Chapter 5 First Diggers; Lanc Crew; Sydney fought a Zeppelin; Borneo Incident; Tac Signs

THE FIRST DIGGERS

It has often been proclaimed that Australia grew to nationhood on the beaches of Gallipoli in 1915. But it should not be forgotten that the world had been given a glimpse of that maturity a full thirty years before.

In 1885, a tiny force of 750 soldiers left Australia to fight beside English troops in the Sudan, the first colonial volunteer force raised for service overseas. These were the first Diggers - the New South Wales Contingent.

In 1883 Britain was undergoing a crisis. She found herself engaged in an unhappy conflict in the Sudan against a force of 50,000 Arabs led by the Mahdi, self-proclaimed Messiah. With war clouds looming in Europe and India, and without an ally outside the Empire, Britain was in no position to send great armies to put down this rebellion.

The British Government therefore decided on withdrawal, and General Gordon, who had been a successful governor of the Sudan, undertook the task of getting the remaining British forces out of the Sudan with a minimum loss of prestige.

Gordon set up headquarters in Khartoum and breathed a spirit of confidence into the garrison, even cabling the British Government to urge the conquest of the Sudan. But the Mahdi's forces were stronger than ever, and even the prospect of withdrawal became increasingly difficult. Khartoum itself was besieged. For the three hundred and seventeen days of the siege the eyes of the world were on the city and its gallant defender. On 26 January 1885, Khartoum fell and Gordon was reported to
have been "betrayed and massacred". It was a severe blow to British prestige, and public
opinion in Britain cried "Avenge Gordon!"

The news of Gordon's death was published in Sydney on 11 February. The next day, while citizens were still reading about it, Acting Premier William Bede Dalley conferred with military commanders, called a Cabinet meeting, and before lunch had sent the following cable to the New South Wales Agent General in London:

"The Government offer to Her Majesty's Government two batteries of the Permanent Field Artillery with ten 16-pounder guns, properly horsed. also an effective and disciplined battalion of infantry 500 strong; the artillery will be under the command of Colonel Roberts R.A., the whole force under the command of Colonel Richardson the Commandant, and undertaking to land the force at Suakin within 30 days from embarkation. Reply at once. W. B. Dalley 12 February 1885."

Within three days a reply to the offer had been received notifying the British Government's acceptance "with much satisfaction". Not to be outdone by the mother colony, Victoria, Queensland and South Australia cabled similar offers, but these were declined. The New South Wales Contingent was the first armed force raised by a British colony and dispatched overseas.

In these days of giant armies it is hard to realize that the offer of such a tiny force could cause a stir not only in England and Australia but in the European press as well. In England the newspapers were full of praise. The Daily Telegraph said: "It seemed as if at one stride Australia had taken her place as a Power that must be reckoned with." Reuter's correspondent in Berlin reported that the New South Wales offer had made a "tremendous and deep impression in the German capital". Most impressed was Italy, at that time pro-British and particularly interested in the Sudan.

The reason for the world-wide interest in the New South Wales Contingent was its significance. In making a voluntary offer of practical assistance the colonies had scotched the generally - accepted idea that the Empire was losing its unity, and had shown that in time of war they were no longer a liability but could be relied upon for support. This attitude foreshadowed Australia's automatic participation in the South African War and the World Wars of 1914-18 and 1939-45.

In New South Wales the public reaction was largely favourable and enthusiastic. Dalley's action in committing the colony to such an undertaking appears to have been quite unconstitutional, but public opinion backed him. Carried on a wave of jubilant patriotism the public quickly subscribed £100,000 to establish a widows and dependants' fund. Individual firms made generous gifts to the contingent, including huge quantities of spirits. Recruiting was set up at Victoria Barracks, and volunteers were not wanting.

