War Letters of General Monash

John Monash

• Publisher: Black Inc.
• Year: 2015
• ISBN:
  9781925203332
• Topic: History
• Subtopic: World War I
• Index: History

Monash in his own words... Long before this letter can possibly reach you, great events which will stir the whole world and go down in history will have happened, to the eternal glory of Australia and all who have participated. —John Monash, 24 April 1915These extraordinary, intimate letters from General Sir John Monash to his wife and daughter, record his experiences throughout World War I, from landing at Gallipoli to leading decisive battles on the Western Front. Monash describes with great candour the challenges of ordering the lives of tens of thousands of troops and meeting with various dignitaries, including King George.Regarded as the best allied commander of World War I, Monash writes with remarkable insight, providing one of the most moving personal accounts ever written of an Australian soldier at war.This edition, reprinted in full for the first time since 1935, contains newly discovered letters, including Monash's moving final missive to his wife before the Gallipoli landing. With an introduction and notes by historian A.K. Macdougall, and new photos, this volume provides unparalleled insight into the experience of Australians in World War I.'In the eyes of many Monash was the greatest Allied Field Commander of World War 1. His leadership of the Australian Army Corp in 1918 was exemplary.' —John Howard'As a writer, Monash has a great eye.' —Les Carlyon'His was the most brilliant leadership ever shown in any activity by an Australian.' —Bob CarrGeneral Sir John Monash is regarded as the best Allied commander of World War I and as Australia's greatest general, whose brilliant leadership turned the tide of the war. Monash was also a born writer, and an intellectual as well as an engineer. His writing displays a delight in detail, mastery and grace.

PART I

BRIGADE COMMANDER

4TH AUSTRALIAN INFANTRY BRIGADE

(December 1914 – July 1916)

I always tell my staff: “I don’t care a damn for your loyalty when you think I am right. The time I want it is when you think I am wrong.”

MONASH, War Letters

1

BEGINNING OF THE GREAT ADVENTURE

THE CONVOY—FIRST COMMAND—SEA LIFE OF THE ARMY—EGYPT—“A REVELATION OF EMPIRE”.

At sea, 24 December 1914

It was a beautiful send-off, a never-to-be-forgotten sight – the shore, the pier, the red ribbon, the cheering crowd, the towers and lights of the city gradually sinking back into the background and into the night. By daylight we were through the Heads. Ever since, it has been dead calm and beautifully cool and mild – a splendid ship, a splendid table, a most comfortable and roomy cabin, with steward and batman to wait on me hand and foot. Not a sign of seasickness anywhere, everybody happy and cheerful and working well, men all over the ship, and during non-working hours in every conceivable attitude over all the decks, gangways, alleys, tops of deck-houses, boats, rigging, crows’ nests. The horses are doing well, and are getting daily exercise. No other ships in sight until we reach the port of assembly, when we shall travel in two columns a mile apart, with ships 800 yards apart fore and aft. What a sight it will be. I am kept very busy as I have the management of the military side of the whole convoy on my shoulders. We are dropping into a steady daily routine.

At sea, 25 December 1914

It took four church services today (Christmas) to get through the ship. No room to be found anywhere where more than 500 could hear the chaplain at one and the same time. Large as the ship is, and ample of deck space, we are hard put to it to find room to do anything. When any considerable deck space is wanted for any purpose, the men have to be sent down to their troop decks. That is all right just now, but what will it be like for them in the tropics? We carry on board an authorised war correspondent, Mr C.P. Smith, a friend of mine from the Argus.

