Archive for the 'Books. Writing' Category

13
Jul
16

Notes on an Exodus, Richard Flanagan

xnotes-on-an-exodusNotes on an Exodus : an essay is a small book by Man Booker prize winning author Richard Flanagan, illustrated by Ben Quilty.

Flanagan and Quilty travelled to the Middle East and Europe with World Vision, visiting refugees in camps and on the road, who were escaping from the violence of their homes in Syria.

While described as “an essay” in its subtitle, the book is more a collection of brief written portraits of the people Flanagan and Quilty met on their journey.

People who had fled villages, towns and cities to escape either the day and night bombing by Assad supporting Russian planes, from the violence and oppression of Daesh (ISIS), or both.

People who had fled prosperous lives to live in makeshift tents constructed from recycled garbage.

People who once owned productive farms and orchards but now have to survive on meagre rations of bread and tea or scraps collected from the floors of vegetable shops. Where a family survives (barely) with the help of their nine year old son, working as a welder for $3 a day. who has half his weekly pay retained by his employer to ensure his return the following week.

These are the kind of stories that we in the west prefer not to know so we don’t have to see the refugees as REAL people with REAL lives who probably weren’t so different from other people we know. Individuals we can’t disguise and dehumanise as a “flood”.

Flanagan’s vignettes of people he met bring focus to the plight of millions who have been driven from their homes and homelands. They should stir similar feelings to those stirred by the photos of the small body of Alan Kurdi, washed up on a Turkish beach that briefly moved the conscience of the world. But sadly they won’t. All too quickly our collective hearts have rehardened.

Suspicion and hostility against the flood have been restored.

Alan_Kurdi_lifeless_body

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25
May
16

Ambition

I can only remember having two ambitions when I was growing up. The first was to become a Beatle.
The group’s early hit “She Loves You” was a big favourite of mine as a six year old.

The second was to be a script writer.
In the latter years of primary school I regularly wrote short scripts to be acted in class, most of which were rewritings of TV shows or films I’d recently seen. Thanks to a visiting student teacher, some of them even made it the “stage” in front of the class.

Neither of those career ambitions was fulfilled.

Sadly John, Paul George and Ringo split up before they could add me as a fifth member of their group, and my writing ambition got lost somewhere on the road of practicality.
I suppose my upbringing didn’t prepare me to take the risks that would have been needed to become a writer. I could only see a similar path as the one taken by my parents: get a secure job, get married, have a family. A writing career wouldn’t easily fit into that scenario, and more importantly, I was never disciplined enough to make it fit.

From my early 20s onwards, another complication came into my life: committed church involvement.
I even gave up a Personnel Management course at college because it clashed with mid-week church meetings
That effectively killed a career direction I could have had, but sparked a desire to be a professional minister.

While I knew I didn’t have the temperament to be a pastor, the idea of being a “professional” preacher was very appealing. Despite a long standing fear of public speaking, I loved having occasional opportunities to preach and for the first time I felt comfortable speaking to a large group.

Thankfully God pulled the rug from under my misplaced feet, with the resulting shakeup eventually leading me to recognise the gulf between my experience within the church system and a biblically compatible life of discipleship.

Now isn’t THAT is an ambition we should all have?
To live a biblically compatible life of discipleship!

When I look at what that REALLY means, it seems like the Beatles and scriptwriter paths might have been easier options – but then I need to remind myself that it’s not an ambition I, or any of us, need to face alone.
HE works WITH us.

“…work out your salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who works in you to will and to act in order to fulfil his good purpose.”

(We work out and He will work in).

31
Oct
15

How Fictional can “Christian Fiction” Be (while remaining “Christian”)?

Continuing on from my three “Stories what I wrote” articles, this was originally posted in February 2013.

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[subtitle: Can a Christian Write Non-Christian or Even Antichristian fiction?]

