Wednesday 22 July 2015

Close to home

Today at the dinner table, our youngest child asked why in World War One and all the other wars did all those men go out to kill each other? I tried to explain, as simply as possible, that the reasons were complex and even historians can’t agree. World War One stemmed in part from agreements different countries had to protect others if another nation attacked them; and so things kind of spiralled out of control when two smaller countries attacked each other. Then she pressed us as to why the individual men went out to kill each other. I told her some felt they were fighting a great evil, or felt it was their job to fight for their country if it went to war – the “my country, right or wrong” mentality.

What I would give to know what was in my grandfather’s mind as he enlisted then sailed off to war in 1914.

He actually joined the Army long before, in January 1913 as a driver in the Artillery, and received initial training in Wellington for three months before returning south to serve with the Army in Dunedin and Invercargill. From what I can make out from the records, it seemed he was with the Invercargill Field Artillery at the outbreak of war. He probably spent time in further training at Palmerston North, before members of the New Zealand Expeditionary Force trooped down to Wellington.

“An official farewell was tendered to the units which embarked in Wellington, at a big parade held in Newtown Park on September 24th,” says the official history New Zealand Artillery in the Field 1914-1918. “Great crowds assembled in the Park to witness the parade, and afterwards lined the streets and cheered the soldiers as they marched down to the wharves. The transports backed out from the wharves before dark, and anchored in the stream ... ready to sail with the dawn”. However, two of the escort ships were delayed from Auckland, and it was decided not to sail without a sufficiently powerful protective convoy.

So, the following day, they all disembarked, “the Artillery with their horses and vehicles marched out to the Lower Hutt Racecourse, and went into camp.” All those years ago, Grandad was less than a kilometre from where I now live. It was three weeks before the troopships departed – with less of a fanfare. The Expeditionary Force, my grandfather among them, finally set sail from Wellington under convoy in the early morning of October 16th – “the sky was cloudless, and only the soft early morning mists obscured the first rays of the sun.”

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