The men were issued with smart uniforms: scarlet tunic and blue trousers, pipe-clayed helmet and equipment and little pillbox cap all hastily borrowed from the Volunteer Infantry Force. The rates of pay are interesting in comparison with those of today:-the gunner or private got 2 shillings & 3 pence a day with 2/9 deferred pay; it rose to 5/6 and 4/ respectively for a sergeant major. Rates for commissioned officers extended from £325 annually for a junior lieutenant to the Commandant's £1,250. A wife's allotment was 2/- a day, with 6d. for each dependent child. These rates must have looked more than handsome to the "bob-a-day Tommy" who was to be their comrade in arms.

Amid all the enthusiasm there were voices of protest, small in numbers but loud and vigorous. Former Premier Sir Henry Parkes emerged from his mountain retreat to pen scathing letters to the press. He denied "the existence of any national crisis calling for the interference of a colony of 900,000 souls in the military movements of the Empire". The Bulletin ridiculed the project as a jingoistic stunt, and referred to the "bloody invasion of the Mahdi's country". It pointed out that Gordon had not been "betrayed" but lost in fair warfare, and that to send military aid to avenging British forces was

"To strike a blow for tyranny and wrong

To crush the weak and aid the oppressing strong."

But the majority of citizens seemed to look on Dalley's offer as a chance to show the world that the colony had grown up. an was worth every penny of the £300,000 it was likely to cost.

There was no security of troop movements to worry about in those days. At Bathurst 14,000 citizens gathered at the railway station to see their eighteen volunteers leave for Sydney. Similar enthusiasm marked farewells in all the leading country centres, while the crowd which lined the streets of Sydney to farewell the contingent was the densest ever assembled in the capital. After parading through the streets the contingent embarked at Circular Quay while 200,000 cheered themselves hoarse and more than a hundred craft jostled for positions in the harbour. The two troopships Iberia and Australasian pulled out the same afternoon, 3 March, just fifteen days from the day the force was accepted.

The contingent's complement was 750 all ranks, and 200 horses. The infantry battalion numbered 522, but they could scarcely be called, at that stage, the "effective and disciplined battalion" Dalley had promised. Few of the officers or men had had experience of warfare, while some were still having trouble in making a right turn. The gunners, however, were highly trained, being a battery of the permanent forces of those days; the British War Office had decided that one battery was sufficient, and had promised to supply them with six 9-pounder guns on their arrival in Africa.

The troops appear to have been rather cramped in their quarters - hammocks were suspended over the mess tables and gear was stowed nearby; many were early casualties to seasickness. However, there were good reports of the food. The daily programme reads very much like that of a modern troopship from Reveille at 6 a.m. to Lights Out at 9.15 p.m. The exception is the issue of grog at 1.30 .

In addition to watches and fatigues there was some drill and a daily bathing parade - under a hose. Off duty the troops read, played cards, boxed, sang, or listened to the band.

The contingent was bound for Suakin, where General Graham, V.C., was concentrating most of his force of 12,500 troops. Suakin was an historic and picturesque port on the Red Sea, of great strategic importance. Twelve months before, Graham had inflicted defeats on slave-trader and guerrilla leader Osman Digna, but Digna still had a large force based at Tamai, twenty-one miles to the southeast. Graham's object was to build a railway as rapidly as possible from Suakin to Berber on the Nile, a distance of 400 miles, or eight days forced camel march. In order to protect the railway workers Graham decided to attack the wells at Hasheen. On 20 March most of Suakin Force moved out in square. The square was attacked by Digna with 3,000 spearmen, but the square held and Digna fled to Tamai leaving a third of his men dead.

Graham's next move was to attack Tamai itself to establish a station there. A mixed force under Brigadier-General McNeil had reached Tofrik when the fanatical Digna struck again. This time the
square broke but re-formed and killed 1,500 Arabs in the twenty minutes' fighting. Once more the guerrilla leader fled.

These two victorious engagements (at Hasheen and Tofrik) took place only a few days before the arrival of the Iberia in Suakin harbour on 29 March. The Australians were disappointed to learn that they had just missed the two biggest engagements of the campaign, but they were given a great welcome and General Graham told them that he had waited for their arrival before moving on Tamai again.