I’ve been writing about my early writing ambitions, the study I did and the stories I wrote. Those ambitions never came to fruition but I haven’t given up on them. However things have changed significantly since those University days. Back then there were few restraints on what I wrote – I could tackle any topic, any style and any genre without too much concern. But now I see things differently.

At that time I was going through a spiritual crisis, battling with the beliefs I’d held throughout the previous decade or more. It was a time of questioning and the pushing of boundaries, trying to come to terms with what I did or did not believe and what I SHOULD believe.

My spiritual condition could be summed up in this (paraphrased from memory) description of a character in Salman Rushdie’s Midnight’s Children: “he could not worship a God in whom he could not wholly disbelieve”. To me this describes someone caught between two camps. On the one hand not certain enough of the reality of God to fully devote his life to God; on the other hand not certain enough of God’s non-existence to cast aside all restraint to live a totally God-less life.

It was several years afterwards that I emerged from that crisis with a renewed faith, a development that has consequences for any writing ambitions that I’ve retained. I feel there ARE now restraints on what I write and how I write. There are responsibilities that twenty years ago I didn’t feel were relevant. There are types of writing that wouldn’t be appropriate for me to tackle, to state the obvious: pornography.

But the “restraints” go further than personal moral convictions and extend to the type of spiritual reality that a story portrays. A good friend of mine suggested that there are serious problems with any story that leaves God and the gospel of Jesus out of the equation. To my mind this doesn’t mean that every story a Christian writes (or reads) should contain specific references to these important spiritual realities, it just means that a Christian’s fictional world should remain consistent with the foundational spiritual truths they claim to embrace. The framework of a fictional world created by a Christian writer needs to have Christian realities at its core – even if that core is not specifically mentioned.

I became even more convinced of this yesterday when I read the following on the blog of a Christian author where he describes a major plot-point of his first published novel:
“…a man who’d been used by God to raise someone from the dead was sacrificed to a pagan deity. His soul was effectively imprisoned and the Land was cursed. That curse was maintained by each successive generation. One of my protagonist’s goals becomes to “free” this healer and return his soul to God.

Several reviewers pointed out that, in the real world, this was impossible.
And I pretty much agree.”

Further into his article he decries what he labels “the Theology Police” (a term he “wield[s] with lotsa snark”) who would criticise his story’s premise.

I have a very serious problem with the attitude the author is conveying. He seems to suggest there is absolutely no responsibility on Christian authors to remain true to even the most basic of the spiritual truths their alleged faith upholds. As if they can cast aside foundational truths to portray an alternative spiritual worldview all for the sake of story. As if the story takes priority over truth.

I’m sure many will agree with him and disagree with me – pointing out that he is an author writing fiction, that there are no limits on what he should be able to write in his own created fictional world.

Of course any fiction writer can create whatever reality they think suits their story – but whether that fiction writer can still legitimately refer to themselves as a Christian writer, or by the more flexible label of “writer who is a Christian” is debatable. For the writer (and reader) with no strong religious conviction all of this wouldn’t be an issue. But to someone believing in a genuine spiritual battle in which there are personal eternal consequences the situation ought to be entirely different.

In the case mentioned above, the author himself recognises the problem with the scenario his novel presents: as if the “soul” of a Godly many could be imprisoned after death and need to be freed to return to God.
What kind of spiritual “reality” and God is that portraying? And does it really matter as long as it’s entertaining?
I’d say it is a false reality and a false God, and YES it does matter.

Personally I’d prefer to read a well written secular novel by a non-believing author than one written by a Christian that protrays a counterfeit spirituality and a false God.

At least with the non-Christian author I have no false expectations about what I’d be reading.

30
Oct
15

Stories What I Wrote III

I tried a few different genres of writing but found I was getting the best response with “horror” stories – or at least those that leaned towards horror. These were especially successful when I read them at monthly “poetry readings”. I still recall the squirming, uncomfortable laughter of one of my lecturers when he realised where the story was heading. Seeing that honest response in person was far more satisfying at the time than reading a few complimentary comments he’d written on some of my assignments.

