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Southland

Page history last edited by Lenore Frost 8 years, 9 months ago

Volunteers of Essendon and Flemington, 1914-1918

 

 

Men of 11 Platoon, C Company, 21st Battalion, AIF, moving a  collapsible boat

away from the torpedoed Southland.  Australian War Memorial Collection.

 

The vessel Southland was torpedoed in the Aegean Sea on 2 September 1915 while carrying troops of the 21st and 23rd Battalions.

 

ON BOARD THE SOUTHLAND.

 

The following is from one of our boys: Anzac, Gallipoli Peninsula; 9/9/15.    

 

After a very enjoyable three months at Egypt we moved off for Anzac on the 29/8/15. About 5 p.m., with a jolly heavy pack on, and continued cheering from the other battalions who remained behind, we left Heliopolis and marched to Halmuh, a distance of three miles. When we got there, I was fairly done up from the weight of the pack I had carried. After waiting at Halmuh until 8 p.m., we boarded a dirty old train with nothing but third-class carriages, excepting, of course, one first-class for officers only, and we were all jolly glad when the train made a move. As Halmuh is on a branch line from the Alexandrian, we had to journey to Cairo before being able to get on to the Alexandrian track. At Cairo we stopped for about ten minutes and were pestered by niggers selling drink, cigs., rings. It is very funny to see the natives trying to sell rings - they come up to you and adopt a style as if they had stolen it, and were afraid of being seen with it. They just whisper and look around to see if anybody is coming and say, "Buy gold ring, Sir; we found it." The price generally starts at 20s and finishes at 6d.

 

The carriages are very similar to the Broadmeadows car and contain 48 men each. By Jove! they were packed, and when the  soldiers started to get sleepy their positions were very comical. Some were lying on the floor; others on the seats sitting asleep; others had their leg on other fellows' heads. They were in every position you could imagine. I could not find standing room in the carriage, so had to travel on the out side platform. I did not mind that at all, for it was a beautiful moonlight night, and very hot, too. We landed in Alexandria at 2 a.m., and to my sorrow I had to go on guard until 9 a.m. the next day. The remainder of the troops went on board the "Southland" (which used to be the "Vaterland") straight away. When I was relieved, I went on board, had breakfast and slept the rest of the day in my cabin. At 5 p.m., we cast off our ropes and steamed out of the beautiful harbour of Alexandria. The s.s. "Southland" has a tonnage of about 8000. The third-class cabins that were allotted to us were very decent, and the food was not too bad either. The sea was beautifully calm all the way until we got within about 60 miles, of Lemnos, and then it got a bit rough.  I was enjoying the trip immensely, and had not felt the least bit sick at all. We had been passing islands all day, and were about 20 miles off an extra large one, when I thought I would go down into my cabin and do a bit of writing - that was about 9 a.m. At 10 a.m., we sighted a yellow funnel steamer, very near this island. She was not moving when we sighted her, but shortly afterwards she went full steam ahead. As she did so, the skipper on our ship sighted a submarine which had been hiding behind her. He immediately turned his ship away. It was at this time that the torpedo was fired. Some of the chaps saw it coming and held on for their lives. Others dived overboard and were lost, for when the ship stopped they were about 10 miles behind.

 

I, quite unconscious of what was happening, kept on writing in my cabin. I had started on the second page when all of a sudden the ship trembled all over, and I heard a terrific explosion. The first and only thing that entered my mind was that we had been torpedoed, and as I afterwards found out we were. I immediately dropped my writing pad and ran out of the cabin. I even forgot to get my lifebelt, which was on my bed (this belt the night before had two strings on, but I pulled one off to tie up my pack, so when I wanted the belt I could not tie it on). At any rate I went back and got the belt, and managed to put it on in a sort of a way. I thought I would never reach the top of the stairs in time, but eventually I got to the top and made my way straight to the lifeboat that had been allotted to my platoon the day before. When I got there, there were about 40 fellows waiting to get into it. Of course, we had to wait for the order to enter the boats, and those few minutes seemed like hours. At last the signal was given and everyone got in all right, there being about 60 in it, and it is only supposed to carry 48. Then the fun began (at least, I laugh every time I think of it now). We were being lowered down by the soldiers, and were about half way down, when the ropes got caught, and we were hanging in the air, boat and all. At this time the submarine fired a second shot at us, and the torpedo went right under our boat and just missed the ship by a few yards. If we had not been stuck, we would have all been blown to pieces. After some considerable time, one of the soldiers managed to free his rope, but the other never, and, of course, down went one end of the boat with a bang, while the other stayed in the air. Everybody and everything went straight to the bottom end, and we were packed like sardines; but, as luck would have it, I was at the top end, and hung on for my life. and so did everyone else. Not a soul was tipped out. Some of the other boats did the same, but everyone was thrown out into the water. The other end was then let down and I was nearly thrown out again with the jerk.