The contingent was happy to be brigaded with troops who were not only desert veterans but the elite of the British Army - a Guards Brigade. The Tommies in turn were pleased to find that these "Walers", as they called them, were the same colour as themselves and spoke a language only slightly more colourful ! The Australians swapped their thick bright red jackets and blue trousers for the British khaki drill and dyed their pipe-clayed equipment with coffee or tobacco-juice. Suakin Force was considered well equipped by Crimean War standards, but was very poorly armed by comparison with the British Army which was to take the Sudan in the war of 1896-99. The standard small arms weapon was the clumsy Martini-Henry.

There were no automatic weapons, artillery was primitive, and such things as fire discipline and the laws of scientific musketry were little understood.

The army moved with fixed bayonets in a hollow square, with its non-combatant elements enclosed, and at each halt turned outwards.

For long halts they constructed a zareba, a chest-high brushwood shelter which was manned shoulder to shoulder. A far cry from the desert war of tanks and dive-bombers and the El Alamein barrage!

But the order of battle reveals one small link with the technique of modern warfare-the balloon detachment, of one officer and fifteen other ranks.

The Australians did not have much time to find their land legs. Within a few days the advance to Tamai began. A contemporary account of the march, written by one of the contingent's officers, Lieutenant William Cope, gives a clear idea of the type of warfare:

"We struck tents on the night of the 1st of April and slept by our arms until 1.30 a.m., when we breakfasted and started on our journey. It was to me, and also, I think, to every man, an imposing sight. The reveille sounded, and shortly afterwards 10,000 armed men were marching in the starlight across the desert. They formed an immense square, whose sides were about a mile long, and which enclosed and protected within this long fence some 2,000 camp followers, with hundreds of camels, mules and horses, carrying water and the usual impedimenta of an army.

"In advance of the square were the Mounted Infantry, and on the flanks the Bengal Lancers, acting as skirmishers. As the march proceeded a dense cloud of dust rose which in a measure obscured the view, and thickly coated men and horses. The progress of such an army is necessarily slow, so that several hours elapsed before the scene of the most recent engagement was reached. Here were lying the bodies of men and camels, a sickening spectacle.

"After a short halt at the zareba at this place we went on in the dust and in the pitiless sun, which made several fellows ill. When about four miles from Tamai, General Graham sent up a captive balloon, in which was situated an officer appointed to inspect from his aerial station the position of the enemy. The balloon was taken forward on the march for about a mile, and was of great service in determining our course.

"About two miles from Tamai the Mounted Infantry occupied the heights, which had been vacated by the enemy on our approach, and we marched slowly up and took up our position in the broken ground between the high hills occupied by this useful branch of service and the battery of artillery.

"The picture was a grand one. The camp of so many thousand men occupying the heights between the rugged hills, crowned by armed men standing out clearly against the skyline; the camp fires flickering their light on the groups around the lines of horses and mules picketed in the midst of the camp of ungainly-looking camels, some crouched down at rest and others being unloaded; roaring angrily at their black, weird-looking attendants, but patient withal; the wild, rugged scenery, bare of vegetation except the stunted prickly mimosa and a few tufts of coarse grass, made an impression on my mind which I shall not forget.

"As night wore on, the Arabs began to fire and our men to reply. The artillery fired one shot among a number congregated some distance away. Desultory firing was kept up all night, but not to any extent. Only one of our men was killed, but two or three wounded.

"On the following morning we continued our march, leaving a sufficient guard for the camp. On approaching the wells the enemy opened fire, which for a time was pretty sharply kept up from the hills around, but no determined resistance was made. As we advanced we found that the village had been hastily deserted, the Arabs in many instances leaving their ammunition and belongings behind them.