Our table in the saloon is made up of the three brigade staff, the war correspondent, and the ship’s doctor, a very interesting, travelled man. The next table has the Master, the O.C. Troops (Courtney), the Naval Transport Officer (Brewis), and the ship’s adjutant. The drawing-room has been converted into an officer’s smoking-room. The flagship seems to be enjoying exceptionally good health, compared with most of the other ships, from which come constant reports of sickness more or less serious, such as pneumonia, pleurisy, enteric, and even two cases of insanity. Of course every ship wants to get rid of its sick at first port of call, and I have to be very firm that the medically unfit must be carried on and take their chance, unless the case is very critical indeed. It would, of course, be a very serious matter to stop or divert the whole convoy. I have made a rough calculation of the cost of this convoy, and it works out at £8 per minute (exclusive of pay of the 13,000 men we are carrying), so it is often a heavy responsibility to decide the best thing to do. We have been absolutely without any news of the outside world for the last twelve days, and have no idea how the war is going in Europe. We use our wireless as little as possible, and then only in cypher.

The fleet at sea is a truly magnificent and impressive sight. We left Albany in a single column over twenty miles long, the rear ships well out of sight. On rounding the Leeuwin, we brought up into two columns, line ahead, two divisions in each column. Today we are cruising in three columns, line ahead, i.e. the whole convoy covers a sea area of about two miles wide by six miles long. This brings the ships to a convenient formation for visual signalling, as I have a lot of orders to promulgate today to a number of ships. Standing on the bridge of the flagship, at a height of sixty feet above the water, I can see the whole fleet spread out in regular formation, and responsive to every signal as to course, speed, distance, and interval. I feel it is something to have lived for, to have been entrusted by one’s country with so magnificent a responsibility.

The discipline and promptitude in execution of orders is really very good. For instance, the Ceramic shipped three stokers at Albany, who had been in the Runic. We got a wireless to say that smallpox had broken out on the Runic, so I ordered the whole of the Ceramic’s company to be promptly vaccinated, and this was done in forty-eight hours – over 3000 of them, including crew. In the late afternoon we have French and German classes and in the evening I usually lecture to the officers, and everybody is in bed by eleven.

It is a sight which never fails to inspire wonder, to step out on deck and see twenty ships, exactly in their stations, as if painted on the ocean.

Our first death at sea occurred today, a young soldier from Brisbane died from typhoid on the Borda at eight o’clock this morning. The funeral, which took place at eleven, was most impressive. At five to eleven the whole fleet was brought to “attention” by signal from the flagship, all troops on deck and standing to attention. At eleven by another signal all engines were stopped, and the burial proceeded from the Borda; her ship’s bell tolling could be distinctly heard, although she was three miles away. But [by] five past eleven the service was over, and a volley of rifles told us the burial had taken place. Then the last signal, “Full speed ahead”, and the fleet resumed its majestic march across the ocean.

The weather is getting pretty warmish. I am clad in deck shorts, and one of the thin shirts you gave me, which are a great acquisition and very comfy. An officer on the Ajana (a medical man, too) took seriously ill with typhoid, and as the other doctors on board seemed unable to keep their heads, I ordered the transfer of Colonel Beeston from the Berrima to the Ajana. This was carried out by boats, and was a difficult but very interesting operation, and created great interest throughout the whole fleet, which hove to, to watch it.

In the tropics the men who are not on duty are allowed to dress pretty well as they like, and the variety of design and fashions would do credit to the resources of the Rue de la Paix. We have men in bare feet and legs, men with deck shoes and no socks, men with bare feet and puttees. Some of the toffs have bought themselves white duck suits, others have their blue dungarees cut down into short knickers, with the sleeves cut out of the jackets. Others wear pyjama trousers and puttees. For top garment there are dungarees, pyjama-coats, singlets, or thick woollen shirts. For head-dress we have wide-awake hats, uniform peak caps, woollen night-caps, white caps and khaki fatigue caps. Some people’s tastes run to braces, others to leather belts, some to money-belts, and a few wear the waist belt of their web equipment. Combine all the above variables into constantly varying permutations and you have a medley of garb which outvies the dress of the natives as one sees it at Colombo or Honolulu. The men are all in the best of good humour, and there is very little crime, although the “jug” generally has a few lodgers for disobedience or answering back. For a minor offence a man gets twenty-four hours; for an aggravated case of neglect, three days; and our worst punishment so far is ten days in the cells.