I don’t want to go into the sordid details of the story. It’s not something I’d write today, but I will say something about the inspiration that led to it. It came from a Stephen King short story I’d been reading. I thought I could see where the story was heading but found I was wrong. His conclusion was totally different from the one I’d anticipated, so I took the ending that I’d assumed would happen and worked backwards to create a completely different story from the one King had written.

To conclude this little trilogy of articles I want to mention two of what I considered my best stories of that time. The first came out of a suggestion by a fellow student. He said when he was stumped for ideas he’d look to bible stories for a spark of inspiration. He’d do that with no more religious intent than anyone doing the same thing by referring to Shakespeare for an idea.

I thought of the story of David and Bathsheba, how David’s sight of her bathing led to all kinds of trouble. My story started with the protagonist seeing his new neighbour lying beside her swimming pool. I read the first draft to the class and found myself under attack from the group’s feminists who objected to a story beginning with a man’s lustful gaze. Maybe referring to the bible for story inspiration backfired.

After revisions and editing I had a story I was happy with – a kind of obsessive love story that included references to my interest in film-making and my experience with animation. It has no happy ending. The romance comes to a sudden end when the woman discovers her feelings for the man may have been manipulated through “supernatural means” and she turns the tables on him.

The other story came from a memory of my grandad. When I was a young child he was often very sick and spent a lot of time bedridden, sometimes becoming very confused about where he was and WHEN he was. At times he thought it was still the time of WWII.

During one of these confused episodes he held a conversation with the faces he could see in the rose pattern of the wallpaper. And that was the initial inspiration of my story of a bed-bound man being nursed by his wife. But his experience goes far beyond conversations with imagined faces. He finds himself taken into a world contained within the wallpaper pattern. There he meets a seductive but dangerous woman with thorn like claws. He wakes and realises it’s all a dream, until he finds some physical evidence that the woman might not be a mere product of his sleep induced imagination… or maybe something else is going on. Could his wife be tormenting him, fuelling his imagination with drugs? Is it really prescribed medication she is giving him or something else?

That’s the end of this little exploration of my past fictional writings. It might be something I come back to at another time. I could write about the plans I had to write stories (and even a novel) based on my experiences in church, but those ideas are something I am more likely to put to use in the future and I don’t want to give away too many of my ideas before I have the opportunity to write those stories.

The other things, those that I’ve written about in these three articles are well and truly in the past. The actual stories are dead and buried with no hope of resuscitation.

29
Oct
15

Stories What I Wrote II

Acceptance into the Creative Writing course was the easy part. Presenting a portfolio of writing fragments (written over a long period) helped me get in – but from that point I needed to do something I’d not done since leaving High School more than a decade earlier. Write completed stories, regularly, to deadlines.

And something entirely new: write things of substantial length. No more one page essays and half page “short stories”. No more token, last minute scribbles to get homework in on time. I was doing the course out of choice, and living on a tiny income for at least three years, so I couldn’t afford to settle for the easy way through it all. What would be the point of doing that?

The first story I remember from the first semester is one I wrote about the birth of a young couple’s first child. Most of it was quickly handwritten between lectures, and then edited and polished as I typed it on my computer. It is still the only time I’ve handwritten a story since High School. For me making changes on a written page is a messy and confusing business. I wouldn’t get anywhere without the simplicity and neatness of cut and paste.

That story became the first in a very loose trilogy. The second part was written the following year and the couple’s relationship had taken a turn for the worst, the only thing holding the fragments together was their young child.
Neither of the above stories was anything special. I was trying to find my feet in a strange world struggling with books I wouldn’t normally read and writing essays full of ideas that wouldn’t have occurred to me in “real life”. But eventually I settled into this foreign routine, enjoying the exercise my flabby brain was now getting, and my story writing started to improve.