"The New South Wales Infantry were posted on the heights commanding the hills, and in advancing to the posts allotted to them three men were hit, while the bullets whizzed harmlessly by many of us. One of our fellows was wounded in the shoulder, and thinking his comrade had struck him, in his anger turned round to resent the insult. Another was shot through the foot, and hopped along for some yards before he realized how seriously he was hurt. Several others were hit, but, taken altogether, the thing, ended rather disappointingly, as Osman Digna retreated without showing much fight.

"We then burned the village - a wretched affair of grass humpies, some mile or so from where the original village was situated, and in doing so consumed a quantity of ammunition which popped about and made things lively for a time. We then marched back to our camp, and after a short breakfast commenced our return march to Suakin.

"After toiling along all day wearily through the dust and sun, we reached McNeil's zareba and camped for the night, being kept on the alert by occasional shots from Arabs in the scrub around. The following morning we started again, and after a dusty, toilsome march encamped near the sandbag redoubt, about a mile from Suakin."

The Tamai advance may not have been a glorious feat of arms, but it was a severe test for green troops barely off the troopships to be under arms for sixteen hours on the first day and thirteen and a half on the second, marching through bush and deep sand under a vicious sun for the greater part of the time. Moreover they had been under fire within four days of landing in the battle zone - men who had been civilians six weeks before.

The Tamai advance was the only action the contingent saw apart from minor brushes with scattered groups of the enemy. But there was plenty of work under the most trying conditions. The climate was one almost unbearable to a white man. For protection against the burning sun the troops reinforced their sun helmets and puggarees with spine protectors of quilted khaki which buttoned on to the backs of their collars.

Food was bad - bully beef stew and oak-hearted Navy biscuits every meal, unrelieved by any fresh food. Even the water was in short supply and foul tasting. Most of the supply was condensed from the Red Sea and brought up to the front in gutta-percha bags slung on camels, a process which imparted a rare blend of flavours. One and a half pints had to satisfy each man for a full day-for all purposes.

There were no canteens, no amenities, no relief from the gruelling and monotonous daily grind. The railway was laid by English navvies, and the soldiers' job was not only to act as guard but to clear the scrub on either side of the track. The Australians may not have shown up well on the parade ground,
but they soon won respect for their bush-craft.

The soldiers worked in pairs, one man holding the rifles, while his mate swung the axe, back-breaking work in that heat. When the bugle sounded the alarm the troops formed what were known as rallying squares - that is, they made for the nearest officer and gathered round him with fixed bayonets. This movement, frequently repeated for the sake
of practice had, according to one veteran "the singular effect of serving as a referendum on
the popularity of our officers".

An opportunity for a break from the scrub clearing task was provided by the general's call for volunteers to form a Camel Corps. The contingent responded with fifty stalwarts happy to give their backs a rest if only at the expense of other parts of their anatomy.

During the third week in April the contingent was warned that the Russian crisis would almost certainly compel the British Government to abandon the Sudan operations. Mr. Gladstone had stated that the troops might be better used in India. When sounded on this point, many of the contingent agreed individually to go to India if necessary, and the entire force agreed to volunteer for service as a unit. By the end of the month Reuter's news agency had informed the world that preparations were being made for the immediate evacuation of the Sudan, the War Office had officially accepted the contingent's offer for service in India, and Dalley had promised the British Government Cabinet approval.

Among the troops rumours flourished as usual. The contingent would go to India, it would go to England, it would go to Malta or Gibraltar as a garrison force, it would stay in the Sudan till their bones whitened in the sand. These rumours received a stimulus with the arrival of Lord Wolseley, Commander-in-Chief of the British Forces in Egypt, who reviewed the troops and praised the contingent's physique and turnout.

On 17 May, after a long series of cables between Britain and Australia, the New South Wales men embarked for home crammed aboard H.M. Troopship Arab, a vessel even smaller than either the Australasian or Iberia.

The contingent had presented its horses to the British and brought away the guns.

On 19 June Arab entered Sydney Heads and was put in quarantine for three days so that visiting dignitaries from other colonies would arrive in time for the welcome home ceremonies. The men disembarked in their well worn tropical uniforms in pouring rain and stood listening to speeches till they were thoroughly soaked.

