August 15th, 1914.
Dear Diary,
A day like no other! Today I can proudly call myself an ANZAC! I am one of the 40,000 men (and women) who volunteered to fight for Britain and my mother country and Australia. Double the amount of troops Prime Minister Fischer promised Britain earlier this year. This we are told will be the war to end all wars! He said: “Australia will stand behind our mother country to help defend her to our last man and our last shilling!” I told Mum I’d be home for Christmas (and her famous lamb roast)...poor Mum she’s worried sick about me.
At first, Mum was reluctant as she’d already been dealt a tough blow with Father’s passing away last summer, but she knew my motivation and was proud nevertheless of my commitment. “Fight the good fight...soldier!” A soldier, I’m a real soldier! Surely it won’t be all that difficult to defeat the enemy nations fighting alongside our allies!
August 10th marked the day I made the terrific decision to enlist in the army, after seeing the huge posters reading: “Your country needs you! Will you answer the call? ENLIST NOW and enjoy the army life you have been dreaming about!” I’ve always wanted a life full of adventure and travel! Quite like the stories I’ve read about in books of far way and exotic places, and now here’s a jolly good chance at freedom. The dream of my big adventure along with my best mate Tommy...I can hardly contain my excitement! Bad form the recruitment officer said, that’s what it would be, almost a sin to turn your back, ignoring the call for help and defend democracy! The Australian headline read: “Britain Battles to Maintain Control over the European Region.” The Sydney Morning Herald had two bold words “THE HUN”. Germany and its allies had to be defeated, once and for all!
Mother will most definitely be proud of me when I return home at Christmas, because as a soldier I earn 6 shillings a day! (and to be honest, this was also one of my motivations).
When I enrolled, the Officer in charge at the Royal Australian Army Force office, asked for my Birth Certificate, a letter of recommendation from my local minister and my family doctor stating I was of good character and fame. And one from Doc stating I was clear of any childhood illnesses like Polio. Despite the letters, I underwent a thorough fitness test, height and weight taken. I was fortunate enough to pass the height test at 5’ 6” As one of my mates, was turned away after his fitness level didn’t register as being up to standard. I. On the other hand, was a natural runner, and felt a real sense of achievement when my application was stamped with a red-inked - pass!
Uniform measurements next, and even a smart hat! I walked out, shirts, pants and new shoes all wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. I felt 10 feet tall as my head was held high. I was walking on air. Right now I cannot contain the waves of adrenalin at the thoughts of seeing new horizons!

“Private” Charlie.

November 7th, 1914
Dear Diary,
A distinctly bitter chill ran through me, as my battalion, headed for Turkish shores...to a place called Gallipoli. Nothing had prepared me for this particular day. Oh the horror! Our Generals had carefully planned for this battle, but the Mediterranean’s strong currents didn’t care about plans, putting 16,000 ANZACs off their course , making us land at the wrong beach, one mile north of our destination. Gaba Tepe. Here, the Turks waited and no amount of preparation could save us.
Only prayers comfort me now… I cherish each day. War is like nothing I know. Nightmarish, yet without sleep. Or water. Too little water. My mess tin is filled with muddy water most days, which I use to shave, wash and drink my tea from. Then there are the flies. Don’t let me forget the lice. How could I forget? My skin crawls with itchiness day and night.
Two weeks have passed, since that day. We were whisked away. General’s orders! Now, the Western Front is my new home and, along with our rat infested trenches, my overcoat and single blanket are a cold comfort. The trenches serve some protection to a certain degree as they are 10 foot deep, making it difficult for the enemy forces to strike. With each passing day, my spirit wanes, the sense of adventure left me a long time ago as the reality of a living hell set in. Twenty thousand diggers now injured or worse still, lifeless. This war has taken its toll on our mental and physical state. Gas masks, mandatory for our survival. Mustard gas lingers in the stale air and the dreaded Trench Foot has become a problem among many soldiers. As for our guns, so exciting to use yet so deadly, firing 400 or 500 bullets in a single minute. The promise of a glorified soldier’s life once imagined, is not the life I am living anymore. A stalemate preventing any progress in this battle, no victory, no defeat!
After fighting relentlessly for hours, without a single moment’s respite , many of the troops remain injured. I am among the many casualties, but feel blessed to have survived my pain. The bullet pierced my left thigh, and just like the others, I gritted my teeth, as I dealt with the excruciating pain. Before I enlisted, I was intoxicated with the idea of the being in the army. It was the same feeling when playing games as a young lad, eager to win the battle. Today, though, I am grateful to be here.
Telegram - “Charles Douglas Hay. Formal discharge Battalion 10. Tour of Duty complete. Injury in service.” My pain dulled momentarily at the grouse news that soon I’d be reunited with Mother.
Thinking back on my time here, I feel the weight of the responsibility of my experiences. A distinct disillusionment has overcome me which has strangely made me wiser . As I write, this diary entry, my mind vividly scrolls images of my time spent here, fighting the good fight as Mother told me to do. Was it good after all? Yes it was worth coming, though not for six shillings! I never did it for the money. The shillings are for Mother.

Taking a life, any life...but especially that of a young, lad just like me, creates a hole in your heart as if I also took that bullet. It’s changed me forever. Into a winner? I don’t know, I’ll have to ask Mother when I come home. I hope Mother will be pleased.
Time to return home. Charlie D Hay - Soldier