The third part of my “trilogy” came out of a writing exercise. The class had to compile a list of the characteristics of ghost stories. Creaking doors, rattling chains, sudden mists, deserted and ruined houses, bumps in the night – and all of the other clichés we could think of. After compiling the list we had to take several of those elements and incorporate them into a non-ghost story.

My story centred on the husband/father from the two stories mentioned above. His relationship has ended and he has taken off alone to stay in a friend’s isolated lakeside cottage, drowning his sorrows with Irish whiskey. His intended time alone is disrupted. He is woken from a drunken sleep by the unexpected appearance of a young mysterious woman whose presence has an unwanted effect on him and his attempt to escape his problems.

The end of the story took an unpleasant turn with an attempted rape and an act of arson and if I remember correctly the man’s (possible) suicide. Optimistically I submitted it to a literary magazine. They rejected it, saying it became too melodramatic after a promising start.

(coming later “Stories What I Wrote III)

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(I’m assuming that most won’t understand the reason for the bad grammar in the title of this series of posts. As a child one of my favourite TV shows was a comedy variety programme starring an English comedy duo Eric Morecambe and Ernie Wise. Each week in this series Ernie Wise presented his “play what I wrote”, in which respected guests starred – routinely becoming the butt of Eric and Ernie’s jokes in a mock drama. I recall at least one High School writing assignment in which I unashamedly ripped off and adapted a Morecambe and Wise routine. With this title I give a nostalgic nod to that teenage act of plagiarism.)

27
Oct
15

Stories What I Wrote.

The next few blog posts are articles I posted earlier, about two and a half years ago.
They are reminiscences related to my University days between 1990 and 1993.

Could more than 20 years have passed so quickly since then? And what happened to the ambitions that led me to leave the paid workforce (after 13 years) to risk three years of fulltime study?

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Stories What I Wrote.

Bachelor of Creative Arts. That’s the course I started mid-1990. But within a week I’d applied for a transfer to a plain, ordinary Bachelor of Arts degree.
My intended major was Creative Writing, but as a BCA student I was required to do other Arts related subjects that I wasn’t keen to study at that time. Things I thought were irrelevant to my reasons for being at University. So I added Literature to my major and increased my reading obligations by a ridiculous amount. By the time I graduated my love of reading had been undermined (but that’s another story).

To be accepted for the BCA I had to submit a portfolio of work to assess whether I was a suitable candidate for the school. Whatever I submitted must have shown potential because I was accepted. I no longer have any of those old pieces of writing. They were thrown out many years ago.

My memory of that portfolio is hazy, but I’m sure it contained a few fragmentary stories very loosely based on nostalgic memories of my teens. Actual experiences were spiced up and combined with a lot of “what ifs” – “What if I’d done this instead of that?”… I also had my characters doing some of the things my friends and I WOULD have done, if only we’d been less restrained by thoughts of consequences.

The only complete stories I recall from around that time were two fantasy/science fiction short stories.
One involved the crew of a space station who one by one were being killed, until the last man standing, realising he must be the killer (though he can’t recall any of the murders) is suddenly confronted by the truth. The story touched upon the subliminal effects of advertising. And considering no one will ever get to read the story which no longer exists – I’ll spoil the ending: the cat did it.

I’m not sure why a cat would be included in the crew of a space station. Maybe that’s a question the writers of Alien can answer.

In space no one can hear you meow!

In space no one can hear you meow!

The other story started off with the discovery of an unconscious woman on the beach. I no longer remember details, apart from the contrived “twist” at the end where she it is revealed she is a mermaid. Clearly her rescuer wasn’t the brightest “knight in shining armour”, not noticing that the woman he was carrying to safety had a tail instead of legs.
So my first fully formed stories weren’t works of literary art, but I had enough naïve hope at the time to keep discouragement at bay.

(to be continued…)

11
Jun
15

Anzacs and WWI: part 6, Book and Film “Reviews”

Over the past few months I’ve read several books, watched several documentaries and seen some fictional depictions of the Gallipoli campaign. Here are some of the “reviews” I’ve written based on that reading and viewing.