Despite the cheering crowds, it was a melancholy spectacle and an anti-climax to the Sudan adventure. The Bulletin, derisive as ever, made the most of the fact that the expedition had brought back an Arab goat and a donkey, but the men were generally treated as heroes. Official banquets were held and each man was presented with two decorations - the Queen's Egyptian medal in silver with clasp "Suakin" and the Khedive of Egypt's bronze star. They also received official orders which permitted them to secure a suit from the authorities for 1pound 10 shillings in cash.

Regret was expressed by some that the contingent had not seen more action, but no one could claim that the expedition had been a picnic. There were six deaths from sickness, and a number died within twelve months of their homecoming, as a result of the rigours of the campaign. Referring to these conditions, one member who later served in the South African War and the Great War of 1914-18 states that he never experienced worse physical conditions than in the six weeks of the Suakin campaign.

"Intense heat, dust, insects, thirst and stench from bodies of dead Arabs and animals provided sufficient horrors of war, with dysentery and sunstroke claiming tremendous toll. A few skirmishes and many weary marches produced much sweat, but little glory." This opinion was expressed by Colonel A. J. Bennett, C.M.G., D.S.O., V.D., an original Anzac, who has been for many years President of the contingent's Survivors' Association.

Today the Association has thirty-seven surviving members, all octogenarians, who meet together on the third of March each year, when the Last Post and Reveille are played on a trumpet which called them more than sixty years ago.

It is for history to sum up the true worth of the Sudan Contingent, but the general contemporary feeling was that the contingent had justified itself. In a report to the London War Office, General Graham said: "The Australian contingent have cheerfully borne their share of hardships and have shown themselves worthy companions in arms."

The Governor of New South Wales claimed that the contingent had made Imperial federation a reality. It may also be fairly said to have advanced the cause of Australian federation, for public sentiment in the other colonies had come to regard the contingent as an Australian contribution to Britain's cause. Dalley had reason to feel pleased with the fact that the New South Wales Defence Forces had risen from 1,500 to 3,600 within a few weeks of the departure of the contingent. Whatever history's verdict, we in our day can admire the courage of men who volunteered to face unknown dangers and hardships, and who passed the test in a way which was a tribute to their country and an inspiration to the generations which have followed them.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Acknowledgments are gratefully made for much of the material used which originally appeared in The Sudan Contingent (by S. Brogden), The Australian Contingent (Hutchinson and Myers) and in the following contemporary newspapers, Illustrated Sydney News, The Echo and The Bulletin.

A. W. HORNER (Second A.I.F.)

WHEN SYDNEY FOUGHT A ZEPPELIN

HMAS Sydney, HMS Dublin and four destroyers passed slowly under the Forth Bridge on 3 May 1917 the eyes of all officers and men turned anxiously upwards, scanning the giant structure for a sign that all would be well. The men simply wanted to see a tram passing overhead.

But there was no tram! The ships then headed out into the dangerous North Sea with every man wondering just what awaited them.

They had received a "bad omen" already-a warning: because everyone shared the superstition that an outgoing ship must see a tram pass over the bridge or that ship and her company would not return intact. The superstition was deep rooted. It was no joke: disaster had overtaken other ships.

So the squadron set off to sweep along certain channels between the mouths of the Forth and Humber rivers; three destroyers were engaged on this task by early on the following morning. The cruisers Sydney and Dublin, and the remaining destroyer, Obdurate, were in a position directly astern of the sweepers, when shortly after zo a.m. a small vessel was sighted eastwards, and Obdurate was sent to examine her.

Then, at 10.28 a.m. H.M.S. Dublin reported the wash of a torpedo passing astern. Almost immediately after-wards the signalman on Sydney's bridge reported: "Zeppelin right ahead, sir!

