind regards. He is a big
hefty devil now, weighing about 15 stone. He tells me he
has known you for years, and we talked for fours about
you. He is a splendid type of fellow.
Jimmy Kierath also knows you well and he and
I have spent the night swopping reminiscenes. He is a
rare card and a fine fellow.
Anzac,
4/9/15.
Indications go to show this campaign is likely
to last through the winter. If so, we will suffer
severely from exposure. It is quite time we were relieved,
for I believe five months continuous fighting to be something
like a record. Please God rumour has it that relief
is nigh.
We have lately made Winter quarters, and my "dugout"
is a veritable Paradise. I live on the crest of a
hill, and from here a jumble of smaller hills run down
to the sea. The twining pathways over them are used by
the patient mules carrying the daily supply of food and
ammunition. Their's is a precarious existence, for many
a mule has already died from "wounds in action". To the
left is a green field - a bright spot in this desolate
place - which in the early summer is strewn with blood-red

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poppies. At the foot of the hills, the clean white beach
and then the sea.
The day is most glorious, soft and clear, like a
Spring day at home. The islands in the distance are
distinct and enticing, their highest points capped with
snow, and surrounded with the glamour which always clings
to distant mountains.
At eventide, our world takes a beautiful ethereal
appearance in the reflection of the setting sun. At this
hour the sea always seems to be a-calling me and I long to
get out there and sail away.
I have, come to love the sea, and maybe when I try
to settle down again in the West the wanderlust will charm
me away.
The little torpedo boats are scattered round the
outskirts of the bay beyond us, keeping their ceaseless
vigil.
"
Si-ee-dah.
Anzac,
22/9/15.
We have just returned from the Beach, each
carrying four gallons of water. After humping this uphill
for half mile or so, one begins to feel like a camel with
an overloaded waterbag.
Kierath has a hobby - He keeps a tally of the
prisoners taken by the Germans, Austrians and Russians.
He is up to page 69, and every time they have a battle he
lends each respective nation two or three million men back.
Otherwise, the Russian Army would be all Germans and vice
versa. He also lends 'em a few thousand buckets of blood
to make it look "fair dinkum".
After a long spell of quiet, we are said to be
making another big attack soon and (as usual) it is to be
decisive. Reinforcements are arriving in large batches.
It is black dark and a gale is blowing. The
vigilant little gun boats on either flank are firing - the

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Turkish rifle fire grows intense and then dies away.
26th November, 1915.
Anzac.
Your letter of the 11th October came safely
along. We may as well give up hopes of that large parcel
you sent me. It has either been stolen or lost at sea.
When you send anything again, always send small parcels,
they seem to get here allright, but large parcels rarely
get this far, as not only are they a temptation to the
men in the Post Office, but it is so hard to transport
then here. I have heard of such parcels being opened
and the contents distributed in the hospitals.
I have no news whatever to tell you except that
"Beachy Hill" still plays hell with the Beach, "Asiatic
Ann" spits spitefully at everything she sees, "Tucker
Time Liz" never fails to upset our meal hours, but otherwise
things are at a deadlock.
The end of the day always cheers me. Yesterday
in the hush of the evening, I sat at the top of our hills
and, as the night darkened, it fascinated me to watch the
scene. As if by magic a thousand camp fires burst into
flame. Around each one were perhaps six men and one could
see their faces clearly in the glow of the fires. They
usually sit and yarn, sometimes they are in a singing mood,
and then the choruses come, clear and full up the sides
of the hills and move one strangely.
Freddy Price came round to see me yesterday.
We have both been here over six months, and it is the
first time we met. I did not know/him. He has altered
a great deal from the blythe little boy I knew. This
experience has aged and sobered him, and made him
prematurely old. It is a great mistake for young boys
to come here. It is too much for them. He has been
ill, but is now well again. I could see that he has
suffered from the poor food and the long hours. I am

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getting him some chocolate and milk through the canteen
ships (I can occasionally get this sort of thing.) He
wants to be very kindly remembered to you all.
27th September, 1915.
Your letter of 15th August was very welcome.
It/is wonderful how a letter bucks a man up. Only last
week I was telling Longie that I had not tasted beer for
6 months and now lo! I have to tell of a banquet which
would have excited the fancy of Ceasar. Our cook - Wilson -
(a real gem, he was Chef at the Palace Hotel before joining
this forlorn hope) got on to a Hospital ship and brought up
2 dozen beer, 6 bottles of whisky and odds and ends in the
sweets line. Lord Bill, what a wild woolly night it was.
I remember Kierath (who, by the way wishes to be remembered
to you) trying to eat Blanc Mange with a fork. I was explaining
to Jim what a fine fellow he was, but what a pity
he drank (so much). Procter had come up for Rations and I
set him on his way home with his rations tied all over him.
I don't think he got home that night, because he came back
about two hours afterwards and wanted to know if he had
left us yet. We assured him no - certainly not - that he
must have been dreaming. I have felt better ever since.
We have had very quiet times of late, but in
addition to the odd shells which stray over we get at least
one visit from a German Aeroplane (a Taube) a day, which
usually drops a few 1001b Bombs which cause an 'ell of a
stir. These Taubes are beautiful machines, fast and agile,
and it is in vain that the air guns try and get them.
The last few days there has been very heavy
cannonading down near the entrance to the Dardanelles.
So we suppose they are beginning a new attack on the
Narrows and making another effort to get through. It is
certain that we here will have to co-operate in a large
way, so in a few days I suppose we will be living again in
Hell. The bursting of the large shells, away south (about

