Major Oliver Hogue - Love Letters From An Anzac

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Text originally published in 1916 under the same title.

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Although in most cases we have retained the Authors original spelling and grammar to authentically reproduce the work of the Author and the original intent of such material, some additional notes and clarifications have been added for the modern readers benefit.

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Love Letters of an Anzac

OLIVER HOGUE

Contents

To

M. A. K.

at whose feet I have loitered and lingered, listened and laughed, learned and loved.

SYDNEY,

September 17, 1914.

MY DEAREST JEAN,

Ive got news for you, Honey bunch: startling news potent with grave possibilities for us both. Its the biggest item of news which any young man can, in these stirring days, tell to his sweetheart. Aye, your own heart will have told you. Im a soldier of the King! I write it proudly: I could do nothing other than enlist.

This is going to be a big war, a long war, the greatest war this old world has ever seen. Within a year the streets of Sydney will be placarded with big posters, Your Country needs you I dont want to go to war as the result of the importunity of Kitchener. I dont want my friends to point their fingers at me and say, Why dont you go? Most of all, darling, I dont want you to lift your lovely blue eyes to mine, wondering if I will play the man. I want you to feel and know that when the Empire called, you r MAN answered.

I fought it all out the other night, Honey. I weighed the pros and cons so judiciously. I reminded myself that I was thirty-four years of age, and that it was right and proper for all the younger men to go first. I looked round my library at all my books and thought of the bitterness of parting Scott and Andrew Lang, Bums and LaneAllen, Tennyson and Rudyard Kipling, Ogilvie and Henry Kendall, Carlyle and Rider Haggard. The names, standing for widely different ideas, seemed to stand out from the books imploringly, reminding me of all the happy hours we had spent together. I let my hand rest lovingly on some old pocket editions that had shared with me many a ramble.... I smoked another cigar and remembered with a kind of shudder that cigars are not always procurable on active service.

Then, with a rush, came thoughts of the rigours and horrors of war: cold, sleepless nights; long weary marches; hot, thirsty days; fierce, bloody battle; maybe wounds and death. Death! Fancy dying with so little done and so much to do! I had given so little to the world in return for all the good things showered on me. I had done so little for Old England in return for my priceless British Citizenship. And sunny Australialand of my birth: year after year I had roamed her fertile fields, sailed her tropic seas and climbed her rugged mountains. How little had I given in return!

How trivial my services towards the making of the nation....

I thought the whole thing out, dearest one. I fought the whole thing out, and I felt I could go out to battle for Empire, leaving behind home and friends and ease and comfort and all the good things that flesh is heir to. But I was not quite sure, my darling, if I could leave you. Then I looked up at the wall and saw your picture the one I love. Near bycuriously apposite was the picture of His Majesty, King George V. Somehow the final tussle resolved itself into King or Love. You know Ive no silly ideas of Divine Right. Oliver Cromwell knocked all that nonsense on the head a few centuries ago. But I do realize all that the King stands for. And so I stood irresolute, gazing first on one picture, then on the other....For a brief space I thought Id toss for it; I even took a coin from my pocket. Then I scouted that idea as silly and cowardly: I alone had to make my decision; I could not trust it to the spin of a coin.

I took your picture down from the wall and gazed at it, oh, so fondly....There could be only one answer....You always were my inspiration....And I could have sworn the picture smiled approval when I made the great decision. You know it was not that I loved thee less, but Empire more. I could not love thee, dear, so well, loved I not honour more. Id often heard that, but never knew what it meant till now. God bless you, my own.

I went up to the barracks in the morning. The rush was, is, still on. Since the Prime Minister offered 20,000 men for the service of the Empire, there has been a great rush of patriotic volunteers. It would have gladdened Kitcheners heart to see them. I went straight to the Commandant, and he was awfully nice. I cant write down all the kind things he said. Major Irvine asked me to come along to the 1st Australian Infantry Brigade, and he would try and get me a commission. I thanked him, but said I had decided for the Light Horse. Then I went round to the mounted men. But the officers had all been selected, and there were hundreds more mounted mensun-tanned bushmen from all parts of sunny New South Wales offering than were needed. Also I heard that there were over a hundred applicants for commissions in the next Light Horse regiment. I was terribly disappointed, sweetheart, but there seemed only one thing to do and I did it. I went straight out to camp at Rosebery Park and enlisted as a trooper....

We cant leave for the front for some time yet, my sweet one. But come down to town as soon as you can. Im longing to see you. I know youll be brave, full of smiles and commendations. But hurry. Think of all the long and weary months we must spend apart. Now that Im a soldier of the King I can get only a few hours leave. Otherwise Id take the first train for Erringhi. Wire when youre coming. The next few days will be terribly long without you.

Till we meet, Heart of my Heart,

Your Soldier,

JIM BLUEGUM.

PS.You might motor across to Maitland and catch the express. I know you love the old river, but the boat journey takes half a day longer and Im just aching to see you.J. B.

ROSEBERY PARK CAMP,

September 21, 1914.

DEAREST JEAN,

Your telegram to hand, and I will try and run with patience the race that is set before me. But a week seems such a terribly long time to wait. Dont be an hour longer or Ill desert and bolt straight for Erringhi.

Its not so easy becoming a soldier of the King as it sounds in the papers. Australia is sending only the best. The medical examination is very severe. The eyesight test is strict, and the riding test is so strenuous that scores of city bushmen have been grassed and relegated to the ranks of the infantry. There are a few thousand soldiers in camp, and the riding exhibitions afford endless entertainment and amusement. When the Light Horse get to the front they will be horsemen all right.

Quite a number of splendid countrymentall, athletic fellowshave been sent to the infantry and artillery; too heavy for Light Horsemen. The powers that be wont have men over twelve stone in the mounted brigade. So I was glad for the nonce that I was only eleven stone. In the Medical Officers hut, the man in front of me was a veritable Hercules; over six feet and with beautiful muscles rippling over his bare arms and shoulders. I quite envied him. But the doctor just jerked out in staccato accents, Fine man, too heavy for Light Horse. Go to infantry. Next. Ah, youre the type. Eleven stone? Good.