Typescript copies of letters from Hector Roy McLarty, 18 November 1914 to 7 August 1918 - Part 8

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all my nicely tied bandages off (I was done up like an
Egyptian Mummy), grabs the wadding and sticks it on various
places of my anatomy, pulls out about 1000 yards of sticking
plaster, and sticks the damned stuff on wherever he
could find HAIR!
Next day we bade an affectionate farewell
to the "Front Line" and went by train to Boulogne. Campbell
and I were sent to the 15th General Hospital. There we
grew in beauty side by side for three days amid scenes that
would bring tears to the eyes of a wooden god. Most of the
fellows had frightful wounds and their cries would keep me
awake all the night. On the seventh I was told to prepare
for England. Two hours on the boat, two further hours in
the train, and amidst the cheers of the kids and smiles of
the ladies we entered this picturesque and tidy little
town.
England,
30th June, 1917.
Yesterday, I left hospital, and am now on
fourteen days furlough before returning to France. I
cabled you to this effect.
I am staying in London a few days with some
people named Jeffrey - a Dentist and his wife - who have
been very kind to me both this time and the last time I
was in England. His brother is going out to Perth in a
few months on account of health. He has been totally
rejected from the Army as unfit. I have given him a letter
of introduction to Aubrey in the hope that he will be
able to help him get a clerking job. Please make him
welcome and do all you can to help him when he calls, as
I have been very kindly treated by his people.
On Monday I am going to Lincoln to meet Stan.
Brearley, an old Sergeant pal of mine. He is now in the
Flying Corps. From there I go to Yorkshire to people I
have an introduction to, and from there probably to
Nales and maybe Cardiff. I will not have time to go to
 

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see the Reids in Scotland.
I am feeling in the pink of condition again
and intend to enjoy this fourteen days to its full.
Macguire - my Bombardier - who was hit, is progressing
well at Oxford. I am going up there too.
The Sister and Nurses seem very sorry to part
with me from Woolwich Hospital, and I can assure you I
have never struck such a fine lot of people in my life.
I am enclosing some photos of Gallipoli and
Egypt, which, until now, I never could get printed; also
I will get my photo taken and send you some.
I have received no letters from Australia for
seven weeks, but they will be sent on to me from the
Battery. Please address them still the same. There is
little news to tell you, so I will close.
Codford, England.
22nd July, 1917.
I was a very melancholy soul the first few days
in this Camp, but at last have regained my cheerfulness.
I thought when I struck camp again that a bare
floor and two blankets would worry me, but such has been
the spartan discipline of the last three years, I took to
it as a baby takes to a feeding bottle. All the same, my
old hospital bed seems as alluring and enchanting as a
princess in one of Grimm's Fairy Tales.
I have seen the proofs of my photos and they are
excellent. I should have them within a week, and then I
will at once send you one of each kind. A lot of the mails
both to and from Australia are being sunk, so please let me
know as soon as you receive them.
A few days ago I put my application in for the
Officers Training Corps, and up to date it has been
received very favourably. It has yet to go to Headquarters.
Whom do you think I met today while wandering
around this quaint little village? - Cornish of the A.M.P. -
Rather remarkable coming across him here. Of course, we
were delighted to see each other, and the conversation was
 

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naturally all "A.M.P."
The thing that is interesting me intensely
at the present moment, is the movement on foot to
return all original 1st Division men to Australia for a
holiday. That would be glorious! I see that someone
must volunteer and especially name the man he wishes to
relieve. I wonder will anyone be fool enough to enlist
in my place?
Here's a bit of a yarn - some youngsters were
told to write an Essay on "The Spine". One little girl
put it this way :-
"The spine is a lot of little bones put down
the back to stick the ribs on to. My head
sits on one end. I sit on the other."
I had meant to send you all something home,
but while in London could never hit on anything that I
thought you would like. However, before I leave England
I will do so.
Codford,
1st September, 1917.
I have to answer your letters of the 12th
June and 4th July. It was the first intimation I
had that you knew of my wounds, and I am glad to see
you were wise enough to take it calmly. Your/parcels
are coming along allright, for, although they have not
reached me, they have fallen into the hands of several
fellows of my Sub. in France who stood in great need of
them. I left word for the chaps to open all parcels and
they wish to render thanks to you.
It is with deep regret that I have to tell you
of the death in action of dear old Jimmy Linton. He was
killed about 29th May last, near Ypres, a few days before
I was wounded. I only heard of his death this week, and
I am very upset about it.
Jimmy was an ideal soldier, conscientious and
thorough, and as was his nature, putting his whole heart
into his work. The Army can ill spare such men. He had
 

