May 2021

The world weeps on Good Friday, the Greeks say, and today (April the 30^th) is Good Friday in the Orthodox world. Great Friday, the Greeks call it. Today is the day when a flower- bedecked bier is carried through the streets. Each church prepares its own, and parades it through its own neighbourhood. This may happen in remote villages this year, but is unlikely to happen in big cities. Families may gather outdoors on Easter Day, however, although in restricted numbers. Coffee shops and restaurants can open to outdoor customers on May the 3^rd, and freedom of movement within the country is permissible as from the 15^th. All these measures are based on the proviso that Covid infections do not get dramatically worse. The vaccination programme is going well, but the results are not yet what the authorities are hoping for.

Many things have changed, of course, with the pandemic. There is a very impressive military cemetery in Athens, usually the scene of an Anzac service with hundreds in attendance. But not this year. I wonder about the future of Anzac Day, although a badge-selling friend in Melbourne tells me that people this year were generally glad to see the vendors, who had been forbidden the streets last year.

I think of my father and grandfather on such occasions. Here is what I wrote recently:

ARTHUR, MAC, AND VI

My short slim grandfather Arthur wanted to fight at Gallipoli, but never got there. The first time he volunteered he was tall enough, but was rejected as being too slight. When the First World War broke out in August 1914, after Labour politician Andrew Fisher had already promised that Australia would support Britain ‘to our last man and our last shilling’, young men flocked to recruiting stations, so the authorities could afford to be choosy. This was not the case a year later, when volunteer numbers were down: recruiting drives were started and, to help the process, various standards were lowered. Grandfather’s chest measurement thus became acceptable: his date of enlistment is recorded as the 11^th of August 1915, the day following the end of the Battle of Lone Pine on Gallipoli, after which seven Australians were awarded the Victoria Cross.

Grandfather was sent off to a training camp, not knowing, of course, that by the end of December the Gallipoli campaign would be over. It was not until February 1916 that he boarded HMAT Ballarat, which arrived in Port Suez five weeks later, when more training ensued. On board ship he had met a young man who would be his friend until the latter’s premature death in 1930. Grandfather was 22, while Mac was only 19, but they had a great deal in common. Both came from country Victoria: Arthur from Rutherglen near the Murray River, and Mac from Stawell, near the Grampians. Both were teachers, and both were assigned to the artillery, a fact that saved them from the slaughter of the trenches in France and Belgium, places they saw a great deal of during the next three years. Both also had siblings: Mac had two brothers, and Arthur was the second of seven children: the next in the family line was his sister Violet, who was five years younger.

As can be imagined, correspondence was a difficult and complicated matter, and it seems that those writing from civilian life had scant idea of the difficulties and dangers faced by soldiers. In 1917, Arthur received a delayed letter from his mother, which informed him of the birth of his youngest sister in 1916: 23 years separated the two, and they did not meet until 1919. Another letter from mother informed Arthur that Violet had been on a trip and had caught typhoid fever. Arthur wrote to Vi, as he always called her, in predictable big-brother fashion.

Fancy catching typhoid fever. Next trip you take you’ll have to have your big brother with you. Could you see our dugout this minute you’d forget your fever.

Mother’s next letter produced a more serious reaction, and Arthur wrote Vi a placatory letter. Mater just wrote me about your illness, and do you know I received a shock as I read ‘Violet has been out of sorts for a long time and has said more than once you (meaning me) were the only one that ever did care for her, and know you (me again) never thought to write her a line.’ Dear little Vi…they all know you are my favourite. If you are not receiving letters it is because I haven’t time to write, and sometimes I might think I have written when really I’ve forgotten. But I never forget you, and I bet Mac often feels like wringing my neck as I talk about you so often.

Grandfather made sure Vi knew about Mac. He certainly has a number of peculiarities, but is a good fellow. (These unspecified peculiarities did not stop Mac from showing conspicuous bravery in action, being wounded twice, and being awarded the Military Medal.) It was at this stage that Mac also started writing to Vi. He is writing to you now, and this is my second this week, so you will have a mailbag to yourself.

Arthur and Mac came back to Melbourne in 1919, but on separate ships. Arthur had become engaged to my grandmother before he volunteered, so they married without delay in August, 1919. Mac and Vi took some time to get to know each other, to build on the correspondence they had conducted for two years. They married at Christ Church, Brunswick, Melbourne, in August 1921.

I never knew Mac or Vi, but I met their son. And their short story has stayed with me.