 

By this time we had reached the water, which was pretty rough, and we got tossed about like a cork. All the time we were being lowered I thought the ship would sink and drag us under with her. She had already leaned over to our side and had gone down at the nose a little. It was a dreadful strain on us all, and I don't wish to experience it again. I thought of home and everybody there, but one thing, I was not afraid to die, for I knew I was safe, and that was a great help to me. The moment we touched the water our boat, with 60 men in, began to leak, and as soon as someone got hold of the oars I began to bale out, and so did all those that were able, with hats, boots, tins, and anything they could get. I had the bucket, and when I got tired another chap took it and I had a look round. The first thing that met my gaze was a fellow floating face upwards-he was dead, but had a lifebelt on which kept him up. Then there came by us one of the stokers on a cask, but he was just about done, and asked us to take him in; but we could not, and had to let him go by. There were hundreds of others swimming about, and some on the tops of upturned boats. All this time the water had been gaining on us, and was now up past our knees. A boat with very few in it came by us then, and a lot of our chaps dived over and got into it; this lightened our boat and also gave us more room to work in, and I worked as I have never worked before. As the lifeboat began to toss on the waves, I began to get sick, and after being in it for an hour I was as sick as could be. We could not lean over the edge to vomit for fear of upsetting the boat. Still I took my turn at the bucket, for all the other fellows were sick too. All this time our old ship was sending out the S.O.S. and after about 2 hours, we sighted some destroyers coming over the sky line. It did cheer us up, too; and we baled harder still, and to our joy we found the water was going down; but even when we got picked up, the water was still half way up to our knees. We only found one plug that was out, and that was stopped up by a lad of the ship by wrapping a sock around his fingers and stuffing them in the hole. He kept his hand in it for about two hours without a stop.

 

A lifeboat from the Ben-My-Chree passing a line to a lifeboat full of Australian troops

from the troopship SS Southland. AWM Collection  http://cas.awm.gov.au/item/A04501 

 

After the destroyers came in sight scores of other ships came to the rescue from every direction. The yellow funnel one got for its life behind the island. The first to come up to us was the ______ and after being in the open boats for nearly four hours we went on board the_____. Each and every one of us had to be helped up the gangway, for we could hardly stand.   There was a cup of hot coffee and warm  clothes waiting for us, and then I laid down and slept the rest of the afternoon. When I awoke, I felt quite my old self again, only for a bit of a sore head. As soon as the ___ got the S.O.S. she came straight out of Lemnos and steamed 25 knots all the way. The hospital ships and other destroyers picked the remainder of the shipwrecked people up. The gunner on the old "Southland" fired a shot at the submarine, but I do not think he got her. So one of the destroyers made straight for the island and manoeuvred it until it found the submarine base and then blew, it to pieces. That night at Lemnos we were transhipped to the s.s. ______, and remained on her for a couple of days. She is a beautiful ship of about 15,000 tons-just like a palace inside. There are no sharks here, so we had some bonzer times in the water diving off the boat. The bay at Mudros (that is at  Lemnos) is a real beauty; she is full of warships and transports; the entrance is guarded by a chain of mines from one side to the other, and so it's safe as a brick house. The island is, as far as I could see, very much like a desert, and has camps right up to the water's edge. The old "Southland" is now beached in the bay, her nose right under the water. Nearly all the kits were saved.   All I lost was a notebook and my boots, which I took off in the lifeboat and threw overboard. Some of our chaps were killed by the explosion. On 7/9/15 we embarked once more for the Dardanelles at 3 p.m. that afternoon. We travelled all the way with lifebelts on, but got to our destination safely and without any trouble. It was dark when we neared Anzac, and   all lights were out on board. I am now in the trenches and enjoying myself immensely, and enjoying the best of health and food.

 

Men rescued from the troopship Southland after it was torpedoed in the Aegean Sea near

Agistrati Island while it was carrying Australian troops to the Gallipoli Peninsula.