My reading continues, so it’s possible additional reviews will be posted at a later time.

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Gallipoli and the Anzacs

gallipoli seriesIn 1915 British and French naval forces tried to force a way through the Dardanelles Strait, into the Sea of Marmara and then onwards to Constantinople, intending to end Turkey’s involvement in the war (WWI). Their ships found too much resistance coming from Turkish gun emplacements along the shores of the Gallipoli Peninsula so ground forces were sent to shut down the Turkish defences.

Landing on the Aegean coast, they faced more sustained opposition from the Turks than expected, and the terrain was found to be far more rugged and difficult than had been thought. British troops found themselves entrenched and held at bay in small coastal areas, unable to advance far to achieve the intended goal. A significant part of this invading army was the ANZAC force (Australian, New Zealand Army Corps). Their involvement with this Gallipoli campaign became central to ideas of Australian and New Zealand identity even though they were fighting a war as British and for the British.

The initial landing took place on 25th April 1915 that date has become known as Anzac Day, a day of commemoration when the dead of that campaign and subsequent wars are remembered in the Anzac nations. This year is the 100th anniversary.

Australian TV has recently screened Gallipoli, a TV series graphically depicting the experiences of the Australian and New Zealand servicemen at Gallipoli. There has also been a re-release of one of the modern classic books covering the topic, Les Carlyon’s Gallipoli from 2001, which was one of the guiding authorities behind the program; and several other books about that conflict have been released.

CarlyonI started my own “Gallipoli Campaign” (attempting to understand what Anzac Day is really about) by reading Carlyon’s book. It’s a sizable brick of a book, a solid 540 pages with another 50 pages making up the notes, bibliography and index. It was quite daunting to pick up at first because I know what an ordeal I’ve found history books to be; but most of this was quite easy to get through, with character studies of the major participants interwoven with excerpts of letters and diary entries written by officers and soldiers, and the author’s personal experience of visiting the various battlegrounds of the Gallipoli peninsula almost a century later. He gives a very raw and graphic account of what the men went through and the conditions they had to endure. He also makes it clear that the senior officers in charge of the campaign were completely unsuited for their roles, and the men under them suffered for it.

The only difficulty I had was trying to keep up with the many different battle venues and the various regiments and their officers. I think part of my problem was my ignorance of the geography. Until reading the book the only locations I’d ever heard of were Anzac Cove and Lone Pine, the places at the centre of Australian Anzac mythology. I sometimes felt overwhelmed by the many names of people and places. At times it was hard to remember who was who, where was where and who was where at what time.

When I neared the half-way point of the book I bought a similarly sized volume, also called Gallipoli, by Peter Fitzsimons. To get a foretaste of that book I read Fitzsimons’ introduction where he advised the reader to use the book’s maps to become familiar with the geography of the region before starting to read. Following that advice would have probably helped me through parts of the Carlyon book, and might have prevented me from imagining the events taking place on the peninsula’s eastern coast instead of the Aegean coast to the west.

MasefieldI also found another book with the same title, written by John Masefield. Having recently read Les Carlyon’s highly respected account of the Gallipoli conflict I was keen to read a contemporary view. Masefield wrote his short book in 1916, the year after the Gallipoli campaign.

When I saw that he had dedicated his book with the inscription: “deepest respect to General Sir Ian Hamilton” I suspected his view might be a little different to the one expressed in the Carlyon book which had been very critical of the British leadership of the campaign, and my suspicion was soon confirmed.
Compared to the Carlyon book, Masefield’s gives a different sense of the horror of what was experienced. Carlyon’s view is grittier, giving a stronger sense of the soldier’s daily life surrounded by death, decay and omnipresent flies. Masefield doesn’t hold back the details of death and sacrifice, but his descriptions seem more sanitised and palatable, having an aura of honour and glory, vivid but with a poetic grandeur. And while he does mention the plague of flies he writes: “Our camps and trenches were kept clean; they were well scavenged daily. But only a few yards away were the Turk trenches, which were invariably filthy: there the flies bred undisturbed”. Unlike Carlyon he gives no mention of the countless decaying bodies between the trenches that were the more likely breeding ground for the flies.

