Typescript copies of letters from Hector Roy McLarty, 18 November 1914 to 7 August 1918 - Part 5

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the privations and vicissitudes of the past months, they
are now perhaps the finest troops in the world.
You can imagine what a glorious prospect it is to
us to be returning to that much maligned land of Pharoah
again, to once more see a little of civilisation.
You see that "Man proposes and God disposes."
Who would have thought on that sombre April morning, eight
months later these same troops would be regretfully leaving
 their hard won hills and their dead comrades to the
Turks. NO'!! We are not downhearted.
No mails have been received for three weeks. I
suppose they await us in Egypt. So all your good wishes
will not reach me until after Christmas, but I know you are
thinking of me, that is comforting.
24th December, 1915.
At Sea.
Christmas Eve! I can imagine you all at home.
You have been rushing about all the afternoon buying your
last secret gifts for each other, and living in the delight.
ful expectancy of tomorrow. I know I ALWAYS left my buying
until Christmas Eve. I have asked Santa Claus to fill up the
empty spaces in your stockings with love from me.
We left Lemnos yesterday evening, the sky was dull
and threatening rain, and the harbour was aglow with the
radiance of a thousand lamps from the ships.
We are rather dreading submarines, and that may
be our Christmas gift tomorrow. Life on a troopship is
enjoyable and lazy after Anzac. We have about 2,000 hungry
souls aboard. Can you imagine the inner part of the ship
as one great series of halls with rows of tables. Men
sitting about reading, writing, gambling, yarning, fooling,
three pianos going and huge mobs singing and dancing. The
lot raising a noise like the babel in hell. The real fun
begins when the hammocks are hung. 

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Christmas Day - At Sea.
Christmas Dinner has come and gone - soup, a roast
and a piece of Duff without sauce and nothing to drink,
not even tea, that's all. In the afternoon we, buried a
cobber who had the misfortune to die yesterday, thus you
have the day's doings. We hope to reach Alexandria tomorrow.
It is a beautiful day. I have been sitting in the
riggings - pipe going - thinking of all you people at home.
I can see all your merry faces at dinner and watch in
imagination Longie's marvellous capacity for sinking duff.
29th December, 1915.
In the Damned Desert.
The last five days have been hard going. Reached
Alexandria on the 26th but no leave was granted. I, with
some pals, "BROKE SHIP" that's very exciting. We lowered a
rope over the side in the dark, slid down, and then went
like hell with the sentries after us. It's exciting,
because one never knows whether the sentries will SHOOT.
Anyhow they didn't. Incidentally one of our coves fell
into a canal twenty feet deep, but that proved amusing,
later as "everywhere that Clarky went the water followed
after" to the consternation of the blokes that own the
beer joints. The first thing I did (after stowing 6
beers) was to buy a shirt, change in the shop, and leave
him the old 'un as a curio of a Hostralian Soldier.
Had a good rowdy night. Lobbed back 2 a.m. - successfully
dodged the sentries and climbed on to the ship up the
rope. Gawd! it was tough - ever tried it? We were
granted leave next day. Had a bonza time. It is just
lovely to be back here again. Left Alexandria that night
and after a miserable night lobbed in this God forsaken
hole, Tel-el-Kebir. Not far from the Canal. Big battles
fought here in '82, but look up your history books, I've no
time to tell you about it. We have to get to work straight
away.

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9th January, 1916.
Tel-el-Kebir.
This is in answer to about half a dozen letters from
you all, and to thank you for the parcels which we received
about 3rd January, 1916. I got six parcels altogether from
different people, and I am sure you would have all been repaid
had you seen my face when I opened them. In addition to the
gifts from our own friends, we got a host of gifts from
different institutions, and have been living like lords ever
since. They are fully appreciated, and everyone thinks the
people at home very generous.
We have had no letters or mail for six weeks, and it
all came in a bunch. I got 35 letters and parcels, and about
30 papers. Of course, the two items of interest were the
arrival of Eva's baby and Peter's wedding.
I feel rather flattered at being made a Godfather,
and having the baby named after me, but it's rather a dubious
compliment to him isn't it?
I would have loved to have been at Peter's wedding,
I got various accounts of it.
I was sent to Cairo on duty the other day and stayed
four days, and had a bonza time. Tim was with me the first day.
Was driving along in a Gharri the next day when I met Des Gee.
He is a bonza fellow, and was hit in two places on the
Peninsula. He is at present a Sergeant in the Pay Office,
and is very keen on me transferring there. As a matter of
fact, it is a great temptation after the discomforts of active
service, but I don't think I'll go. Went out and saw Hilton
Ennis and his wife at Heliopolis. Hilton is a tremendous
size. Heliopolis is a most beautiful city and they are very
comfortably housed. Mrs. Ennis is enjoying herself. They
were very glad to see me. I couldn't find Charlie Riva, nor
Frank Mullen, it's a devil of a place to find anyone.
I got about 30 excellent photos out of all my films of
Anzac, and think myself very lucky. You will receive a set
of them all soon, and HANG ON TO THEM. Amongst my parcels
was one from Mrs. Lennard, containing some very nice things,

