N.Z. MAIN BODY

Te Awamutu Courier, Volume 75, Issue 6443, 7 November 1947, Page 3

N.Z. MAIN BODY

HOW THEY WENT TO WAR IN 1914 STIRRING JOURNEY RECALLED The following article written by 13/329, a Trooper in the Auckland Mounted Rifles aboard the Star of India Troopship, No. 8, should be of particular interest to Te Awamutu and district men of the Main Body. The reunion of members of the Main Body of the New Zealand Expeditionary Force of 1914-18, held last week in Wellington, recalls memories of the experiences of the voyaging to the fighting front in those days as contrasted with those of World War 11. In 1914 our troops were transported in relatively small ships as measured by the huge liners employed in World War 11.

According to marine transport experts in 1914, a horse required approximately three times as much space aboard a troopship as a soldier. We of the Main Body, N.Z.E.F., realised the truth of this after the first day aboard. In all, 3946 horses and 8499 men sailed from Wellington on October 16, 1914, which, on a shipping space basis was the 'equivalent of over 20,000 men. The combined gross tonnage of the 10 troopships was 82,298 tons. To give some idea of conditions aboard, here is a comparison:. The Ist, 2nd and 3rd Echelons comprising 19,363 men were transported from New Zealand in 13 ships whose combined tonnage was 364,226 tons. If the crowded conditions of 1914 had been applied in the recent war, two of the larger ships made available, or perhaps three, would have sufficed.

Most of us in the Main Body were seven weeks aboard before disembarking at Alexandria. Believe it or not, there were no idle moments—the horses saw to that. Fed, watered, groomed, massaged, bathed and stalls continually cleaned out, the 500 horses aboard the Star’ of India were pampered, first-class passengers. They provided us with splendid exercise. Also, what better training for filling sandbags than shovelling up horse manure and carrying the heavy, wet sacks up and along awkward places and dumping the smelly contents overboard. Truly, we should have been grateful for this preliminary training in the art of war. How We Were Toughened

Now, having shown that the horse was treated as a noble animal in 1914, what of the soldiers ? Where did they sleep and eat? Luxury liners not having been invented then, the refrigerated holds in the very bottom of the ship were converted into dormitories. Narrow three-tier bunks about two feet apart had been erected. These were like wooden coffins. Between the bottom boards and a mans’ body was a thing called a palliasse, which consist™ of a kind of scrim filled with flax. It was very lumpy. Obviously, the intention of the war lords was to toughen up the soldier so that, when he composed

himself for slumber on the desert or craggy cliffs of the peninsula, he imagined himself lying on a bed of roses. . The Army thinks of everything! There were no lockers aboard—a man’s kit-bag and personal possessions just lay on his bunk, making it a bit cramped for sleeping purposes. Still, excellent training for living in crowded, narrow trenches. Ventilation was practically non-existent. On the previous trips, these holds—now called dormitories—carried frozen mutton. This trip, they were packed with brawny live "beef”—very hot and extremely smelly, especially in the early hours. Unfortunately, gas respirators hadn’t been invented then. Still, it was excellent experience for gas warfare in France. We were really very lucky to get anti-gas training so early in the piece. It would be unkind to suggest that the brainy blbkes who converted these vessels into troopc-iips forgot that soldiers have to eat. Apparently, they remembered this important point after all the space had been allocated.

“Cripes,” said Brainy Bloke No. 1. “The troops have no place to consume their rations. What’ll we do?”—or words to that effect. “I know,” chirped Brainy Bloke No. 2, “let’s clear the coal out of half the coal bunkers, put in some narrow forms and benches, forget the ventilation, and what more do hungry soldiers want!” And 10, it was done. "Feed ’Em Rough”

