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    To Hell And Back: The Banned Account of Gallipoli's Horror by Journalist and Soldier Sydney Loch
    To Hell And Back: The Banned Account of Gallipoli's Horror by Journalist and Soldier Sydney Loch
    To Hell And Back: The Banned Account of Gallipoli's Horror by Journalist and Soldier Sydney Loch
    Ebook332 pages4 hours

    To Hell And Back: The Banned Account of Gallipoli's Horror by Journalist and Soldier Sydney Loch

    By Susanna De Vries

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    About this ebook

    The book the military censors banned

    As a young soldier in the battlefields of Gallipoli, Sydney Loch witnessed the horror of war first-hand. On his return to Australia he detailed what he saw in his book, the Straits Impregnable. Hoping to avoid military censorship, his publishers dubbed Sydney's book a novel. But as the war ground on and the numbers of casualties grew, the publisher inserted a note saying the story was factual. the book, which had enjoyed huge literary acclaim, was immediately withdrawn from sale by the censors. Sydney Loch's experiences in the war shaped his life afterwards. With his wife, Joice, he went on to work in refugee camps in Poland and Palestine, and his many subsequent books, set in war-torn countries, reflected his humanitarian beliefs. In to Hell and Back, historians Susanna and Jake de Vries have recovered and edited Sydney's book for a new generation of readers and written a biography of his remarkable life.

    PRAISE

    '...eloquent and laconic...' The Australian, 5th April 2007 'Susanna and Jake de Vries have done well to resurrect this forgotten Australian story.' The Sun Herald, 14th-15th April 2007

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherHarperCollins Publishers Australia
    Release dateMay 1, 2010
    ISBN9780730445869
    To Hell And Back: The Banned Account of Gallipoli's Horror by Journalist and Soldier Sydney Loch
    Author

    Susanna De Vries

    Susanna de Vries is the author more than 15 books, most about women in history, including Desert Queen: The Many Lives and Loves of Daisy Bates, Great Pioneer Women of the Outback, Heroic Australian Women in War and To Hell and Back. Her book Blue Ribbons, Bitter Bread: The Life of Joice NanKivell Loch, an acclaimed biography of Australia's most decorated woman, won Ireland's Sligo Non-fiction Prize and was short-listed for the Queensland Premier's Non-Fiction Award. An art historian by training, Susanna was made a Member of the order of Australia in 1996 for services to art and literature.

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    • 4/5
      Sydney Loch experienced the horror of the battlefields of Gallipoli first hand and detailed them in his book The Straits Impregnable. His book was originally published as a work of fiction, but as the war progressed the publishers inserted a note that it was factual. The book was subsequently banned by the censors. Additional biography added by Susanna and Jake de Vries.

    Book preview

    To Hell And Back - Susanna De Vries

    THE STRAITS IMPREGNABLE

    BY

    SYDNEY DE LOGHE

    [PEN NAME OF SYDNEY LOCH]

    CHAPTER 1

    PRELUDE TO WAR

    Towards the end of August 1914, I went by train to Melbourne to meet up with my good friend Ted.

    Ted drove me to Broadmeadows camp in a horse-drawn buggy. The wind had worked up into half a gale, and much of the way clouds of dust swept into our faces, so I crouched in the buggy, pulling my hat over my eyes. Fortunately, after we turned to the right at a crossing the buggy hood gave some shelter.

    At last we saw the camp ahead of us. Tents stretched over many acres and there were paddocks filled with manoeuvring infantry and artillery teams. The road began to fill with infantrymen, some in uniform and others in civilian dress, marching in the opposite direction to the shouts of sergeants. A gun team and ammunition wagon rumbled past.

    ‘This must be the place,’Ted said and stopped the horses near the gate, which was guarded by a sentry. On the other side of the gate was a paddock filled with rows of tents, and between the rows ran horse lines. Guns and ammunition wagons were drawn up next to the road.

    ‘I’ll wait somewhere about here,’Ted said.