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endeared himself to all he met, and I know his officers
held golden opinions of him. Personally, I have lost a
very dear and lovable friend. A man of rare and delicate
personality. I know, of no one with principles so high,
with ideals so fine. Once one got beneath that Scotch
reserve of his, one found an affection as deep and abiding
as the sea. How we will miss the presence of Jimmy Linton,
the years alone will show. I feel that a great deal of
the zest of life has gone, now that he is not here to share
its pleasures and sorrows.
God rest his gallant soul.
I had the pleasure of seeing Timbury last week.
He is in hospital at Eastbourne, a very beautiful watering
place on the South Coast. Tim is mending slowly and in the
process, is allowing his affections to run riot among the
nurses.
I have been now in this Camp for six weeks,
mainly owing to bad teeth. I am on a good job at present -
Orderly Room Sergeant - back at the old game, you see.
I told you last week that I was going to an Officers'
training School, but something has cropped up and maybe,
it will not come off.
Oft-times I spend a few hours at Salisbury,
which is a romantic old town and possesses a wonderful
Cathedral.
Should the A.M.P. be erecting a memorial plate
to Jimmy Linton, please give very liberally towards it
from my account.
3/9/17.
The Commission business has fallen through again.
I have just received a letter from the General Officer
commanding the Australian Troops in England stating that
I can have an Infantry Commission for the asking, but it
is beyond his power to grant Artillery Commissions to me
in England. He tells me that before it can be granted I
 

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must return to my Unit. I have therefore asked to be
put on a draft for France. I expect to be back there soon.
16th September, 1917.
Palham Downs,
Wiltshire.
I have now been in a new camp for a week. It
is the largest Australian Training Camp in England, and the
worst too. We are working from 5.45 a.m. until 7 p.m.
going all the time. The drill is all Infantry, and therefore
very uncongenial to an Artillery man. On Friday next,
I will be going to Larkhill, the Artillery Camp, and from
there to France.
Bauny Castilla is back with the Battery again,
and once more happy. He has just had fourteen days
furlough in England. I did not see him, but I hear he had
a good time. Tim, instead of improving, has been boarded
for Australia and should be back there before Christmas.
He is sure to call on you, so treat him well in every way
possible. Tim and I have been great pals these three years
and I don't know of any chap I like better. He will be able
to explain this life to you thoroughly.
I received some Australian mail yesterday. I
see by the paper that they still talk of sending the
original 1st Division men home, but nothing official has
been done yet. I daresay it will be next year before they
get a start on with it.
I rather dread the idea of another winter in
France, but infinitely prefer France to the horror of Camp
life in England. These Salisbury Plains are cold and
bleak - miles from any decent town, and it is not possible
to get leave. I will be glad to get back to the boys.
Have you received my photo yet, and also my letter telling
you of my Military Medal?
 

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Larkhill,
near Salisbury.
30th September, 1917.
It's devil of a long time since I wrote you last,
but I have been writing a general letter home each fortnight
and have asked Mother to give you a copy of them each time.
I hope, in that way, I have made amends for my neglect.
I have not received any word from Longie for months and
months, certainly not since I was wounded and that is three
months ago. However, you are forgiven, for I know how hard
it is to write these days. I find, as the years go by,
that it grows harder and harder to keep up my correspondence.
Well, since my furlough, I have been going through
a sort of purgatory in these different Base Camps in
England. The life is wretched, and I have been longing to
get back to the Battery again in France. It is astounding
how hard it is to get away from England. I have been
bothering the "Heads" for the last six weeks to be placed
on Draft for France, yet I am still here. I have hopes of
getting away next week.
Only a few days ago I heard that Major Rogers had
been killed. He has been the life and soul of our Battery
for the last two years, and the Battery will never be quite
the same without his genial personality. He was a very
charming man and had that rare gift of always being cheerful
under the most distressing circumstances. He never
inflicted hardships on the men which he would not cheerfully
bear himself, and for consideration and thoughtfulness
of those under him, I know of no officer who can
compare with him. He is a very great loss to the Service.
I had a letter from Cliff Burridge today; he is
in the Army Headquarters in London. He is engaged to an
English girl, and is to be married Xmas time. So you see,
the world goes on in its old fashioned way in spite of that
dreadful intruder - War.
You will have seen my letter referring to the
death of dear old Jimmy Linton. I cannot realise yet that
"Son of Mine" will sing no more to us, that the piano will
 

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never again respond to the magic of his fingers. Yet,
although, for the sake of his country, he lies in a grave
in France, we who had the pleasure of sharing his
affections, will ever retain the memory of his lovable
and sincere personality.
I had a good time the two days I was in London
I met a lot of the chaps over on leave, Macquire, Ogilvie,
Cusack and myself saw "Carminetta" and "The Maid of the
Mountains". They are both beautiful operas and whirled
us away for the time being from the realities of life.
Of course, late suppers in the Strand follow. I must
introduce you to these splendid fellows when we return.
Larkhill, England.
Friday, 12th September, 1917.
I have just heard that the Xmas mail for
Australia is closing tomorrow, so am writing a few lines
to you.
Today, I received a letter from Bauny Castilla
telling me that he was alright, but that the Battery was
having a hell of a bad time.
As the winter is now setting in with a
vengeance, the big attack in France must cease, so things
should be fairly quiet when I return. I am/going to France
on Tuesday next, after a terrible lot of humbugging about
here, and am glad of it. I expect to go to the 5th
Division to General Bessell Browne and expect he will
send me back to the Officers' Cadet School. It is
possible that I will spend Xmas in England. Until you
hear further from me, address letters in case, The A.M.P.
Society, London.
The weather has been very wretched all the week,
never ceasing to rain. Larkhill must be an awful place
in the winter time. The only place of interest in the
camp is the Y.M.C.A. There are two or three charming
girls running the show, and we are always over there
yarning to them.
 