In this surprise sighting, Captain J. S. Dumaresq recognized a chance to try out some theories on defence against such aircraft and consequently ordered full steam. Both cruisers raced for the Zeppelin, the L43, which also appeared to be making for the strange vessel. A round from one of Sydney's 6-inch guns streaked upward in an endeavour to draw the Zepp into attack. Instead, the airship climbed higher - either because she did not want to fight, or else to draw Sydney into the area over which she'd been flying. This area could have been a U-boat nest. The wily skipper took no chances.

Instead of following the Zepp, he turned and ran away. This time, however, the Germans followed Sydney - which was exactly what Captain Dumaresq had hoped for. The fight would now be on sea of his own choosing.

Gradually, the L43 overtook Sydney and was met by a hail of anti-aircraft fire which exploded at the maximum range of twenty-one thousand feet-just short of the undercarriage. It was then realized that the airship had a very definite advantage by keeping above this height. To entice the Zepp lower, Captain Dumaresq then tried another ruse. He ordered all ships to "scatter" and in a few minutes the vessels had sheered away and were steaming at full speed towards selected points on the horizon. Thus, the cruiser and the Zeppelin were left to it.

Seeing Sydney alone and her escort apparently fleeing, the German flyers commenced a shallow dive and selected the best-looking bombs for a sitting shot!

Then Captain Dumaresq hoisted the "recall" and "open fire" signals. The result was that the Zeppelin became the centre of a circle of converging ships from which a really withering fire was being directed to fourteen thousand feet-the L43's height!

The airship immediately rose and as soon as she was safe, two 250-pound bombs fell into the sea off Sydney's port bow. The ship altered course and steamed over where the second bomb fell. The next bomb fell slightly to starboard, and Sydney straightened her course. Three bombs "rapid fire" then straddled Sydney; two dropping to starboard and one to port. This time Sydney turned to starboard -away from the bombs. The Zepp let go two more, which missed. On the bridge, Captain Dumaresq remarked, "You can't drop two in one place, old chap!"

Steaming over the spot where the nearer of the last two bombs fell, the cruiser weathered another "salvo"-which missed to port; and the captain said, "This fellow is doing some good shooting, but he won't hit us!"

Obdurate was now steaming astern of Sydney in response to a "follow me" signal and it appeared that the little destroyer would get all the "overs". But even she escaped with only scratches.

This unique fight continued until after midday with Sydney weaving a crisscross pattern on the sea and the Zeppelin making an almost identical pattern in the sky. The crew was curious. Many times Captain Dumaresq ordered spectators below decks, but at the same time more were pouring up another hatchway! One seaman lay on his back on the upper deck trying to get a photograph !

By this time a second Zeppelin - sighted earlier - had joined the first and things to look black for Sydney which used her remaining shells ineffectively against the Zepps as they cruised just out of range

But suddenly, about 1.10 p.m., both Zeppelins changed course and disappeared! The battle ended, and the opposing forces parted, as somebody observed, "on the best of terms".

It was nevertheless an unenviable experience when linked with the forebodings with which the ships put to sea. They returned intact- up the Forth and under the bridge.

Everybody considered themselves lucky - except one seaman who failed to return to the ship after leave. His excuse was: "Nothing ever happens, sir !"

"You just had a fight with a Zeppelin," said his captain. "Isn't that something?"

"Yes, sir," replied the stoker, "but not one of their bombs hit us! "

Acknowledgment is made to Official History of Australia in the War of 1914-18, Vol. IX: Royal Australian Navy by A. W. Jose, and to the Australian War Memorial for information on which this story is based.

Matelot

BORNEO INCIDENT

For most of us, it's really over - except the memories. And speaking of memories, what better example could there be than the affair of young Sahli and that tunnel in Balik. It was exactly three days after the Sunday morning we landed. Up from the shore, the hills were honeycombed with tunnels: long, deep, solid jobs that typified Nip digging-in. The infantry had gone through fast, and with two other Sigs I found myself picketing a tunnel believed to contain Jap wireless equipment. The job was merely a routine one, consisting entirely of short-circuiting would - be souvenir hunters. It was at this stage young Sahli appeared.