Maybe that sanitising is predictable considering Masefield was writing in 1916 and there were still men “gloriously” dying in the trenches of Europe at the time and there was a constant need to recruit replacements. A true picture of what they would encounter might make them think twice. Instead Masefield emphasises the bravery of the men fighting. The men and their actions are portrayed in an elevated and mythical way. “All that they felt was a gladness of exultation that their young courage was to be used. They went like kings in a pageant to the imminent death”. Such a portrayal would likely appeal to young men seeking an adventure to prove themselves.

Masefield’s strength is that he strips everything back to the basics to give a good “beginner’s” introduction, uncomplicated by analysis of character and strategy. He doesn’t go into complex detail but describes what happens at a few select locations, and through his poet’s eye adding vivid images like this, describing the landing at Anzac Cove:

“All the blackness was shot with little spurts of fire, and streaks of fire, and malignant bursts of fire, and arcs and glows and crawling snakes of fire, and the moon rose, and looked down upon it all”

But despite the poetic view he gives, and despite the clarity he gives to a series of events, he also gets carried away with strange interpretations of events, that are clearly coloured by the romanticised and mythic viewpoint encompassing his account:

“At Bulair, one man, Lieutenant Freyberg, swam from a destroyer towing a little raft of flares. Near the shore he lit two of these flares, then, wading to the land, he lit others at intervals along the coast; then he wandered inland, naked, on a personal reconnaissance, and soon found a large Turkish army strongly entrenched. Modesty forbade further intrusion.”

Would it be “modesty” that prevented a solitary naked and unarmed man from wandering around and confronting “a large Turkish Army” or the fact that naked or otherwise, he was in no position to achieve anything by engaging that army by himself. The implication that I read into Masefield’s account, is that Freyburg wouldn’t have withdrawn from the situation had he at least been wearing a pair of speedos to protect his modesty.

To me that example betrays a sense of unreality where the actual horrors of war are obscured by the same kind of heroic rhetoric used to recruit the war’s countless willing participants. The difference between the experience of the men on the ground and the mythicised images of glorious battle is as wide as the gulf between the conditions endured by the average soldier who couldn’t keep flies out of his food and drink and those experienced by the senior officers, away from the death and decay, sipping their port or whiskey each evening as they consider the day’s events.

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The Water Diviner

water divinerRussell Crowe’s film The Water Diviner is part of the growing focus on the 1915 Gallipoli campaign leading up to the event’s centenary.

It’s the story of a bereaved father who travels to Turkey to find the remains of his three sons killed in the conflict and return them to Australia.

Crowe plays the father, Joshua Conner, an Australian farmer with a talent for water divining, a skill useful on his drought ridden farm. He’s confident that his skill can also locate his dead sons.

Through his quest Connor learns about the campaign that robbed him of his sons and its cost to fighters on both sides of the conflict. Despite an official end to hostilities, peace has not been obtained and he finds himself caught up in some of the continuing violence.

This film was another part in my attempt to find out more about the approaching Anzac Day centenary. While portrayal of the actual Gallipoli conflict plays a relatively small part of the film, it is at the heart of everything; its effects linger in the lives of all of the characters four years after that particular series of battles ended.

There are a few scenes depicting Connor’s sons in battle that show the brutality of a conflict fought with weapons ranging from machine guns to rifles, bayonets and any blunt instrument that comes to hand. Death came on open ground where there was little cover to stop a soldier being cut to shreds by machine gun fire, as well as in claustrophobic trenches where it was barely possible to recognise enemy from friend. Those battle scenes aren’t pretty, but it’s the human suffering afterwards that is harder to watch (and hear). This isn’t an action movie where death comes cheaply and frequently, usually with a wise-crack from the hero. Death lingers and delays its coming leaving victims wailing with the pain suffered in their torn bodies.

