Brisbane 1917
I need not fear my enemies, the most they can do is attack me.
I need not fear my friends, the most they can do is betray me.
But I have much to fear from people who are indifferent.
Russian proverb
Our Joseph Hill
Australia Will Be There The Commonwealth of Australia, Is a link in the Empire chain, Which has been sorely tested, And stoutly stood the strain, Its wide open spaces, Will give a welcome true, To all who come and settle, With friends both old and new. Rally round the banner of your country, Take the field with brothers o’er the foam On land or sea, where-ever you be, Keep your eye on Liberty, But England, home and beauty Have no cause to fear; Should auld acquaintance be forgot? No! No! No! No! No! Australia will be there, Australia will be there. “Skipper” W. W. Francis
Extract from the diary of Joseph Hill
Somewhere in Brisbane (not France. Ha ha!)
March 1917
Dear Comrade,
‘Some days change the world,’ Segeyev says. He is right. Today was one of those days. You should have seen us, Comrade. You should have heard my speech! Let’s just say that today is a new beginning for Yours Truly. What’s changed you ask … I have … because I did something. Something they’ll write about in the papers tomorrow with me right up in the headlines:
JOSEPH HILL SPREADS SOCIALIST CONTAGION!
Yes, you’re right Comrade, I need to stop my self-congratulations and draw the picture properly for you don’t I?
Molly, Mick and I, and some other Peace Army kids, spent the morning at Trades Hall – cutting, stitching and painting a big banner and making ribbon rosettes – red for Socialist, green for Sinn Fein and white for Peace. All good fun. The afternoon was hot.
Mother suggested we join Miss Thorpe, Mrs Griffiths and the other Women’s Peace Army ladies for lunch in the Botanical Gardens – they had corned beef sandwiches, scones and pineapple cordial. The little ones were keen as mustard! I admit, the scones were very tasty.
After a quick lunch we pulled up stumps ready to head off to the march. Miss Thorpe had suggested we take our banner along with us, just to be sure, and sure enough, by the time the young’uns had finished eating, and we’d dodged a downpour, the march had begun without us. We did get to give our banner a showing though, when we met up with the parade at the end of Queen Street. Dad scowled at me for having missed the start – mainly because the Children’s Peace Army banner was supposed to be leading. You know how cranky he gets when his best-laid plans go awry. We did manage to be at the front most of the way down to the Domain.
You should have seen us, Comrade! What a rowdy commitment we made. A milling ocean of red-raggers and pacifists and conscientious objectors all demanding an end to any talk of Conscription. What a noise we made too from under our sea of parasols and hats and flags, placards and banners. We raised the city from its Sunday slumbers, to be sure – as dear Molly would say. Leading that march made me so proud. It was right that I should lead because I was right to demand peace for all the children, in all the nations of the world. I was right to … but I do get carried away. Back to the story, Joe Hill!
I was shaking like a leaf inside as we marched.
I looked back up the street for reassurance. You should have seen them, Comrade. Being with them gives me goosebumps every time. One commitment of free men and women, with scarlet flags floating blood-red above them. They looked like the flags of a galleon from my old “Boy’s Own” adventure stories. A peace armada in full sail, streaming past the purple and red bougainvillea on the fences, and all singing, singing, singing. We sang The Red Flag. Everybody cheered so loudly when we finished. Then Dad called up to the onlookers on the verandahs of the Bellevue Hotel,
‘Join the Socialist March to Peace!’
One old squatter from a top floor balcony yelled down,
‘You Socialists believe in Karl Marx? That’s a bloody German name!’ Before the squatter’s smirk had a chance to fade, Dad responded,
‘Marx is a German? Crikey, you had me worried, cobber! Thank Christ he’s not the Kaiser’s cousin or we’d call him the bloody King!’
The Russian, Segeyev, catcalled,
‘King! Kaiser! Csar! We know who your cousins are!’ Everyone took up the cry. The squatter retired, with a final dig,
‘To hell with you and your Russian kikes, Kamerade!’
But Dad just laughed at him, like he does.
‘Don’t worry about that bloke,’ he said to the Russians, ‘his nose is too close to his arse. Everything smells like shit to him!’ Segeyev laughed but Madorsky growled. That Madorsky’s always looking for a stoush, Comrade.
Mick took the mick out of the Government agents in the crowd by mimicking them. He held an imaginary notebook out at arm’s length and bunged on a weaselly voice like Prime Minister, Billy Hughes’.
‘These notes will be assessed for “seditious content, or intent” under the War Precautions Act. Anyone found guilty will be sent to Canberra for a term of three years – to be served locked in a sheep paddock.’ The faces he pulled along with it were the very picture. Molly was laughing and laughing and the “black devils” all went red as the flag. I wish I could think of funny things to say to make her laugh but I must stop thinking such thoughts. She’s Mick’s girl and that’s that.
Comrade, you should have seen the placards and signs and banners. Ours had “Children’s Peace Army” on a huge bit of calico Mrs Griffiths said she’d been keeping just for us. The words were surrounded by fabric flowers and peace doves the young ‘uns made. We’d stuck a couple of Trades Hall broom handles in either end. Molly held one and I held the other. She looked so proud.
Then the Women’s Peace Army women showed their placards.
“Death to Conscription”,
“Don’t Fight This Filthy Bosses’ War”
“Thou Shalt Not Kill”
And an old one from the first Anti-Conscription rally,
“I Won’t Support The Blood Vote”.
Miss Thorpe reckons that they, the ladies, have marched together so many times they’re better at it than the soldiers. I told her she had to be good at marching to be in the Peace “Army”. She thought that was funny and pulled my hat down over my nose.
The ladies’ ankle-boots tapped the hard road like a Morse code warning – We … Vote … Vote … Vote! I tell you what, Comrade, I’d think twice if I saw that lot coming down the street at me!