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I had hoped to be in London again before going
overseas, but cannot get leave. I am, therefore, waiting
until I come back before sending you all a Xmas box.
I hope you will all have a happy Xmas and a
joyful New Year. I feel certain the War will end in
1918.
By this mail I am sending you some snapshots we
took in France last Xmas and April 1917.
France.
3rd October, 1917.
This note will show you that I am back with the
8th Battery again. I arrived in France about the 24th
and came straight through to the Battery. I am glad in
many ways that I returned to the Battery. It was great
to see the boys again - they all seemed genuinely pleased
to see me. The Battery has gone to pieces since the
Major died but they have been through a perfect hell for
four months I was away, and many old faces have gone.
Indeed, the day I arrived, four more were killed. I am
not with the guns yet, but at the Wagon lines. Yesterday
I took six hundred rounds up to the guns - a 6 mile trip -
The country is awful, even the utter desolation of the
Somme Battlefield is exceeded here. To come from the
smiling fields of England to this country of hell, is an
experience and a lesson in contrasts which I can never
forget. The road for miles is strewn with the debris of
wagons, guns, dead horses, and dead men, and to one unused
to such things, an awful spectacle. Yet, with all the
obstacles which obstruct our path, including wretched
weather, we seem to be slowly pushing the Hun back.
I understand that Jim Linton's grave is/not
far from here. He and Major Rogers are buried in the same
cemetery. At the first opportunity I will get a photo
taken of the grave and send it to Mrs. Linton.
I am living in a tent with Bauny Castilla, Viv
Ogilvie and Bob Murray and we are quite comfortable and
 

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very happy. I amuse them of a night relating anecdotes
of my stay in England.
All my letters are being held in England,
but now that I have advised them (the P. O. Authorities)
of my return to the Battery, I am expecting a big pile
any day. Glancing through the 'Sunday Times' this morning,
I came across a reference to Uncle Edward's death
the first I knew of it. Convey my condolence to Aunt
Mary Jane. I will write to her when I get particulars
of his death from you.
It is three years today since we set sail
from Fremantle, and that far away time seems more like
ten years than three. I am sure I am far better for
the experience I have had, and I daresay that you will
notice a great deal of difference in me when I return,
not so much in looks as in disposition. I rather pride
myself on the fact that I have lost that irritability
which was always showing out in me, and I am now able
to take the ups and downs of life with a smile.
I don't think Tim has yet left England,
but should do so any day. Mind you give him a big
welcome.
I am feeling very fit and ready for the
Winter.
France,
12th November, 1917.
I have cadged the ink, found a nib, made
a pen handle, so here goes.
Fat Smith from the A.M.P. arrived back
torthe Battery yesterday, after an absence of two years.
He is fatter than ever, and I am wondering how he will
take to soldiering again. We talked for hours of Perth
and the A.M.P., and I got the usual tinge of homesickness
when I thought of those old familiar things. I think I
realised too, what an utter stranger I will be when I
return, or at least what a stranger to the conditions f
 

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of living under civilian laws. However, I daresay I
will get used to it quickly enough.
I saw a tragic sight today, and yet an
inspiring one too. The day was cloudy at about 10
a.m. and a German Taube came over seeking balloons.
He hovered over three, undecided which to attack.
Eventually, seeing a bunch of our planes coming up
in the distance, he turned and made for home. In
doing so, he ran right into one of our little bull-
nosed Sopwith machines and a pretty fight ensued. The
Taube must have been carrying bombs, for suddenly we
saw his two wings blown away and he fell to earth in
a hopeless swaying manner. The bullets from our plane
must have exploded one of his bombs. He crashed to the
sound of a thousand cheers.
The rain still falls steadily, but despite
it and the Italian reverses, we manage to keep heart
and still push the Hun back yard by yard. I am sending
by registered mail a rather good souvenir. It is a
paper knife, the blade is made from the driving band of
a German shell, and the handle is a piece of aluminium
taken from a broken German aeroplane. It was made in
our Battery Blacksmith's shop by one of the Farriers.
Please keep it for me.
Tim left for Australia on the 1st November
and should be in Perth before this letter reaches you.
I am sure you will like him, so give him a good welcome.
Am sending with this letter a snapshot of th
graves of Jimmy Linton and Major Rogers. They are both
buried in the same graveyard in Belgium, these two
gallant souls. The graves are well kept and are situated
in a charming spot. I am sending the negative to England
to get some good prints and will then send you some more
and some to Mrs. Linton.
I am expecting a W.A. mail in tomorrow. We
received a few Eastern States letters today, incidentally
one from Longie, dated 21st September and the last W.A.