One of the things that makes this story different to others about Gallipoli, is its view of the Turkish side of things: that the Turks were being invaded and were protecting their homeland, and that they suffered greater losses than all other participants combined: over 86,000 dead and 164,000 wounded compared to 44,150 dead and 97,000 wounded from the British led allies.

(http://www.anzacsite.gov.au/2visiting/tgallipoli.html and http://www.nzhistory.net.nz/media/interactive/gallipoli-casualties-country)

The film doesn’t glorify war and doesn’t set out to lay blame; it brings recognition of the dehumanising effects of war that can make anyone capable of regrettable acts and gives hope of the possibility of reconciliation and forgiveness afterwards.

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A Chaplain at Gallipoli

BestJohn Masefield, mentioned in an earlier post could have been describing a different war to the one witnessed by Kenneth Best.
Best clearly writes from personal experience, while to me, Masefield’s account of Gallipoli seems to lack the authenticity that experience alone provides.

As an Australian my main interest is the Australian involvement at Gallipoli and why it has become such a focal point of our national identity.

Masefield described the Anzacs as if they were semi-divine in appearance, true Olympians and nothing like the scrawny troops from his own country but Best’s view was less complimentary describing the Aussies as reckless and undisciplined.

He has this to say about the Australian troops in Egypt prior to their departure for Gallipoli:

“No discipline. They obey commands, turn up on parade only if it suits them. They go for a route march, take towels and go swimming whatever the objective of the route march may have been”..

“General Maxwell desires not to be left alone with Aussie troops. Source of anxiety to medics, despair to officers and menace to Egypt and yet papers are full of their loyalty and efficiency. Why not put them in the front line, as David did to Uriah?” *

Masefield and Best also portray the battleground very differently from each other.
Best doesn’t pull any punches when it comes to describing the conditions and the overwhelming presence of the dead:

“Blood flies and smell – I shall never forget it. As one crawled along the trench, hands and legs of the dead hanging over the edge would strike one’s face. Here and there a familiar face, cold in death. Heartbreaking work”

Masefield’s battleground seemed to remain well-swept and spick and span (except of those dirty Turks who intentionally bred flies in their trenches to inconvenience the invaders).

It’s been helpful to read different perspectives of the Gallipoli campaign, but while I’ve found contemporary reports very interesting, I see the benefit of viewing events from a distance: the later historian can weigh up evidence from various sources away from the fervour, prejudices and limited viewpoint of those caught up in the actual events.

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* a biblical reference to this:

2 Samuel 11:14-15 “In the morning David wrote a letter to Joab and sent it with Uriah. In it he wrote, ‘Put Uriah out in front where the fighting is fiercest. Then withdraw from him so that he will be struck down and die.’ ”

Full context can be read here:

https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=2 Samuel+11&version=NIVUK

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The Price of Valour, by John Hamilton

price valourThe latest book in my Gallipoli quest is Price of Valour, a biography about Hugo Throssell VC.

Throssell, had survived some of the worst parts of the Gallipoli campaign. He was one of the few to live through the suicidal attack at the Nek, where wave after wave of charging Australian troops were cut to pieces by machine gun fire. Appeals to senior officers to stop the attack were rejected and the waves of troops sent to certain death continued. Only a few, Throssell included, managed to find cover and eventually edge their way back to safety.

Soon afterwards he became part of a move to take and hold “Hill 60”, where a partial trench was taken from the Turks who were kept apart from Australian troops only by a barrier of sandbags. The opposing sides attacked each other by throwing bombs into the trench occupied by their opponents. Survival meant catching the bomb before its short fuse burnt through and throwing it back to its source. Several men lost hands and arms during the several hours that this went on. Throssell was one of the few survivors, who despite being shot through the neck and his back peppered with bomb fragments, returned to the battle after being evacuated for medical attention. It was this involvement that earned him the Victoria Cross.