I would put his age at around ten, his weight three stone - this Sahli. He had a horribly neat pattern of tropical ulcers down each thin, brown leg and he was obviously just over a bout of malaria. He approached with diffidence, because to him we were the all-powerful conqueror. More important still, we had three tins of rations.

Our knowledge of Malay was very limited, but we ripped the top off one tin and the light in his eyes as its precious contents spilled into our hands was eloquent. We divided four ways and felt like kings. It was noticed that Sahli ate only a portion of his share, the rest he stowed down the inside of a tattered Jap shirt he wore.

It was about then that he indicated to us that his name was Sahli, and we gathered he was the family forager. Simple, unspoilt Sahli. We never knew how important he was to prove in the next quarter-hour or so.

We were squatting outside the tunnel, which was about six feet wide by five high and sloped down as it went into the hillside. At any moment we expected a chap from Bomb Disposal, who was examining dumps of material for booby-traps and so on before any of the stuff was moved. A strong morning sun illuminated the first ten feet or so of tunnel, and plainly visible from where we sat was the beginning of a line of crates, cartons and hessian bags.

Suddenly my mate, Johnny, had an idea. "Food," he says, "it will only rot in there. Let's grab some for Sahli." We 'needed no urging, especially our young friend, who quickly caught on.

Someone had a torch, so the four of us entered, walking cautiously along the floor of wet sand. Inside that tunnel it was about as noisy as a sunrise. We all wished the same thing: that we were going through after the Bomb Disposal bloke. Sahli was holding on to my greens and then we heard the ominous tick tock. It was like some giant clock, muffled up but still very much alive. We stopped dead and shone the spotlight down ahead until it focused on a large barrel, and then we knew what the tick tock was: water seeping through the roof and "plopping" with mechanical timing into the barrel.

A couple of hollow laughs broke the tension. About two more steps and we came to the cases. One glance sufficed-they were all empty.

The torch roved ahead again. This time we spotted more bags and next to them some new wire-strapped crates.

"I think," said Johnny, "we're in the money." We were about to go forward when Sahli shouts out and points up amongst the cases. In that one second we all remembered the one thing: we were unarmed.

Sahli quietens down a trifle, but is still gesticulating wildly. We tell him it is food, but even that won't placate him and he turns around and starts trotting back, leaving the three of us standing there as though we had reached the top of the queue and the beer had cut out. There seemed only one thing to do - to follow him.

Outside, we tried to induce Sahli to return but he was uninterested. Then I remembered the grenade.

"Look, Sahli,' I told him-and I knew it was silly to talk this way because he wouldn't understand a word-"we're three bored blokes, most of these cases are empty and we want to ease your fears. Now this little doover will fix things." He looked at the grenade. I said "Boom!" and he laughed. He was pretty smart, the same Sahli.

We knew the equipment was well down the tunnel, so after taking a look around the near vicinity I stood at the entrance, pulled the pin, lobbed down in the general direction disappeared smartly from the scene.

There was was a muffled explosion and we waited until the dust and smoke had stopped coming out, then we all went in. That grenade sure made a mess of the cases and bags, and Sahli is happy because what he disliked before obviously missing this trip. And then we hear another noise above the drip of that water - a human noise.

Throwing the Owen out we edge in close, and then we spy him. He's a Nip all right, left exposed by the busted stack of cases and perched there about a yard ahead of where we stopped the first time in. He's pretty low, but is still maintaining a tight grip on as wicked a samurai as I've seen. Did we feel lucky!

Well, there's not much more to the story. Sahli got his food, the Nip died and here we all are back in Civvy Street. Oh yes, there is one other detail. We found out what originally upset Sahli. Don't ask me how some Yank rations got into that tunnel, but the sausages were pork, the cartons had a very pretty label-depicting without doubt their origin and contents.

Sahli was probably a better Moslem than a fair number of us are Christians.

E. J. BAILEY (Second A.I.F.)