England at Last, by an Australian Patient

Winter 1915-1916

When the medical officer came round one day in our ward at the Floriana Hospital, Malta, and wrote on our diet-sheets "For England," an immediate change was noticeable on the faces of the favoured ones. Those not so lucky cast envious glances in our direction. We were to see old England at last! I think every Australian has an ambition to see the old Mother Country at some time in the distant future when he has made his pile, but few of us dreamt a year or so ago that we should see it so soon - and under such circumstances too. Some of us, indeed, had hardly hoped ever to see it.

It wasn't long before we got notice that we were to embark on a hospital ship and soon found ourselves on board the Dunluce Castle in Dockyard Creek, and we steamed out of the Grand Harbour just as the retreat gun was being fired at the saluting battery. On the morning of the fourth day our from Malta we arrived at Gibraltar and anchored under the fortress for a day, which gave us a good opportunity of seeing from a distance, for the first time, that sentinel of the Empire. It was here that some of us began to know what it means to spend three or four years in the Tropics without experiencing a winter. One man I know hasn't seen winter for nine years. The Bay of Biscay, quite contrary to expectations, behaved itself, and our ship only pitched slightly. Early on the fourth day from Gibraltar we caught sight of "the sceptred isle set in a silver sea," only it wasn't set in a silver sea when we saw it, but in a very grey one. It was a cold and cloudy day with a mist hanging over the water, which only permitted us to catch an occasional glimpse of what we were told was the coast of Cornwall. As our port was Southampton, we travelled along the south coast all the rest of the day, and in the evening, in the twilight, we were going round the Isle of Wight, so close to shore that we could plainly see the fields and the cottages nestling high up among the hills. I shall never forget that evening. Although I felt the cold intensely, I managed to stay on deck well swathed in woollens and my overcoat. I have never seen the sea look the same dull grey. To one accustomed to the sunny Pacific its sober grandeur made a strong appeal. And as the light began to fail we could see the ever-watchful searchlights playing on the sea and sky in quest of any invisible enemies. I don't think we slept very soundly that night. I know we didn't.

In the morning we were alongside the wharf in Southampton. Southampton made no other impression on me that that it was cold, damp, and smoky. We were a motley crew as we disembarked - Australians, New Zealanders, and Tommies from almost every unit, some on crutches, some on stretchers, men with empty sleeves, and others - walking cases - showing the ravages of dysentery and fever on their thin faces and wasted frames. After various delays, waiting for the men to be sorted out to their different destinations, we were at last put on a very comfortable hospital train and made a start on our two hours' journey to Clapham Junction. Being now a walking case I was able to secure a seat near a window, hoping to get a glimpse of the country now and again. I was richly rewarded. One often hears about England's unrivalled rural beauty, but one never gets a true conception of it. One cannot, of course, see the best from a fast-travelling train, but what I saw eclipsed my ideal. Now that the autumn leaves were falling and all the crops were gathered in, one was seeing it perhaps at a disadvantage. But what a sight for sore eyes to see green grass again; and such a green, too!

The journey was soon over, and we caught sight, for the first time for many months, of men in uniform other than khaki, namely, the men of the British Red Cross Society, who looked very spick and span in their dark blue uniforms. It was not long before we were run up here in the motor ambulances and had a good hot drink of cocoa (real cocoa made with milk), and were allotted to our wards. After having a hot bath and getting dressed in our hospital blues, we waited beside our ward stove for some tea before going to bed.
Square Dinkum, it was cold!
With all the warm things available, with my dressing-gown on and my feet resting on the top of the stove, I still felt cold. It was not till after being put in a warm bed with a hot-water bottle at my feet for a few hours that I at last felt warm again. I am still here, but hope soon to be well again. It won't be the fault of the kind treatment received from the hands of all here (particularly the sisters and nurses) if I am not.

For rest and comfort who would not be
In London General No. 3;
From there the sick and wounded in pain
Are soon set forth, happy, well again,
And for the nurses our prayers rise,
For they are all angels in disguise.
Please accept these humble words of praise
From a soldier who means what he says.

TROOPER A. B. WALKER, 6th A.L.H.