and obviously with an important message to be delivered. The messenger reached them, handed over the envelope and then slumped on the ground, exhausted.
Major Jeffries read the message, shook his head, and read it out aloud to his comrade.
‘A number of cases have lately occurred of men failing to salute the army commander when passing in his car, in spite of the fact that the car carries his flag upon the bonnet. This practice must cease.’
Signed General Gough
‘Where’s his fucking priorities? The man’s a lunatic!’ complained Captain Menzies.
‘I couldn’t agree more. Now, getting back to Gibraltar...’
‘First the bastard denies us the support we need with an artillery barrage because his reports show there are no Germans on the north side which, judging from the constant sniper fire, is bullshit. Now, just as we are about to attack the biggest ugliest German fortification for miles, the idiot tells us we have to make sure our boys salute the pompous bastard as he drives past in his Rolls fucking Royce.’
‘Bruce, don’t worry about him, the reality is he’s completely out of touch, but unfortunately, we’re obliged to follow his orders. If our diggers refuse to salute, we’re obliged to give them a smack on the bottom. Now, I think we’ve agreed on a plan of attack, so let’s go and take the bitch and kill a few Germans.’
‘Yes, sir.’
The First and Third Battalions attacked Gibraltar early that day, capturing twenty-three prisoners. Their elation was short-lived; the British artillery started blasting K Trench, which was quite close to Gibraltar, necessitating the Australians’ vacation of the premises.
Determined, they came back in the afternoon and captured it yet again.
Moo Cow Farm
Mouquet Farm
Chapter 3
12 August 1916
George and his remaining cobbers were in a large, reasonably dry shell hole, trying to get some sleep in the main street of what was the village of Pozières. Sleep deprivation was a soldier’s second greatest enemy after the Krauts. The noise of artillery from the belligerents, the ubiquitous rats, and lice all contributed to a bad night sleep.
Reveille sounded at 4.15am. George kicked Dick who had slept through the bugle; Dick was the exception to the rule… the bugger could sleep if a shell exploded next to him.
The diggers packed their gear and got ready to move on, assembling at Pozières where the stench of dead bodies permeated the air.
They were marched about another two miles through destroyed terrain, heading for Mouquet Farm.
‘Hey George, do ya think it’s gunna get any easier on us from now on?’ questioned Albert.
‘You’ve got to be fucking joking, Albert; I reckon it’s only gotta get worse.’
Just then Fritz got wind of the attackers and hailed them with shells. Many diggers lost their lives in the first barrage. The band of four survived yet again; maybe lady luck was playing her part.
The surviving soldiers reached their line but were told not to get too comfortable.
‘Right men, we need to move forward approximately two hundred and fifty yards, and secure a new position from there. We will launch an attack on the farmhouse,’ Major John Jeffries ordered. ‘By the way, if you see General Gough in his Rolls Royce out there, I want you all to salute. Is that clear?’
‘What the fuck is he talking about, mate?’
‘Fucked if I know, but if I see Gough I’ll be sure to give him the salute,’ George whispered.
‘I’ll give you the signal to move over at 10.30pm. Is that clear? Pass it on up the line.’
The whistle was blown at 10.30pm on the dot. The Australian soldiers went over the top and ran towards their objective, Mouquet Farm.
The Germans were expecting them, so artillery fire and machine gun fire wreaked havoc among the diggers, and many died that night.
The Australians finally took possession of the farm, but at what cost? Three thousand five hundred young soldiers lost their lives in the first attack.
The four diggers were still together lying down among the rubble of what was once a beautiful farmhouse.
‘Albert, look what I’ve found.’
‘Holy shit, mate, what are you going to do with him?’
‘I have a good mind to shoot him in the balls but I think I’ll take pity on the poor Kraut bastard,’ Sam expressed with a touch of sarcasm.
‘Well, we better put him to work digging our defence trench before his mad mates return,’ said Albert.
The young German soldier standing in front of them looked terrified, fearing these Australians would shoot him then and there. When Albert offered him a spade the look of relief on his face was obvious. The German prisoner began digging with great gusto, ensuring that his captors would keep him at their side. The last thing he wanted to do was go back to the German front line; he’d much rather be a prisoner of war and stay alive.
Just when the boys thought they may get some shuteye, the German artillery started up again; it became a constant barrage for the remainder of the night. The casualty rate was climbing.
With the arrival of dawn, George and his mates could see what carnage had taken place overnight. There were dead bodies everywhere. Some had lost limbs, others had lost their heads… it was like a slaughter yard.
George dragged their German prisoner, assembled the other blokes and started to bury the slain as best they could. Covered, the rats couldn’t get to them.
‘I don’t know about you blokes, but I’m fucking starving. We haven’t had anything since yesterday morning,’ George said.
‘Yeah, I could go with a can of bully right now,’ agreed Dick.
‘Well, I think the bad news is we’re not gunna get anything anytime soon,’ George claimed.
Just then, the German artillery started up again. They could now see the enemy’s position. Their shells were starting to find their