AWM Collection  http://cas.awm.gov.au/item/C01832

 

ON BOARD THE SOUTHLAND. (1915, December 16). The Essendon Gazette and Keilor, Bulla and Broadmeadows Reporter (Moonee Ponds, Vic. : 1914 - 1918), p. 6 Edition: Morning.. Retrieved January 21, 2012, from http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article74591227

 

THE LIGHTER SIDE.
How the "Anzacs" Saw It.
IN A WOUNDED "RETURNED."



Late, in August a fresh draft of troops left camp at Heliopolis en route for the front. As they passed the Luna Park hospital they greeted their wounded comrades with rounds of cheers. One man swathed in bandages leaned from a window and called   out, "Are you mugs off at last?" The reply went back, "Yes, we are going to dish the Turks who gave yon blokes a hiding." "Are you downhearted?" yelled the man from the window. The warriors to be were taken in completely. "No," they cried in chorus. The bandaged man grinned with triumph.  At the top of his voice he shouted, "Well, you soon will be." Anzac humour is ironic and poignant, but purely Australian.   

It was men from that same brigade who had good reason to be downhearted a few days later. They were aboard the torpedoed transport Southland. This is how they showed it. When the rescuing ships arrived they found men facing death to the strains of "Tipperary" and ''Australia will be There." One boat party at least was thinking of home. The cries from old Broadmeadows were not forgotten. They were shouting "Cab, cab, right into Brunswick, right into Brunswick," and '"ot pie or a pastie."

Having transhipped to a light, fast vessel the men of one unit left Mudros a few evenings later for the front. A submarine guard was posted around the vessel to the extreme disgust of the unfortunate few. One man took mild vengeance. Waiting until a certain nervous subaltern was behind him he raised his rifle and took meticulous aim apparently at some object in the water. The officer became excited, and anxiously asked the man what he was aiming at. The reproachful look he gave the man when he learned that it was only a piece of seaweed spoke volumes.

The battalion landed that night, and the next day saw a fatigue party going to the beach for stores. An observer on Gaba Tepe saw them, and Beachy Bill opened out with shrapnel. This was their first taste of shell fire. The strategic retreat back to the shelter of a communication trench was one of the quickest movements seen on the peninsula. One man who was noted for his "good oil" about racehorses shook his head sorrowfully at the sky where the shells were bursting! "This is no place for a parson's son," he declared solemnly. "They'll miss me in the old home," he ruminated a little later. They'll see me name on the roll of honour, and be sorry they ever cut me off."

It was a hot, broiling day when the battalion wound its way wearily up Bridges road, to the head of the gully, each man was in full marching order - 200 rounds of ammunition, four days' rations, and firewood. How each man longed for the time when he could strip himself of impeding habiliments and stand half naked in the sun like the grinning veterans from the landing standing by. A well-preserved new arrival raised the first laugh. "How far to the next pub?" he asked plaintively as the perspiration rolled down his face. A brown, bearded boy answered him, "Yer'll get a ration of rum before yer go out on a charge, cobber."

It was General McCay who said that the keenest soldier possible was the Australian during his first week at Anzac. He will watch like a hawk, and snipe continuously. All fatigue work is done by eager volunteers. Then he becomes at home in the trenches, and is a little wily. Men need to   be detailed. One night a new arrival was observing from his post when he heard a rattling among the empty bully beef tins just in front of the sandbags. Crack, bang, crack went his rifle as he emptied his magazine into the spot, and the tins strewn in front rattled like castanets. Then there was silence. "Yell out Allah, yer cow," he cried as he let loose another fusillade. Patrolling officers rushed to the spot, and being unable to see anything warned the man against hallucinations. A careful scrutiny next morning, however, revealed the body of the midnight marauder. There was a mutilated rat 6ft. in front of the parapet.

The schemes to lighten work were many. Carrying ammunition up to the firing line was a job which would make, a coal lumper grunt. There were thousands of rounds   of captured Turkish ammunition, and several Turkish rifles about the trenches. These were quickly commandeered, and made to serve a double purpose. They saved the olders the need of going down the gully for cartridges, and enabled them to keep their own rifles clean. Owing to the broken hours of duty sleep was naturally not hard to woo. During the bombardments men hiding in dug-outs and saps waited anxiously to see the destructive effect of the shells on the trenches. It was they who had to do the rebuilding. While a heavy bombardment was on one day a shell was heard to burst with a roar in the trenches.  Sitting at the mouth of a sap one man was heard to say sorrowfully to himself, "There goes my bit of shut-eye."

THE LIGHTER SIDE. (1916, January 19). The Argus (Melbourne, Vic. : 1848 - 1956), p. 7.  http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article2093271

 

 

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