At sea, 30 December 1914

Our second death at sea occurred last night, a trooper on the Verdala, one of the New Zealand ships. His body was committed to the deep with full military honours, 13,000 troops standing to attention in perfect silence, while the whole fleet stopped for five minutes.

The more I see of the men, the more am I impressed with them. They are a nice clean and clean-minded lot. I went around all the messes on every troop deck on Xmas Day and wished them a Merry Xmas and a good dinner, and the cheering and “Same to you, sir” was good to hear, I can tell you. It took an hour to get around.

At sea, 18 January 1915

We are making for Aden, which we expect to reach about the 24th. We have, for reasons of safety, adopted a more northerly course than the usual mail route and are running on a parallel 14 degrees north latitude, in almost a straight line from Mangalore (in India) to Aden. Our visit to Colombo has come and gone, and while I was glad to get ashore, I was still more glad to get away, because the 2 ½ days in port were full of hard work and trouble.

The naval management of the fleet is well nigh perfect. All the large ships carry a naval officer as well as the Master, and four ships are armed with two guns each and naval ratings to man them. In addition we have the submarine, which is travelling in full fighting trim, with her torpedoes ready for instant action. So now the secret may be let out that we have no independent “escort” at all, as the fleet is quite sufficiently well armed to put up a splendid fight in the event of attack. In fact, so far as we can learn, all British, French, and Japanese warships have been withdrawn from these waters since the Emden was disposed of. Each night, Brewis and I go into the position carefully, in the light of the latest naval intelligence received, and decide on the dispositions of the fleet for the next day, and the point of rendezvous, in the event of the unarmed ships having to scatter through an alarm of enemies real or false. [The Australian submarine AE2 that Monash mentions later became the first Allied submarine to navigate the Dardanelles on 25 April to sink enemy shipping in the Sea of Marmara, where she was later forced to scuttle.]

Do you remember Captain Davis, who commanded Shackleton’s ship, and also commanded the Aurora on Mawson’s last expedition to the Antarctica? He is Master of A36 and has done particularly well.

We reached Colombo at early morning on 13 January, and I had had scarcely time to shave and dress and get a cup of tea, when an officer arrived from the shore with important dispatches from both west and east, and to arrange for the official visits during the day. At half-past nine, Brigadier-General Malcolm, commanding the forces in Ceylon, came on board the flagship, and was received with a guard, and spent an hour in my sitting-room chatting, and talking war and shop.

At eleven I went ashore with my A.D.C. and the principal transport officer (Captain Brewis) in the naval pinnace, and, while we waited in the large hall of the G.O.H., Jess went ahead to Government House to see Captain Nugent, the A.D.C. to arrange for our visit. He returned at twelve with an invitation to lunch, and so at twelve-thirty we took a motor and went round to the residency, being received by a guard of magnificent Sikhs at the entrance. His Excellency materialised as Sir Robert Chalmers, a stately elderly gentleman. He entertained us simply but cordially, and had a great many good stories to tell about the Sydney–Emden fight. He showed us, carefully framed in a glass frame, a dirty sheet of brown paper signed by Captain Glossop and Captain von Mueller on which they had, in consultation after the fight, worked out the courses of the two ships, Sydney in black, Emden in red, from which it was plain to see exactly the point when the Sydney gained the ascendancy. His Excellency told the story of the five wireless messages which Captain Silver (of the Melbourne) got from Glossop. They were – “Enemy in sight”, “Enemy steaming north”, “Enemy engaged”, “Enemy retiring”, “Enemy ashore”. The Japanese commander (Ibuki) was extremely keen to join in. He signalled, “Please may I help Sydney?” and Silver replied, “Stay where you are.” There are several Emden prisoners ashore at Colombo recovering from wounds.