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8 to 10 miles) is clear and distinct, yet terribly
ominous. The sullen rumbling sound is not nice to hear.
I saw a lark in the sky the other day and could
faintly hear its song. What remembrances of Wordsworth
and Keats it brought to me, and how incongruous it seemed
for such a bird to be in such surroundings.
Yesterday also I saw two quaint owls sitting on
a telephone wire. I am also reminded of a few mornings
ago, while standing on the side of a hill. A hare rushed
past me, followed by about 600 half-clad Australians in
full chase. The hare beat 'em easily.
5th October, 1915.
I have to tell you of yet another of our boys who
has gone on "the long journey". Driver Lionel Churchill
was shot in the abdomen two nights ago while on duty in
"Shrapnel Gully". He lingered for eight hours in great
pain - then died. Churchy was another of those fine
gallant men you read so much of, full of enthusiasm and
grit. I wish I could adequately describe his truly
lovable qualities - generous to a fault, so unselfish that
he would give his very soul if you asked it of him. I
was only one of his many friends, and in his eagerness to
please me he searched the Peninsula for a bit of canvas I
happened to mention I wanted one day. (This is just one
incident.) I have known him to sit up all night on the
beach, on the off chance of getting a few eggs (they
occasionally filter through) for someone who was perhaps
a bit ill. You could guarantee they were not for himself.
Generosity is not a rare virtue here, but with Churchy it
was the manner in which he gave that counted, it was such
a pleasure to him. Now, after nearly six months of good
and ceaseless work, he lies dead - aged 23 - and all/his fine
aspirations and bonny hopes lie with him. Personally, I
did not know him much until we came here, now I know him
well. Gallant little lad.

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"There is a Destiny that shapes
our ends rough hew them how
we will."
Lemnos.
15th October, 1915
Saturday (I think).
We left Anzac at midnight last Wednesday week on
our holiday trip to Lemnos. We lay in the bay until dawn
and after / seven hours' sail arrived here. We were 24 hours without food, and but for a dirty stale
loaf of bread which I paid 2/- for, I think we would have
starved. It is just a typical instance of the way this
benighted Army is mismanaged. After arrival, we marched
about 4 miles along the shores of one of the many bays
surrounding Mudros (the largest village) and are now
camped at a village called "Sarpi". We were told at Anzac
that we were being sent away to be "fed up" on good food
and an issue of Stout and Beer. As a matter of fact, the
paltry food issued is outrageous. No Beer or Stout is
issued, or can be bought as the sale of liquor is prohibited
by the Authorities, anywhere on the Island.
Breakfast is fat bacon and tea; dinner is boiled rice, no
tea; and for tea we sometimes get a sickly roast or steak.
The few pounds that we had for buying luxuries are now spent
solely on ordinary food, such as eggs, butter, tinned fruit,
and salmon, so that is not too bad. What I dislike about
the whole thing is the pretence of getting a man over here
for a holiday, when he is far better off for food at Anzac.
The country around is very pretty. The green
fields which we saw in April last are now brown and grassless.
The villages are picturesque and quaint, but the
people are very ignorant. Some of the younger women are
pretty and all have fine figures. They are very frightened
of the soldiers and will have nothing to do with them whatever,
which is just as well, perhaps, for the ladies in
question. The people are very religious; a kind of Roman
Catholic faith - each little village has its Church, which
is always the largest and best building in the place, and
is an absolute sanctuary. We are not allowed to enter them.

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As in all countries where Roman Catholicism is rampant, the
people besides being fanatical and ignorant, are absolute
rogues, and all are making fortunes out of the soldiers.
There are many thousands of troops here - mostly
French and English, and a fair number of our own "Old
Sweats" from Anzac resting. We have done a good deal of
wandering about; our little party consisting of Archer,
Allen, Practor, Kierath, myself and that broth of a boy
young Castilla. The country is rough to travel over. The
undulating hills are covered with rocks and inland the land
becomes barren and uninteresting, except in the little
valleys where the homesteads nestle in the ever-green rich
grass, surrounded with fruit trees and those beautiful
English trees, the Poplar and the Elm.
21st October, 1915.
We have now been at Lemnos two weeks and are
having a fairly decent time. They are feeding us very
badly, but we are able to get fresh fruit in the villages
and stores from the ships. The harbor is still filled with
ships of all kinds and nationalities, which are forever
coming and going to Egypt. I have been on dozens of them,
especially boats manned by the Navy and let me say this,
the British Navyman, whether you meet him here or at the
uttermost ends of the earth is the finest man in the world.
I have never met one yet who wouldn't give you any dam thing
he happened to have. On the Battleships all Australians
are treated right royally and one cannot visit a ship
without coming away loaded with gifts. Had a most interesting
day and a bonza dinner on the "Lord Nelson", saw all
over her big 12-inch guns, and her torpedoes, the latter
are intensely interesting.
We are camped at the base of a hill near a village
called "Sarpi", a large field running down to the water's
edge makes an ideal recreation ground and football and
cricket are going all day. A fine New Zealand Band plays