After the Gallipoli campaign he received a lengthy break for medical attention. During this time an attempt to correct a problem with his nose caused a penetration of his brain cavity from which fluid leaked and led to serious infection that caused problems throughout the rest of his life.

His final military experience was in Palestine where he was wounded again, but more tragically it was here that his brother Ric was killed. Later in the year he was part of the final assault on Jerusalem and was chosen to be part of the guard of honour when the victorious General Allenby entered the city.

Exalted to the status of hero after being award a Victoria Cross for actions at Gallipoli, after his return home he was soon pushed off the pedestal upon which he’d been placed, when he spoke out against war, saying that peace would never be achieved while some people could make substantial profits from war. This didn’t go down well in his conservative community, particularly after his marriage to writer Katherine Susannah Prichard, a committed socialist writer who became one of the earliest members of the Communist Party in Australia.

The effects of his war experience, the wounds he received, the legacy of a bungled wartime operation that gave him mild brain damage, the suspicions of his community, followed by the Great Depression when he fell into serious financial trouble – all led to his eventual suicide.

The book’s title is very appropriate and shows a different perspective of the glorious Anzac myth.

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The Other Anzacs by Peter Rees

Other AnzacsThe Other Anzacs is the story of some of the ANZAC heroes of World War 1, who weren’t given the official recognition they deserved.

They are the nurses who travelled across half the world to do what they could for the “British” war effort. Unable to take up arms, they dedicated themselves to saving the lives of the victims of battle and disease, and were confronted daily by countless deaths and unspeakable battle wounds.

The book draws heavily on the personal accounts of the nurses, using their diaries and letters to find a way into their experiences and their emotions.

The book was adapted into a recent TV series Anzac Girls, and a paperback edition of the book was released under that new title. I bought the paperback edition and then watched the series before reading the book. Before I was able to get around to the book I found a hardcover edition, signed by the author, in an antiques and collectables shop. I bought it and gave the unread paperback to my mum.
anzac girls
The series chose to concentrate on only five of the nurses from the book, but they gave a good representation of the general nursing experience throughout the war. Watching the series didn’t detract at all from the later reading experience.

One aspect of the book that interested me was finding out the many local references. I found several of the nurses had links to nearby places I know. That gives me some interesting possibilities for further study. I even found that one of them lived nearby after the war and is now buried in the cemetery less than half a kilometre from my home.

While the men they nursed recognised the worth of their work, from the beginning the nurses had to contend with a bureaucracy that didn’t want women involved in that kind of war work. And yet the women soon had an effect, at times having to literally build up hospital facilities from scratch with very limited supplies.

Grace Wilson's medals

Grace Wilson’s medals

Matron Grace Wilson (see photo on book cover) found patients having to lie out in the open on the Island of Lemnos when she and her nurses were transferred there to establish the closest hospital to the Gallipoli battle front. The nurses even had to resort to tearing up clothing to provide bandages.

Peter Rees writes that on Lemnos “The conditions were probably the worst experienced by any nurses during the war.” But despite that Wilson and her nurses were able to create a hospital that was able to keep death rates to a minimum.

Despite their essential work the sacrifices they made and the dangers they faced, the nurses (considered officers in rank) were only paid a fraction of what the orderlies working for them received. Likewise, after the war they were denied any of the entitlements that were offered to returned servicemen which included financial help with housing loans. Rees writes ” Authorities in Australia saw the nurses’ role as secondary to that of the soldier.” He later adds “Australia was slow to acknowledge the nurses who served in the war. This was belatedly rectified in October 1999 when a memorial to Australian nurses who served in all wars was unveiled on Anzac Parade in Canberra.

nurses memorial, Canberra

nurses memorial, Canberra




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