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very thoughtful of her, wasn't it?
What do you think of this - One of our fellows
when passing the Field Post Office accidentally discovered
a pile of our Home Letters in the INCINERATOR. Isn’t a
damned shame. Someone will get a Court Martial over it
sure Ikeep this secret). I wrote you a long letter about
the evacuation that mail. I hope it got through.
We are working very hard again reorganising, so
probably I will only have time to write short letters for
a while.
It is Sunday and a most glorious day. Half day
off, so went for a walk along one of the pretty canals
nearby.
I am very concerned to hear about Keith, but
absence of news does not necessarily mean that anything
has happened to him.
Bauny Castilla is on leave in Cairo today. He
got bundles and bundles of letters and parcels at Xmas
time, and consequently is very happy. He is a loveable
kid.
Tel-el-Kebir.
14th February, 1916.
I did not get a letter from you this fortnight and
am wondering what news you have of Keith.
I have just returned from a seven days' trip to
Cairo on duty. I did all the work required of me in two
days, and spent the other five as a holiday. I was living
with Des. Gee at the Army Pay Corps Mess and had a great
time. However, I'm again back in this hole, and working
hard. They are breaking up all of the old 1st Division
and are drafting them into the newer troops coming from
Australia to stiffen them up.
They are talking of forming a 3rd Division of
Artillery here, so we will probably be drafted into it.
Of course I do not know definitely yet. I am dead sick:
of this training again, and long for a trip home, but I

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suppose we will have another two months here and then go
either to Salonika, Albania, or France. However, I'm
hopeful that the end of the year will finish the whole
business.
How are you all. I hope well.
I am good-o. 11 stone 7 lbs.
Tel-el-Kebir.
16th February, 1916.
Your letter of 23rd January came along a few
days ago, and left me a good deal happier.
Jimmy Linton wrote me from Melbourne, and I see
he is beginning to realise that Army Life is one long
endless fatigue.
I received bad news of Keith this mail. The
Army Headquarters report him "Missing", and I realise
what that means. It is as well for us to think of him as
having died on the battlefields of Flanders.
He promised to be a fine stamp of a man, and was,
I think, singularly lacking in most of the vices of men
of his age.
Mother has apparently taken it to heart, and
Grace tells me she is looking very old and fretted.
I am beginning to take a pleasure in my work,
and gather a few grains of happiness in the daily round
of life.
We are out manoeuvring all day, and there is
something exhilarating and enjoyable in the movements of
horses, and the marvellous way they get to know exactly
what to do.
At midday, we bivouac under the shade of a Palm
Grove and there partake of a frugal meal. The natives
stand around yelling "eggs-a-cook", "Oranges", etc.
They are a thieving dirty crew.
I believe we stay here until April - this Canal
business is just a bluff - and then away to Flanders.

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Sunday,
27th February, 1916.
Six days shalt thou labour, and on the Seventh
thou shalt do "stables" for hours. Hence we have been.
"mucking out" all the morning. This afternoon we are free,
but a bright sunny day is spoilt by a sand storm. One is
expectorating Pyramids all day long.
1st March, 1916.
After a busy week (both practical and theoretical)
for promotion you can now call me a Sergeant. I expect to
get a Sub-section in a few days, and I will then be in
charge of forty horses and one gun, incidentally, I will
come in for a good deal of worry and anxiety.
They are now forming two new Divisions of
Australian Artillery here which, with the one now forming
in Australia, will total five Divisions. They have broken
this (1st) Division up to pieces, and have drafted about
sixty per cent of our men into the new divisions to stiffen
them up. Our own division is practically all reinforcements
with the exception of the N.C.O. I can tell you it was
very depressing to lose so many old comrades, the Battery is
now practically scattered to the four winds.
Captain Rogers (he will be Major any day now) is
in charge and is keeping all his best N.C.O.'s for this
Battery. I hate the thought of having to start training
again, but the reinforcements will know practically nothing.
It is so very dry and monotonous to us fellows who have to
begin with them over again.
I am expecting to see Jim any day and you can
imagine how I look forward to our meeting. By some chance
he may be even sent to this Battery. Even with all this
re-organising, I think we will be ready for service in a
few weeks, and personally I feel sure we will be on service
again about April. I shall be very glad too, for it is
much to be preferred to this camp life.
I suppose one will soon be looking forward to next

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Christmas, and wondering if it will be spent at home.
Personally, my dears, I don't think so, unless I happen
to get sent home wounded, but if nothing occurs, I reckon
I'll be lucky if I see Perth again before October 1917.
What do you think about it?
Do not fail to let me know when you receive those
photographs I sent you of Anzac.

