South Africa Odyssey. Michael Tyquin

chief joker went along. Commenting on one slide which showed an Egyptian mummy he nudged the soldier next to him.

      'Looks just like me great aunt'.

      O'Reilly had trained at St. Thomas's Hospital in London and had come out the year before to join an older brother who had a flourishing legal practice in Sydney. He had met Dunkley at a clinical meeting and soon found they had a common interest in rowing and cricket. While O'Reilly was rather introspective he made no secret of his ambition to become one of the colony's leading medicos. Tall and lean, he had an alarming tic which caused one eyebrow to twitch violently when he was in animated conversation or an argument. Perhaps in an effort to draw attention away from this defect he had cultivated a luxuriant, carefully waxed moustache. A dapper dresser, he still managed to attract his fair share of the fair sex. It was he who had persuaded Dunkley to join the colours.

      Now both men shared a portside cabin with young Edwin McIntosh. On the first night out of Sydney the young doctor had startled his two colleagues by wearing the most brightly coloured silk pyjamas either of his cabin mates had ever seen. These garments, together with a shock of red hair on the head of the wearer, managed to make an impression.

      'Good Lord', exclaimed Dunkley.

      'You not going to wear that outfit on the Veldt are you? The Boer will spot you from ten miles away!' laughed O'Reilly.

      Redding slightly McIntosh countered.

      'It's just for aboard ship. My mother knows about how one should dress you know.'

      'I'm sure she does', Dunkley winked at his colleague and both men burst into laughter.

      McIntosh flung himself into his cot and turned his face to wall. A recent medical graduate, his hobbies, such as they were, tended mainly to botany and laboratory work. He was particularly interested in the new science of pathology. His well-to-do parents had set him up with equipment and books which were the envy of professional men years his senior. He had brought some of this largesse along with him – carefully packed in a pannier, and equally carefully smuggled aboard despite Robards' orders that his officers should travel light.

      Devoted to his books his only other interest was military history which was why he had joined the Ambulance. He proved to be a font of knowledge on the campaigns of both Caesar and Napoleon and would passionately expand on his subject on any suitable occasion. He was therefore the unit's unofficial authority on plant life and history. His enthusiasm matched that of Captain Harris and the two could often be found peering through Harris's microscope or discussing the flora or diseases found in South Africa. Robards referred to the unlikely pair as 'two peas in a pod'.

      The only significant events (and duly noted in the ship's log) occurred when, several days out of Melbourne, the troopship slowed through its passage into the huge King George Sound before docking at the West Australian town of Albany to take on coal. The men were refused leave because of the justified fear of what they might do in the town. Disappointed and angry troops watched the seamen disembark down a single narrow gangplank to renew their acquaintance with the pubs and prostitutes. From the rear of the ship's bridge Dunkley looked down the chosen few. He could discern the quiet rage of the men but trusted in the decision of Robards and the other two commanders based on what they might do in town. One soldier did manage to quietly slip over the deck rail and was not missed until his frantic shouts drew a few men to the ship’s side. To their horror the water below took on a reddish hue as a White Pointer shark tore huge chunks from the miscreant’s thrashing body. His remains had still not been found when the ship departed the next day.

      A cigarette flicked carelessly into the aft hold while the ship took on coal from the bunkers ashore provided the second distraction of the day. As the town’s pride and joy, a highly polished horse-drawn fire engine, smoke spiralling up from its engine clanged its way to the wharf cheers went up from the ship’s company. The roar reached a crescendo as the firemen ran out their hoses and played streams of water onto a smouldering bunker. As the fire threw up jets of steam under the blanket of water the men returned to their quarters below decks. There were only a few old timers and local fisherman present when the Southern Cross drew away from the wharf in the early hours of the next day.

      Two days into the voyage one of the ambulance men, ‘Cracker’ O’Dowd, a gun shearer from Camden, shot himself while cleaning his Lee-Enfield rifle, neatly taking off most of his jaw. Dunkley was assigned to care for him, but despite his efforts infection set in, proving fatal. While popular with his mates, his burial at sea was later remembered more for its novelty than for the tears shed. As the flag-draped coffin slid over the ship’s side a close mate was heard to mutter that ‘the cove’ had died owing him two guineas from a poker bet. Robards however saw the shooting as a slur on the unit’s professionalism, and, in the words of his batman, was ‘in a black mood’ for days afterwards. His was a particularly gruff figure at the inquiry held aboard, although he penned a touching and eloquent letter to O’Dowd’s people at home.

      Five days out of Albany the dog watch found a fifteen-year-old stowaway hiding with a small Sulphur-Crested Cockatoo in an ambulance wagon in the hold. How they came to be there no one could fathom, but the boy’s quick wit and talent on the harmonica soon made him a favourite with the men. His young pet was a great mimic who seemed to take an instant dislike to any officer, a trait which immediately endeared it to the troops. However officialdom would soon consign the boy to a voyage home on the first ship from Cape Town returning to Sydney. The men managed to keep the cockatoo.

      Reluctantly Robards approved the noisy bird as the mascot of the Ambulance. At a ceremony of doubtful theological orthodoxy after Sunday prayers Padre Fanshaw blessed the creature. Alarmed at the unexpected shower of holy water in its face the cockatoo let fly with some newly learnt expletives.

      'It's a heathen then', added Father Meaghan unhelpfully.

      His reverend colleague quickly excused himself in the face of the foul-mouthed tirade as Private Wilson muffled its beak with a tobacco stained hand and took the creature below. The bird was duly christened ‘Sunday Best’ and continued to entertain many of the ship's company. Even the targeted clergyman was known to feed it when he thought no one was looking.

      The usual entertainments – both legal and illegal - continued aboard. Gambling was rife and despite threats and a lecture from both chaplains to their respective flocks on its evils, two-up and card games thrived. Officers were keep busy hearing charges, while soldiers who had been designated to act as military police could be seen nursing bruised faces. Other forms of relaxation included deck games and sports. Boxing drew the biggest crowds and one such match would have direct implications for the men of the Field Ambulance.

      Bert 'Birdie' Taylor was considered the best pugilist in the ambulance. He had knocked around shearing sheds and worked as a stevedore up and down the east coast. Standing over two metres tall he had a barrel chest topped by a disproportionately small head. It was as if someone had attached a child’s head to a man’s body, but apart from this deformity his close set eyes were his most remarkable feature. Tiny and almost black they reminded one of a magpie. They would fix upon you and never move. Even some of the officers felt uncomfortable when having to talk to him. While not particularly good with people he was a born animal lover and could do almost anything with one - be it horse or dog.

      Major Clarke had spotted him outside a pub at a cattle sale. There had been a stampede and it was only through 'Birdie’s' quick action in heading off, then calming several head of cattle, that had prevented a little girl being trampled to death. As he was ‘between jobs’ Clarke had persuaded him to take the Queen’s shilling before appointing him as a horse handler and general roustabout for the unit.

      However on the day of the unit’s weekly boxing tournament he met his match at the hands of a most unlikely contender. This was Private Jakub Nowicki, a 'new chum' who had emigrated from Poland only a few years before. An adventurer with an uncertain background and grasp of English, his father was reputedly a doctor and so when the Field Ambulance had advertised for men he enlisted. He had shown remarkable aptitude in first aid classes and was a fast learner. Several officers had already marked him out a possible NCO, despite his thick accent. Tall and thin with a shock of blond hair, he was an unlikely pugilist.