Shortly after four, the Governor came on board, and was received with an officers’ guard and the anthem. He made a lengthy inspection of the ship and was introduced to all the senior officers of the fleet, who had been assembled on the flagship to meet him, and finally left us at five-thirty.

During the 13th I had no difficulty in keeping everybody in check, chiefly because they did not know the ropes, and were rather uncertain when the fleet would sail, a secret which Brewis and I kept to ourselves. But on the morning of the 14th the fun began. Through a misunderstanding, the Ceylon water-police relaxed vigilance on that day, and crowds of native boats put off to the fleet, and very soon men from all the ships began to get over the side, down ropes, through portholes and hatches, and some even dived off the decks. In a very little while, there were some 500 men afloat in boats making helter-skelter for the shore. Luckily, a fast launch was alongside the Ulysses, and I did not take long to put on board an armed party of three officers and fifty men, who made for the pier and took charge of these interesting proceedings; not, however, before fully 200 men had succeeded in landing, bent on a spree. The rest were arrested in batches and returned to their ships, very crestfallen.

The escapees spread all over the town, in every sort of costume, or want of costume, each group surrounded by an admiring crowd of Sinhalese who did all they could to help the soldiers to scatter. And scatter they did. Most of them got away to the native quarters, but a number took possession of the G.O.H. and Galle Face bars, and all were very soon happily drunk. I got a detachment of white soldiers from the fort and a few native police, and then the cleaning-up process began. The men were apprehended in twos and threes and ferried back to their ships and put in the “clink”, and the game went on till nightfall. Finally, by daybreak next morning, we got the last of them on board, now sober and hungry, a sorry, dirty, bruised, and battered crowd. So far as I can gather, there were about twenty deserters all told, which is a very small total out of over 13,000 troops. The bulk of the trouble was from two ships, the Themistocles and the Berrima, both carrying reinforcements comparatively young and untrained.

In Colombo harbour we had two deaths from pneumonia on the Themistocles, but I decided in favour of a burial at sea, so that ship was sent ahead a few hours, and rejoined us later.

At sea, 19 January 1915

Since Colombo, time is beginning to hang rather heavily on the hands of some of the young officers, and practical joking has been rife, commencing on innocent lines but later on leading to more serious reprisals. This has ended in my having to make an example of one ingenious young gentleman who one night made the rounds with burnt cork, and artistically decorated the faces of a number of officers lying peacefully asleep in their bunks. All would have passed off well, except that the burnt cork artist found his way into the cabin of the naval secretary, who, though an amiable, young-looking man, has a rank equivalent to that of field officer (major). Scottland was sent for in a hurry at daybreak to the bridge, and turned up there, to the astonishment of the officers of the watch, with a beautifully tattooed nose and cheeks. Of course there was a devil of a row, and the young man chiefly concerned has had to suffer a loss of seniority.

At sea, 26 January 1915

Since last writing we have had four more deaths, all from pneumonia, and two of these were the first in my own brigade, one from Queensland and one from Western Australia. In this pneumonia trouble every case supervened on measles. The medical officers are working very hard and doing their best. I had to make several more shifts of officers so as to concentrate assistance on the ships most needing it. I think with all the Army Nurses offering in Australia it was a great mistake not to send at least two or three on each of the ships. It is too much to ask the doctors to do their own nursing.

A little sketch of the multifarious activities which are going on, simultaneously, on this ship, throughout the live-long day, may interest you. Stand on the main deck, at the main companion, in front of the well which leads down to the saloon, at say four o’clock, and have a look around. Just outside, on the starboard side, there is a machine-gun detachment, with its guns, being taught the mechanism. Opposite, on the port side, a class of some forty men are stretched on the deck; here a sergeant is going through semaphore signalling, while his classes are, in unison, calling out the alphabet letters as he makes them with his arms. Right ahead, on the boat deck, within ten feet of where we are standing, you can...