There are some Wellington citizens who could never descend into those “messrooms.” Entrance was by way of the bunker hole in the main deck. The hole was 18 inches in diameter. Descent into the foul, smelly depths was by way of ’ perpendicular iron rungs. Due to the drainage problem from the horse stall being entirely ignored by the aforementioned brainy blokes, there was always three or four inches of liquid extract of horse on the floor. This necessitated dining in bare feet. (This is simply not done in best military circles nowadays.) Each time the snip rolled, some chaps who were a bit too particular lifted their legs and raised their plates and mugs to avoid the smelly splashings. They were regarded as softies. It was fine’ training "experience, though. “Hell ships” hadn’t been invented then. On the peninsula, much worse things than liquid extract of horse flavoured a digger’s rations. The Army of (hose days didn’t believe in the,troops putting on weight or overeating or underworking. The N.ZIE.F. motto of 1914 was , “Feed ’em rough to make ’em tough . . . and it was so.” A dim memory of mine is that we were always hungry. At the risk of—at this late day—'being court-martralled and Shot, three of us troopers bribed the ship’s cook on two occasions with Is 6d to hake us a plain rice pudding. This required considerable technique. At a certain signal from tlie galley, I sauntered past with my horse’s nosebag, into which the cook, like a conjuror, slipped a tin. My hungry conspirators were concealed in a lifeboat. Leaping over the gunwale, clutching the precious nose-bag, I joined them. The hungry devils each had a spoon in their hands at the “.port arms” position. There was no waiting for the Word jrf command; we just dug into that' tin. Three

spoons mopped up a very plain and cold rice pudding in record time. Not even a 10-course dinner at the Hotel St. George tasted so good. My mouth still waters at the memory. Ah! It’s a great life the Army! For the officers aboard No. 8, Star of India, small wooden structures had been erected on the boat deck. Their sleeping quarters resembled glorified dog kennels, while their mess room was like a covered railway truck. If the modern private was offered such accommodation he would contemptuously turn up his nose and write a letter to the Minister of Defence. However, we considered the officers lived like lords and we envied them their palatial quarters. A comparison was forced upon me during the recent war. As a member of a military guard, I lived for a week aboard the 35,000-ton Mauretania while she was waiting for the 3rd Echelon to embark. By a strange coincidence the chief wireless operator on the Mauretania had been junior operator on the Star of India in 1914. We unanimously agreed on one thing—that times had changed! It Was a Hard V r ar As the weather got warmer in the tropics, so did the smell from thousands af horses and human bodies closely packed into the troopships. Including the Aussies, there were 38 ships and we must have created over a large area of ocean what polite people call “a distinct effluvia.” Since thosu l days, I have often thought that the German Navy missed a wonderful chance if their admirals had used a bit of imagination. If they had installed on the Emden, Scharnhorst, Gneisnau and Dresden some bloodhounds and pointers with a good seftse of smell, they could have easily sniffed out our trail, and followed us up!

The N.Z.E.F. was entirely a masculine affair; Waacs hadn't been invented then. Just as well, too. As the Equator approached, the troops dispensed with all unnecessary raiment. With the continuous dirty work, it was easier to wash the signs of toil off one’s body than off singlet and pants. This was quite all right until a famous order emanated from the flagship! “Troops must not carry out their duties naked.’ It was a hard war.

Each day when weather permitted, ships pulled out of their respective lines in turn, towed a small target on a long wire at which troops engaged in musketry practice. The ma-chine-gunners also did their stuff. One day a porpoise was indiscreet enough to bob up on the port quarter of the ship that was firing. A live target was too good to miss! Unfortunately, some of the bullets whanged on the side of another transport—and was there a how-de-do?

There was no clear deck space aboard for physical jerks. Nevertheless, exercise was not neglected. Most of the coal bunkers being used as mess rooms meant that coal for the ship’s furnaces had to be manhandled from one of the holds to bunker shoots. A job for the troops ? Certainly! A bit grubby and sweaty, but splendid exercise. Then, of course, sacks of fodder, bales of hay and countless buckets of water for the horses . . . and that most fragrant of jobs, staggering to the ship’s side with a wet sack of .horse manure on your bare back.

I have given my accountant—who is a wizard at figures—a few details. He computes that by the time we reached Egypt I manhandled enough coal to drive the Limited to Auckland and back, carried enough buckets Of water to fill Te Aro baths, shovelled up, bagged and lugged on my back enough horse manure to fertilise the whole of the Hutt Valley. Did not a famous general say recently that the lads of 1914 were a tough lot? Surety, he must have meant us!