Somme Mud

I've just finished reading Somme Mud by EPF 'Nulla' Lynch.

It's the story of a lad of eighteen joining the Australian Infantry Force (AIF) in 1916 to go and fight the Great War. Private Lynch fought at Pozieres, Amiens, Passchendaele and the Hindenberg Line. He was wounded five times, but survived to be repatriated home in 1919.

As a war book, it is spectacular in it's description of war and what it does to ally and enemy alike, though by 1918, the enemy - as described in the book - were too terror-stricken to fight and too cowardly to run away.

The Australians themselves got on with the job; especially once they were under the command of an Australian. Aussie soldiers were larrakins and thumbed their noses at any officer who had not earned their respect. In some respects, nothing has changed in that regard.

My interest in the First World War began when I was studying history at University. I knew both my grandfathers had fought in France - one lasted a month before being wounded; his leg was amputated by an Australian doctor - and the other earned the Military Cross. What we didn't know was how he'd earned it.

FYI writers: you don't win medals in battle, you earn them. It is not a race, unless it is for survival.

Small case of indigression there, sorry. Um... oh, yeah. As a final assignment, we students could do a ten thousand word essay on anything from the Industrial Revolution onwards. It so happened that over the summer, I had my grandfather's first war diary fall into my hands and spent weeks transcribing it.

Here, then, was my opportunity to find out how he came to be awarded the MC, and why he never told anyone about it.

I hopped it over to the Australian War Memorial and spent many a day, from opening to closing, rummaging through original despatches, mission briefs, histories and information - I have never been so intrigued, impressed and saddened. I could hold in my hand despatches to the front-line troops that still had bloodstains or bullet holes.

I read tales of unrecognised valour, of tragic death, ferocious mateship and cruel misunderstanding; which is where my grandfather came into it.

The Battalion was pinned down by machine guns, holding up the advance, spitting death in waves of noise and burning metal. My Grandfather, Ted, got a bit fed up, gathered his platoon and went after the two perfectly placed guns. "Come on, lads," he yelled and off they went, his men following him with a cheer. Yep, right at the machine guns. He and his men sorted the enemy with bomb and bayonet. For this, he was awarded the Military Cross, the second highest award for valour; the highest is the Victoria Cross.

Un...fortunately, there were a lot of Aussies charging machine gun posts who'd been awarded VCs and the Brits decided that there were too many and downgraded many a heroic act to the MC or the Military Medal.

It's interesting to note that the Germans were very, very afraid of facing Australian troops because they did crazy things - like charging machine guns, like sneaking through the lines to 'acquire' german 'artefacts' (usually, it was via a dare, or a bet). And yes, my grandfather did that too - crazy bugger.
My next war reading is of Lt Gen Hal Moore’s 7th Cavalry action in Vietnam at Ia Drang. The movie We Were Warriors is based on Lt General Moore’s mission there. After that, it will be the enormous tome The Great War by Les Carlyon.

After all this reading, I’ll probably sit down and write another war story!