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Legislative Assembly for the ACT: 2015 Week 04 Hansard (Wednesday, 25 March 2015) . . Page.. 1084 ..

stone. Some were grabbed by a comrade who happened to observe them; one was hung up by his kit on rowlock until someone noticed him; a few were almost certainly drowned.

It was at 4.30 a.m. on Sunday, April 25th, half an hour before the opening of the British bombardment of Cape Helles, that the Australians landed at Ari Burnu.

And so the legend began. As you read through the rest of the chapter and the other volumes of Bean’s history of World War I, what quickly emerges is the stoic humour of the Australians. A couple of pages later it says:

In one boat an oar was splintered, and a corporal tried to sound the depth with it. The water, by its colour, was shoaling fast. A “tag”—

which I understand to be a joke—

was current in the 11th Battalion, based on the statement of a sergeant, that bullets made a noise like small birds passing overhead. At this crisis Private “Combo” Smith, of the 11th Battalion, set one whole boat laughing by looking at the sky and remarking to “Snowy” Howe: “Just like little birds, ain’t they, Snow?”

I have never been there and you cannot appreciate what they were going through, but it is interesting that at that time of great crisis the humour of the Australians came through and I think in many cases probably sustained them for the length of the war.

Many have spoken of the large scale, the large numbers—the huge numbers. But, of course, war is a tragedy at the personal level. I suspect there is not a member here whose family does not have some connection to the First or Second World War or subsequent wars. It is about remembering the ordinary soldier, in this case—or the airman or the sailor. It is important.

Like Mr Gentleman, I will relate the story I know best; it is the story of my grandfather, Patrick Joseph McCauley. Who would have thought an Irishman would have a name like that! Patrick Joseph McCauley was born at Ballymena, County Antrim, Ireland. He signed up. At his time of signing up at Lockhart in New South Wales with his brother Tom, he was 20. He was 5 feet 4½ inches tall and weighed 140 pounds. He joined the 1st Australian Light Horse Regiment and was a horse handler in the regiment.

He sailed on the Clan MacCorquodale and joined the unit when the light horse went ashore in late May to Gallipoli. My pop got there on 15 July 1915. He was wounded in action on 8 August, when he took a bayonet through the left knee, and subsequent to that was admitted to hospital five times over the following years, including on one occasion for breaking his leg—“fractured left leg: severe; injury sustained while playing football while on military duty: not to blame; no one else to blame”. So there was that other side of military life which was a bit of rough and tumble. As with Mr Gentleman’s relative, he served throughout the desert campaign and was lucky enough to come home. He arrived in Sydney on 24 April 1919. He was the lucky one. There are many that did not get home, and their names are there at the War Memorial. One of things I particularly like now about the War Memorial is the tradition of putting poppies against names. Long may that continue.

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