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Tel-el-Kebir.
7th March, 1916.
I spent yesterday and last night in the midst
of a native village. I was in charge of an armed party
of eighteen men, and we had to patrol the native villages
away to the back of the camp for about twelve miles, keeping
order in the villages, and stopping troops from entering
them.
It was a strange experience wandering at night
through the narrow winding pathways, passing fields of
luscious grass, and miles and miles of palmgroves. At
times, one would pass a Mosque, and in the silent night,
a priest would be chanting his weird prayers from the
turret above, a million dogs taking up the refrain making
a noise indescribable. In these strange and weird
surroundings, imagine me at midnight, my horse snorting
and quivering with fear, and taking fright at every yard.
During the day wandering down little byways one meets many
picturesque sights, dozens of girls carrying big water
jugs on their heads will steal by one by one, their veils
closely drawn and showing only their eyes. They are very
frightened of soldiers and scatter like chaff when we come
along.
Our meals we ate under the refreshing shade of the
palm trees, sitting on luscious sweet grass, beside clear
fresh water canal. The vegetation is most luxuriant where
the waters from the canals have spread, but beyond that is
the desert. The line between the two is as clear and
distinct as if cut with a knife. A cow and a camel (ill-
suited pair) slowly pull a water wheel round some two
hundred yards away. The women are waiting at the well (as
Rebecca did) filling their artistic water jars. I was
sorry when the time came to return to camp.
So Burridge is coming along; I will keep an
eye skinned for him.
Jim Linton lobbed along the other day, and I
could have hugged him. He is in the 23rd Battery, 2 F.A.

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Brigade, 1st Australian Division, and quite close to us.
He was going to apply for a transfer to this Battery, but
after talking it over together, we both decided that he
had far better chances in the new Battery. Bill Wallis -
late Sergeant of this Battery - is his section officer.
Bill is a bonza chap and will look after Jim. We have had
many long and delightful yarns since he came, and I have
heard many things about you all, and about the office. He
is looking splendid and is as usual, working like the
devil. He is sure to get on. We are going like blazes
and will leave for Active Service any day.
12th April, 1916.
In France.
I had better write out a few extracts from a
short diary I have kept and that will give you the news
in its proper sequence.
26/3/16. After a rather strenuous week we left Tel-el-
Kebir rather suddenly on the 23rd March at 1 a.m. Embarked
at Alexandria next day on a small troopship and sailed for
an unknown destination that night. Today is the fourth
day out and we are some sixty miles west of Malta. Malta
was passed last night. This ship is the worst I have been
in so far, one lives like a rat, and the only possible
way to get decent food is to buy it under the lap from
the stewards. The Officers, as usual, live handsomely.
However, it is fine to be at sea again, even under these
conditions, after the Egyptian sands. Of course, we are
all speculating on what is going to happen to us. I think
myself that we will be taken to the English Base in
France and train there for a month, before they give us
a fly at the Germans. We look forward to this change with
pleasure. It should be most interesting living amongst
the French, and a fine education. Little did I ever dream
that such a thing would ever occur. Eventually we will get
to England and then my ambitions will be realised.

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8/2/16
We have been in France for 12 days and it will
be hard to tell you of all the varied experiences we
have had. First we have been strictly warned against
giving any information whatsoever. No names of towns
to be mentioned, so you see we are bound down a good
deal, and the censorship is much stricter than at
Gallipoli.
We landed in one of the large seaports and
received a most hearty welcome from the people. My
first impressions of France are very favourable. The
most striking thing perhaps is that practically every
woman is in mourning. It gives rather a sombre effect
to the city life, but the people themselves are quite
cheerful in a quiet way, and very confident of success.
They are down on the English on the question of conscription,
and cannot understand why it is not enforced.
They cannot be more disgusted than we are over it, I
can assure you. The city was somewhat after the style
of Sydney and dirty as seaports are, but the surrounding
country is very very beautiful. We have been exercising
the horses a lot, and our trips through the country lanes
are just a dream of delight. We have had the best nine
days' holiday here since joining the Army, and I can
tell you it is great.
11/4/16. For the last three days we have been travelling
through France, and how can I describe its beauty? If
I say it is the Garden of Eden over again, or if I say
it is more, beautiful than the Gardens of Paradise, I
feel I am not doing it justice. I have often heard and
read of the beauty of La Belle France, but no one can
in any way imagine how, beautiful the scenery is until
seen. The wonderful grass-clad hills, the pretty rivers,
the abundant lovely trees, the green fields, enclosed
with barriers of rose bushes now in bloom, the pretty
country lanes, the beautiful flowers, all blend into a
perfect dream of beauty.