Blackboy Hill

Blackboy Hill

 

Hell, on Earth.

A flicker of consciousness, a flicker of gloomy light, a wave of knowing, a realization of his surroundings and his commitment and duty.

Robert Vivian Bond was aged 19, and for the past two weeks he had been waking at five in the morning each day; at Blackboy Hill military training camp.

Blackboy Hill a military training camp in Western Australia was a tented military camp that gave basic training to the young men, who had volunteered for duty in the 1^st world war.

Notoriously known; because the men, mostly teenagers; would be going to the front line in France. After 2½ months training they will be in, hell on earth.

 “Ho God here we go again,” Viv muttered to himself, as his nostrils detected the smells of breakfast wafting through the camp. He knew it as a ploy, they feed us well and we go through a rigorous training schedule all day; it’s a ploy that was working because hundreds of young men like him would be rather keen on a good breakfast right now. 

The guys working in the mess, seem to have signed up to a different War to what the regular men had signed up for. Whatever, Viv and his mates had no complaints given their devotion to keeping their stomachs full and content, before and after a full day of training.   

Ratatattat, boom, all day the sounds of machine gun and single arm fire reverberated around the camp, the stench of cordite, gunpowder and smoke filled the air.

“You’re doing it wrong you bloody fool,” “keep shooting for god’s sake, boy;” The drill Sergeant bellowed.

He knew he was being singled out, so Viv’s reply was to fire his machine gun in a burst that cut his target to smithereens, sending splinters of wood flying in all directions.

“Good man, that’s what we like to see,” the sergeant said, slapping him firmly on the shoulder before moving on to his next victim.

Within a minute a new target would pop up to be dealt with, again and again Viv dispatched his targets like a man possessed.   

After completing his training Vivian was deployed to the battle front in France, newly trained troops usually took a train from Midland station bound for Fremantle port where ship boarding was conducted.

Hundreds of newly trained men, fully kitted out would patiently make their way to the gangways and on to the ship that would take them to the action.

He served in France, manning his machine gun; in the mud, the blood and filthy stench of death for seven months before the day, that the cloud of death came silently, creeping across the battle field.

“Gas, gas,” a fellow forward gunner bellowed, folowed by other men shouting out the same warning before franticly fitting their gas masks. 

The cloud of death had come creeping across Viv’s position before, he knew what he needed to do to be safe; get that bloody mask on and endure the following three or four hours of the suffocating effects of the mask. That or be killed by the truly Suffocating effects of the gas, it’s your choice.

There must have been an accumulation of the effects of the gas attacks on Viv because he was removed from the front, to a medical outpost for the treatment of gas exposure on the battle field, within six months of commencing active duty in the trenches.       

As a young child I remember, sitting all snug and warm, freshly bathed in my jim jams slippers and dressing gown; on the huge lounge that seemed to swallow me up. Visiting uncle Viv and aunty Eva was a delightful outing for a young lad, as I knew I would be fully captivated by my uncle’s presence.  

We held a warm connection between us, Viv and I, remaining quiet and seemingly uninterested I managed to take in most of the Adult conversation, or I thought so at the time. I remember his warm smile and wink of acknowledgment whenever our gaze met, I knew him as a kind gentle man; I remember him being like a Farther Christmas, without the red suit and white beard, huge smile and warm eyes.

He was a man; who had taken a journey to hell and returned home, those eyes had seen hell on earth.

Copyright © Noel Bond. Researched and written by Noel Bond, No written part of this Blog may be reproduced in any form, by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author.