On the Anzac trail: Being extracts from the diary of a New Zealand sapperAnzac
History
On the Anzac trail: Being extracts from the diary of a New Zealand sapper
Anzac
World War, 1914-1918 -- Personal narratives, New Zealand
And this _I_ know: a finer lot of fellows to be with, either in
light-hearted frolic or the grim struggle in which they were destined
to take part, I never ran across in my natural.
CHAPTER II
OFF
We sailed from Southampton on December 12, 1914, the name of our
transport being the _Dunera_, an old British India Company steamer,
I believe. The Canadians were no end sorry that they weren't going
with us, and our fellows would have liked nothing better, for both
contingents had grown to like and respect each other. However, it
wasn't to be, and being debarred from accompanying us the men of
the Western Dominion did the next best thing and gave us a rousing
send-off. They turned out about two battalions as a guard of honour,
and, headed by a couple of bands, we marched the two miles to Bulford
Siding between a double line of cheering and hat-waving "Kanucks."
They may have been a bit lively, those Canadians, but their hearts were
where they belonged, and they were all white.
She was a rare old hooker, was the ss. _Dunera_. Besides our little
lot of 250 she carried over 1400 "Terriers," many of whom looked as
if they hadn't forgotten the taste of their mothers' milk. They were
a poor lot as regards height and build, and our fellows could have
given them a couple of inches and a deal of weight all round. However,
they may have done all right in the scrapping, like many another
Territorial regiment: one often gets left when one starts in to judge
by appearances, and a weed many a time carries a bigger heart than a
score of six-footers.
We slept in hammocks, and were packed in like sheep in a pen. The
tucker wasn't much to write home about; still there was enough of it,
and sea air is one of the best sauces I know of—when there isn't too
much of it! Our deck space was a bit limited, of course, and after
dark it almost vanished, so that a chap was never quite sure whether he
was walking on it or on Territorial. Then there were other things which
made the going even more treacherous—and we carried broken weather
right down through the Bay!
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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