'Anzac Discipline' by CJ Dennis
Posted: Mon Aug 29, 2011 6:51 am
Here is another post for Ross, who enjoyed the last piece of prose by CJ Dennis so much.
Dennis was forced to protect his home from bushfire in 1926. In this short piece, called 'Anzac Discipline', he talks about the strangers who appeared at his side in his moment of crisis, and the men who led them.
Anzac Discipline
While the lull endured, I found time to look about me and take note of these youngish men who had come in scores from the town below to aid us. There were many Diggers among them, and, as I think I heard afterwards, a sprinkling of Anzacs. And I recalled later a strange circumstance. Without one spoken word, without council of war, these young men had tacitly elected as their leaders those elder bushmen who, by virtue of experience, knew the game. When such a one was present, his quietly-spoken suggestions became commands that were obeyed upon the instant. In the roar and stress and turmoil of the fight there seemed to be no discipline, yet discipline there was, and unquestioning obedience. If one can conceive privates addressing their officers familiarly by Christian names, then these elder bushmen were the officers, and their word was law.
"How about firing this for a bit?" a young Digger asked me.
"Alf says not yet for a while." I answered.
"Righto. He knows," was the reply. And he went to other work. And there before my house and the houses of my neighbours (as I remember thinking later) were scores of men - few of them known to me - choking, sweating, scorching, as they fought and battled like galley slaves to save the worldly goods of utter strangers, because it was the only thing to do. Without thought of pay or reward, impatient even of thanks, they toiled and endured and reckoned it all in a day's work.
Thus for one brief hour, in our remote corner of the world, was the Anzac spirit made manifest. And in that hour, too, was man's unwavering belief in the brotherhood of man strengthened and upheld.
Dennis was forced to protect his home from bushfire in 1926. In this short piece, called 'Anzac Discipline', he talks about the strangers who appeared at his side in his moment of crisis, and the men who led them.
Anzac Discipline
While the lull endured, I found time to look about me and take note of these youngish men who had come in scores from the town below to aid us. There were many Diggers among them, and, as I think I heard afterwards, a sprinkling of Anzacs. And I recalled later a strange circumstance. Without one spoken word, without council of war, these young men had tacitly elected as their leaders those elder bushmen who, by virtue of experience, knew the game. When such a one was present, his quietly-spoken suggestions became commands that were obeyed upon the instant. In the roar and stress and turmoil of the fight there seemed to be no discipline, yet discipline there was, and unquestioning obedience. If one can conceive privates addressing their officers familiarly by Christian names, then these elder bushmen were the officers, and their word was law.
"How about firing this for a bit?" a young Digger asked me.
"Alf says not yet for a while." I answered.
"Righto. He knows," was the reply. And he went to other work. And there before my house and the houses of my neighbours (as I remember thinking later) were scores of men - few of them known to me - choking, sweating, scorching, as they fought and battled like galley slaves to save the worldly goods of utter strangers, because it was the only thing to do. Without thought of pay or reward, impatient even of thanks, they toiled and endured and reckoned it all in a day's work.
Thus for one brief hour, in our remote corner of the world, was the Anzac spirit made manifest. And in that hour, too, was man's unwavering belief in the brotherhood of man strengthened and upheld.