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during the afternoon. The country which we left green in
April is now brown and grassless, awaiting the November
rains. Inland, it becomes rocky and barren and uninteresting,
except where one meets little homesteads nestling in
the valleys. These little beauty spots are tempting and
picturesque, the little white houses surrounded with fruit
trees and flowers, the clear little streams running thro'
them and above all, clumps of those loveliest of all treds,
the English Poplar and Elm. The villages are numerous and
quaint with a maze of twisting lanes and the houses dumped
down anywhere near them. The people are solely Greeks,
they are clean, quiet and fairly industrious. The
children are lovely kids, bright faces, big eyes, and an
open frank way with them, but as shrewd as an A.M.P.
Canvasser. I can't resist them when they come up and
smilingly ask for "Backsheesh Apple Soldier". All the
younger men have been called to arms and are in Greece.
The old men are arrant rascals, cunning and unscrupulous
and beat us right and left. The younger women are rather
pretty, with beautiful figures, but after attaining the
age of 25, they seem to loxe both their good looks and
shape. They are very timid, and will have nothing to do
with the soldiers, which is certainly just as well for
them.
28th November, 1915.
What do you think I've been doing today?
SNOWBALLING. Oh' and isn't it fine.
Yesterday it became intensely cold and when it
darkened at 4 p.m. a more wretched day could not be
imagined. About 10 p.m. news came through that the Turks
were massing for an attack, and I had to get up and set
two lamps on the hillside for our guns to get their
direction. It was bitterly cold, and as I went shivering
through the bush, an icy driving sleet wet me through and
chilled me. It did not occur to me that this foretold snow.
In the morning when I woke, my startled eyes looked out

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on a white world. I almost imagined I had been transported
to some beautiful fairyland. This, my first sight of
snow, was incomparably beautiful. The bushes were
dropping, laden with icicles and for all the world like
a thousand Christmas trees awaiting their toys.
I dressed hastily and went out into it. Everyone
was in an exhalted and bright mood, and we were all
soon busily engaged in our first snow fight. I've been
like a boy of 12 all day. I went up to the guns and they
were like four beautiful toys covered with their white
crisp coats. As Tommy Cusack came round the corner I
let him have one WHANG - fair in the mug and off we went
again.
About 9 a.m. a chilling gale sprang up, and the
snow began to thaw. The pathway became almost impassable.
Every two or three feet one would go head over top and
so do a few yards on one's seat. That wasn't a bit
funny.
3/12/15.
The snow has gone, but it is still very cold.
My feet have been like ice for three or four days,
but at last we have found a cure for that. A tot of rum
sends the blood coursing through the body and warms one
up. But for that I think many of the fellows would go
under. I saw some nasty cases of "Frostbite" today.
I have about seven sweet little chilblains on one foot.
Yesterday, the Turks tackled "Lone Pine" but
were repulsed. Our casualties were fairly heavy. I saw
about 20 poor fellows put in one grave.
In the evenings the sky is black with streams
of migrating birds. They come in an endless line, and
their graceful flight is always South - away from the
cold.
Tim. has been definitely transferred to
Divisional Artillery Headquarters, and is now a

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Bombardier. He well deserves his stripe.
I am sending you a letter I received from Mrs.
Lennard, which please keep. It is in reference to the
letter I wrote about Doug.
We have had no mail now for three or four weeks,
but expect one tomorrow.
Transport "Hororata", Lemnos.
22/12/15.
At first sight it looks a dreadful business,
this evacuation of Anzac. The giving up of all our hopes
and ambitions, all the weary months of labour, the loss
of prestige, and not least of all, the surrendering of all
our dead comrades lying in their lonely graves. After
nearly eight months in action, the order to evacuate came
suddenly; to us it was incredible. For eight days we were
secretly withdrawn at night, and towards the last whan only
a few were left, the suspense was a nasty strain. The
Turks had only to get an idea of what was doing, then things
would have been all up, and this youth would now be in
Heaven. I left on the Friday night, and on Saturday the
end came. At midnight the last of the troops embarked,
leaving a few to blow up the trenches. One of our guns
stayed to the last ("A" Sub) and was actually the last
gun to fire from Anzac. At midnight she was destroyed.
At 3 a.m. the mines were blown up scaring hell into the
Turks, who offered up a tremendous fusilade of fire.
There was NOT ONE casualty in the first and second
Australian Divisions during the whole of this enormous
operation, which speaks well for the admirable way in which
it was carried out. In its way it is as fine a feat as the
landing. I suppose the Turks will have it as a great
victory, but if you could see these rowdy, happy soldiers,
Xou would sort of smile at the idea of that.
Throughout the move, the discipline of our troops
has been remarkable. Eight months ago they were a fine
enthusiastic lot of men, but very raw. After the dangers