    At the gate the sentry challenged me, but I had obtained a pass to let me in. When I asked the sentry where I could find Colonel Jackson he pointed me in the right direction. Much was going on around me: men ran, trotted or walked; some joked, others argued or shouted. Tents were going up, horses were being picketed—things were topsy-turvy. Some men possessed military hats only, others wore military shirts or breeches, but the majority still wore their civilian clothes. Outside the quartermaster’s store equipment of every sort was piled up, all looking painfully new.

    After passing a line of tents I asked the way again and was directed to a large tent not far away. Outside that tent was a notice: HEADQUARTERS FIELD ARTILLERY BRIGADE. I asked an orderly, who stood in the doorway, where I could find Colonel Jackson. Without answering me he pushed up the flap of the tent to let me in. Inside the tent I saw three officers sitting at a table covered with papers and books; all three were busy writing.

    The cap and shoulder badges of the man in the centre showed he was a colonel. The man to his right, a captain, was small, sharp-featured, and probably the colonel’s adjutant. The two men went on writing, but the third, a lieutenant in his early twenties, looked at me and asked casually: ‘What do you want?’

    ‘I came to see Colonel Jackson,’ I said.

    The man in the centre put his pen down and answered, ‘I’m Colonel Jackson.’

    The colonel was a big middle-aged man, about fifty, and rather handsome. His hair was turning grey, his complexion was high and he looked as though he knew how to enjoy life. He looked me straight in the eyes. A good soldier, I thought, a man worth following.

    ‘Yesterday I received notice from the Commandant at Victoria Barracks to report to you,’ I began. ‘I want to volunteer.’

    ‘What’s your name?’

    ‘Lake.’

    ‘Have you had any military training?’

    ‘I’m sorry, none, but I can ride and shoot.’ And I added, ‘I hope this won’t stand in my way. I’m very anxious to get in.’

    The colonel drummed his fingers on the table and looked at me for a while. In the end he spoke gravely, ‘You know, Lake, a soldier’s life is hard—it’s a very hard life: bad food, the ground for a bed, exposure to all weathers, work all hours. The officer is no better off than the man.’

    ‘I have not rushed into it, sir,’ I said. ‘I’ve thought it over and hope you will take me.’

    To this the colonel answered nothing.

    I went on, ‘I’ve got some horses that would suit a gun team. I shall be glad to give them if they are of any use.’

    He misunderstood me. ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘we have enough now. In any case the Government does not give a high price. What do you want for them?’

    ‘I don’t want to sell them,’ I said. ‘I make an offer of them. They are plough horses, and if I go away there will be no ploughing this year. I am glad to offer them to the Army.’

    ‘Lake, I don’t think there is any need for that. A man giving his own services is all that can be expected. Keep your horses…When can you come into camp?’

    ‘I can come straight away, but I would like first to go back to Gippsland. I have a place there.’

    ‘That can be arranged.’ He turned to the lieutenant who first had spoken to me. ‘Sands, take Lake to the doctor and afterwards swear him in.’

    When out of the colonel’s view, Sands pushed his hat onto the back of his head and stuffed both hands in his pockets. Then he led the way to the doctor’s tent. But the doctor was not there, so we wandered about endlessly to find him. Now and then Sands would stop someone and ask when the doctor had last been seen—he always finished by swearing in a bored kind of way.

    At last we were back where we had started: outside the big tent. ‘Stay here,’ Sands said before he disappeared inside. He came out with a large printed sheet of paper, a Bible, a pen and a bottle of ink. We took up opposite positions and made a start. The lieutenant asked endless questions, which I answered as well as I could. Then we came to the oath. ‘Take off your hat,’ he said while taking off his own. Next he handed me the Bible and we began the oath. In the blowing wind it was difficult to hear what Sands mumbled, so more than once he had to repeat the sentence. But we came through it safely—we wrote our signatures, which ended the ceremony. There was still the doctor’s signature to get, but Sands was sick of me. He pushed the paper into my hand, waved me in the direction of the doctor’s tent and

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